Like Desmond and Molly Jones

Six years ago today, on January 1, 2005, Josh and I were married.
If you didn't see last year's post on our anniversary click here.

Below are a few of my favorite pictures from our wedding.

The chapel

Sweet bridesmaids

Handsome groomsmen and ushers

About to head down the aisle

Seeing each other for the first time

First glimpse on the wedding day

A few peaceful moments before the fun begins

Josh seeing the dress for the first time

Raines and Lockett families

Wedding party prayer before the ceremony

Happy at the reception

Mr. and Mrs. Lockett

Windy love

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

After placing Josh in a secure headlock and threatening severely We each made a list of things we've learned over the past six years of marriage.

Autumn's list

• Boys shirts are great to sleep in
• His eyes on a tiny baby are pure magic
• Two people make 5X as many dirty dishes as one, and three people make 10X as many
• Crappy, or awkward, or sad, or hurtful situations are 'doable' with my Josh
  
• Since he likes the same kind of books I do, my book budget doubled
  
• Never, ever, EVER smell test socks. Assume they are dirty. Just wash them.
• It's okay to be a total dork, since I married someone just as dorky
• Watching him love on Ms. Ava soaks in even quicker than him loving on me
• He's so brave to slay the dragons in our life, like checking the bank account and opening scary bill mail
• How to love and be loved in the highs and lows (of course, I'm still learning this one)

Josh's list:

• I married someone with the best qualities of Mary Poppins, Julia Childs, Maria Montessori and Martha Stewart all rolled into one person.
• IKEA wasn't lying, three people can life in less than 700 square feet
  
• It's more fun to dream and plan for life with another person
  
• Contrary to popular opinion, law school is easier married than single
• Autumn can make mundane, everyday life extremely entertaining and exciting (like a trip to the storage facility-a.k.a. The Magical Land of Doors)
• Autumn loves me so much, she made another smaller, cuter version of me
  
• I'm not always right (I'm getting a second opinion on this though)
• I am lucky to have married such an amazing woman
  

Here we are six years ago, on our way to the honeymoon.

"In a couple of years they have built a home sweet home,

with a 'couple' of kids running in the yard of Desmond and Molly Jones...

lala how the life goes on."

How my Aloe Vera plant is a little like Kanye West

You've heard of cutters, people who habitually slice themselves for various reasons. I'm a burner. Not a Bunsen Burner, but someone whose skin is inexplicably drawn to crazy hot things - curling irons, tops of ovens, handles of sizzling skillets. I've always been a clutz, always. Picture me, age 16, trying to explain to my boyfriend why my I'm the only grandkid still using a sippy cup at Thanksgiving. Even my brother, seven years my junior, graduated to a 'big kid' cup before I did. But I digress.

My Sparkly friend, Stacy, saw a pattern of burning Facebook statuses last spring, and brought me this darling Aloe Vera plant. I have a black thumb, so I did not have much hope for the little plant. But Stacy assured me that a tiny bit of water would sustain it. She was right. It stayed green for months, frequently sacrificing its healing gel to my searing wounds in return for infrequent watering. We were the best of friends. Flash forward to about a month ago. After a particularly brutal burn, and subsequent leaf-butchering, I thought it would be a good idea to give the Aloe Vera some sunshine.

Well, after a few chilly nights spent forgotten outside, my plant was rusty brown and droopy. I glumly returned it to its rightful, warm place on the bathtub, poured a cup of water in the dirt, and hoped for the best.

Within two days the Aloe Vera had not only fully recovered, but its leaves were thicker and healthier than ever.


Not only that, it had little Aloe Vera baby sprouts growing all around!

And that's when I told Josh that my Aloe Vera plant was a little like Kanye West. My poor, patient husband is so accustomed to my non sequiturs. He didn't even blink, just paused and waited for me to explain.

"No, it doesn't accuse presidents of being racist, or counsel its friends to 'tap your brakes and drive slow homie'.

The Kanye West-ish thing about my Aloe Vera plant is -

N-n-now that that don't kill me
Can only make me stronger

Don't act like I never told ya'."

Spooky Sparkle

His icy fingers patiently, discreetly trace the links on the swing's chain. Glancing at the trees in anticipation of the mounting breeze. Barely more than a draft, and he knows that he needs at least a gust. A gust is all it takes to transform the swing path from gentle sway into a playful cadence. A natural, but jaunty rhythm that they won't notice. The family won't know.

The family can't know. He lingers unobserved, but always present. He shies from their company as they push their smiling girl back and forth, her legs can't reach the ground. Her weight obliges more than wind for motion. The girl's pink skin soaks in the sunshine that seers and stings his transparency. But the moonlight nourishes and soothes him. So he waits, thankful for the hours of nighttime vacancy. The slide is useless to him, no mass to begin the descent. The height of the playhouse gives him no pleasure, he who can soar to the stars. But the swing is his solace.

Suddenly a gale, a tempest before the morn. Midnight's breath rocks him to sleep, a peace more tranquil than any mother's arms.


***
a note about the story's origin-
I've glanced out our back window so many times to see the swings pitching in the Oklahoma wind. I often imagine that I see this little one enjoying the swings when he thinks no one else is looking...

Potties That Sparkle

Last weekend my sweet hubby and I went on a date. Those of you who have kids and do not live near family know what a big deal this is. I put out a desperate plea on Facebook and some dear friends volunteered to babysit. We planned to leave our house at 6:00. Would you like to know where I was at 5:15? Let's have a little fun with this.

