Happy. Anniversary.

*WARNING -- MAJOR CHEESE AHEAD*

11 years ago today, my husband kissed me for the very first time. The next day, we set off for what was supposed to be a group trip to Idaho Falls to visit my grandparents. 3 of my roommates and 1 of his were supposed to join us. They bailed at the last minute. He and I decided to go anyway. The first hour or so in the car was quiet, awkward even. But we managed to have a great weekend, and on our drive home -- 2 days later -- we set our wedding date. Seriously.

That was 11 years ago. When I realized what today was, I literally stopped what I was doing in the kitchen and thought about how much we have been through since "Halloween Eve, 1997", and tried to project where we might be 11 years from today.

We will have a senior in high school, a sophomore, and an 8th grader. No more preschoolers, no more poop accidents (this better be true), no more living room scattered with (and I can see these things right now) a Magna Doodle, Toys R' Us catalog, 3 Harold the Helicopters, 5 more Thomas engines, a roll of toilet paper, 14 pieces of train tracks, an empty cup, and a bra. Well, probably the bra still (it's 11:00 pm people -- give me a break).

And while part of me rejoices when I realize these things, another part of me is sad. I don't want to overlook this part of my life, and find myself in 11 years thinking the same thing I thought today: "Man, I don't even remember what life was life back then anymore".

So to cement at least today in my mind and give me a point of reference 11 years from now, this was my day:

Rylan got me up first thing this morning (crying) because she was out of tissues. She went into my bathroom, tore 3 squares of TP at a time to approximate the length of a "real" tissue, and went back to her room. She was horrified when I went in 10 minutes later to have her get dressed, because she was sure it was still the middle of the night, and "she hadn't even slept a wink!"

She ended the day in her bed (crying) because "the inside of her nose hurt". Boone went in to her and literally said "Ooogaa boooga woooga -- your nose is better", to which she replied, "Why don't you send Mom in? She at least tells me something I can actually do!"

If this sounds draining to you, it is. I can't imagine what it must be like to be Rylan. But in between the morning sob fest and the evening sob fest, little Rylan climbed up next to her daddy in the kitchen, buttered the garlic bread for dinner, watched intently (and commented incessantly) as her dad made soup, set the table, and then thanked him for letting her help -- adding with all sincerity, "Anytime you need me to help with something I know how to do, I'll do it Daddy!" And the last words she spoke tonight had to do with my ability to fix what's wrong in her life.

And that won't last.

Keaton spent the day demanding fruit snacks for breakfast, "X-ing" people (this is an entire post by itself -- I'll explain later), wiping his nose on our couch cushions, and generally being 4. He had to visit the doctor for an infected thumbnail that he won't quit chewing on (gross) and pretty much destroyed the shirt he was wearing by reaching his arm through the neck opening and out the bottom until the collar was so stretched that it hung off his shoulder on one side. He upset Rylan (easy to do, but still) because he was trying to "make corn" in the shower by mixing vast quantities of body wash and shampoo (?). And he ended his day yelling at Boone, "Daddy! Is this the star?!" from his bed (which he peed in last night...again), where he laid in the dark, clutching a single glow in the dark ceiling star in his infected little hand.

If this sounds draining to you, it is. I can't imagine what it must be like to be Keaton. But in between the fruit snacks and the "shower corn", Keaton chased imaginary bees around the living room with his Daddy and threw them out the back door. He read Hop on Pop out loud. He pulled pots and pans out for he and his brother and banged drums all over the house. He used one of those drums to make his own ramen for lunch (I supervised, of course). He sat with all the charm a kid can muster in the doctor's office and said to the nurse, "Excuse me Dr? I feel sick at home, but you make me feel better, and I get an extra toy!" He was THRILLED that his blood pressure had the number 7 in it, and gobbled up the soup he previously refused to eat as soon as I pointed out the "butterfly pasta" in it.

And that won't last.

Branik began by consuming 2 glasses of orange juice, then begging for apple juice, so he could wash down the 4 (!) blueberry muffins he ate for breakfast. Branik only eats breakfast these days -- literally, the child has not eaten at lunch or dinner since Tuesday (more on that later). He turned every light in the front half of the house on and off two dozen times at least, unrolled the toilet paper roll (still in the living room -- an attempt to keep Keaton's snot off the furniture), and scattered somewhere around 40 vehicles from one end of the house to the other. He stashed some of the throw pillows from the couch under my bed, and pulled wipe after wipe out of the container just because. When I told him it was time to get dressed, he replied, "It's too heavy!"(?) He woke up after only an hour of nap -- still cranky -- and then threw up all over the Johnson's house while I had Keaton at the doctor. He came home and clung to me the whole night, refusing to let me put him down to help Boone at all, and was such a wreck that he went to bed at 7:15, but not before having a meltdown over Thomas falling off the side of the tub and onto the bathroom floor (tragedy!).

If it sounds draining, it is. I can't imagine what it must be like to be Branik. The poor boy felt awful all day, and when he needed his mommy and felt his yuckiest, I wasn't there and he had to throw up somewhere other than home. But in between the wipes, the muffins, the juice, and the vomit, my littlest buddy wanted nothing in the world more than his mom. He climbed into my lap over and over, and spent his last few minutes tonight laying on my chest like he used to when he was a newborn. All day long when I sat down next to him, he leaned his head over and touched my arm just to be closer. And when I tucked him in tonight, he looked up at me and grinned, and said simply, "Soft". That boy needs nothing in the world except his mommy, his blanket, and breakfast foods.

And that won't last either.

Boone's day began at 5:00 am so he could get to the gym before work. He treated patients all morning, called me to check in at lunch, sat through 2 hours of sexual harassment training, met up with me for Keaton's appointment, swapped cars with me so I could run to the store (for some freaking "real" tissues already!), picked up Branik McPukeface at the Johnson's house (Thanks again guys!/I am SO sorry), picked Rylan up from the neighbor's house, made soup (from scratch) for dinner, did the dishes (including washing all the "drums" from earlier in the day), read with the kids, tucked them in, made his lunch for tomorrow, and finally collapsed on the couch at about 8:30.

If it sounds draining, it is. I can't imagine what it's like to be Boone. But in between his early workout and his raiding of the Halloween candy, he reminded his wife to make an appointment for her hair that is driving her nuts. He raced from a meeting to meet his son at the doctor because he was worried that he might be scared. He waited at the pharmacy for a prescription and then took his 4 year old down to see his work. He cuddled a 2 year old even though that boy only wanted his mother. He taught his emotional girl how to butter loaves of bread, grind pepper into the soup, and tried to cure her nose with "oogaa booga woogaa". He peeked in on his bathing Branik, and grinned when that little boy told him, "I swimming". He sat patiently while Keaton slowly made sense of the words in a book, and held a glow in the dark star up to the light so it would be brighter in that grubby little hand. He thanked me for making an appointment for Keaton, and then helped me put away the laundry so we could make the bed together.

THAT, I believe WILL last.

The details of the day will change, but I am confident that 11 years from now, I will still have a husband whose whole life is dedicated to his family and their wellbeing. I will still have a helpful, tender daughter, a charming imp of a middle child, and (hopefully) a sweetheart of a momma's boy. I hope that occasionally, like today, I will take the time to look beyond the chaos and see how lucky I really am, and realize that no matter what October 30, 1997 was like, today was better.

Vomit, snot, and all.