Was I
a) pumping my child full of sugar to make sure we get our money's worth out of the sitter?
b) plucking, applying, shaving, primping and spraying to beautify for the date?
c) elbow deep in toilet water, scrubbing away?

Surely you know it's not a. Money's worth, ha. We can't afford to pay a sitter!

It's definitely not b. Josh saw me during labor and still came back for more. No need to work too hard.

If you guessed c, you're exactly right.

Now, why was I cleaning potties right before our romantic date? Well, for one thing I have ADCD. Attention Deficit Cleaning Disorder. Yes, it's a real thing. Here are the symptoms: I start out picking up the living room, when I take the yellow Lego brick upstairs to Ava's room I notice there are a pair of sandals in her floor, I return the shoes to their rightful place in her closet and notice three pair of shoes that are size 8, she recently grew into a 9 so I go downstairs to get a bag to send to Goodwill, when I open the cabinet under the sink I see the sad state of my cleaning supplies so I promptly remove all the under sink contents and begin arranging them by size and use, about that time a dust bunny brushes by my foot and continues rolling like a West Texas tumbleweed, that can't be good for our asthma so I grab the Dyson and begin vacumming around the cleaning supplies and continue into the living room that is still littered with shoes and toys. It's like the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie book, only sicker. BUT if I only have 45 minutes to do one quick cleaning task I'm a lot more likely to complete the chore instead of starting 32 of them.

Also, cleaning potties is a gross and completely un-fun job. The thought of scraping fecal matter from porcelain on a random Tuesday afternoon is just sad. BUT if you are scrubbing away with a bubble of excitement in your tummy, greatly anticipating an evening of loving with your hubby it's not nearly as dreary. Just make sure to wash your hands with super hot water and antibacterial soap. Go ahead and wash all the way up to your shoulders too because, let's just face it, those bathroom germs are Tyra-Banks-kind-of-Fierce.



And now a word about public bathrooms

If you ever need to 'Go' and you're not near my house right before a date I highly recommend the bathrooms at Pottery Barn Kids. Wow. I would live there if I wouldn't seem like a total creeper. The bathrooms are delicately lit with their darling lamps, smell amazingly like your Cool Aunt's house, and have a stool so you don't have to break your back lifting a 35 pound 3-year-old to the sink. If you can't make it to a Pottery Barn Kids, the regular Pottery Barn also has nice bathrooms - just plan on lifting that kiddo by yourself. Or I guess you could MacGyver some kind of pulley system out of the decorative vase and reed plants on the counter. And if your ghetto mall does not have either of the PBs you should just hold it. Forget everything your mama and doctor ever told you about UTIs and kidney failure. Pee in the grass median of the parking lot. It's just safer that way, trust me.

Sparkle!

Recently I've developed a very scientific theory, chock full of equations and Greek letters in superscript. You'll need at least a T1-83 graphing calculator and a sample of hide from a virgin goat in order to understand it.

Of course I'm only kidding. The Sparkle Theory is completely math free, think other end of the spectrum. The Sparkle Theory is all about feelings.

Think of the people in your life who:

• when you talk to them you feel like the only person in the room.
• understand what you mean without you having to explain, but
• will let you go on and on when you need to.
• you look forward to seeing.
• are genuinely happy for you when good things happen.
• authentically grieve for you when trials come.
• get your humor.
• look you in the eye.
• time seems to infinitely speed up when you're together.
• you can go without speaking for any amount of time and instantly pick right back up where you left off the relationship.
• you can let down your guard with.
• make you feel energized when you spend time together.
• would dominate the game Taboo if you were partnered on a team.
• can compliment you and it actually soaks in.

These are the people in your life that make you Sparkle. It's effortless on both ends of the relationship, and chances are you make them Sparkle too. Sparkle can come from a lifelong friendship or in an instant after meeting - I've experienced both. You carry your own Sparkle inside and these people ignite it. There are many other ways to describe Sparkle, I'd love for you to comment below with your own version of Sparkle.

HOWEVER

There are also people in this world who *dum dum dum* steal your Sparkle. They usually don't mean to. I honestly believe these Sparkle thieves are generally well-intentioned. But let's just face it, when I say 'people who steal your Sparkle' you automatically think of some of your own Sparkle thieves, don't you? Their Sparkle sucking is just as effortless as the aforementioned Sparkle igniters. We can't blame them. We can't even avoid them. It's not anyone's fault. You probably do a little Sparkle sucking too. But when you begin to think about life in a Sparkle sense, it helps you to find a balance. If you go too long without spending time with someone who makes you Sparkle you can find yourself in a funk. A rotten Sparkle-less funk.

I brought up my Sparkle Theory recently at our church's Ladies Bible Study and it led to some fascinating conversation. It was mentioned that we are, after all, in control our own Sparkle, (yes, I had extremely educated, refined, elegant women speaking Sparklese). I completely agree. We are the masters of our own Sparkle, but we've got to find a place to hide it that no one will think to look...

I'm still working on that last part. I think that one way to secure your Sparkle is to do things that make you feel Sparkly. I love to write. I have a few outlets for my writing, this blog and this blog and even this long lost blog (hey Sarah, it's still your turn). I've entered a few essay contests. But I feel like I need a place to write that's all my own. A place that doesn't have a prompt or theme. A blinking cursor waiting for whatever happens across my mind. I'd love to invite you to read along. Writers just love an audience. You might say it makes them Sparkle.