I Didn't Wear a White Dress


Four years ago today, Good Friday 2008, I heaved my sore, swollen (we'd gone to Six Flags the day before and my cankles had become thankles), and very pregnant body out of bed.  Then I went into the kitchen and burned my hand preparing breakfast for six.

Later that afternoon, I went to White Rock State Park in Dallas and . . . got married!

Yep, you read that right.  I fixed breakfast on my wedding day!  Who DOES that?  I mean, could one of the other four adults in the house not pitched in and scrabled some eggs or something?  Geez.  The things I do for these people!

That day wasn't perfect. Hello!  I'm still sporting a very faint scar from that gnarly burn.  Zhariah had a stank attitude after her daddy forced her to wear an Easter bonnet.  Jaidan, then just 17 months old, kept sticking his hand up my dress.  Eddie's back was hurting.  I was eleven million months pregnant, bigger than ever, and extremely uncomfortable.  But, at the time, it was exactly what I wanted.  Less than ten people.  No white dress.  Nothing traditional. 

Four years!

Sometimes it feels like four months.  Sometimes it feels like forty years.

And sometimes I miss that I didn't do the white dress.  That I wasn't the center of attention for one day.  That I didn't smash a piece of wedding cake into the face of my beloved.  That I wasn't skinny (and, well, not knocked up) for my wedding. 

But I probably wouldn't go back in time and change anything.

Especially not the guy I married.

For better or worse, for good times and annoying times and times when I want to take a frying pan to his head . . . I'm happier today than I was the day I married him.

Most of the time anyway.  ;)

We went out for our anniversary Saturday night.  And when I say we went out I mean

a) without kids
b) not to Walmart


We started with dinner at Rendezvous (I'll save you my usual spill) then we headed to Beale Street.  We were sidetracked, however, by what we thought was a street festival.  We paid $5 to get in . . . only to realize it was actually a club that had roped off a section of the street and hired a band to play live (Irish) music.  Does that sound fun?  Because it totally wasn't. 

We left and did head to Beale Street . . . and to Walk Me Downs!  (If I ever write a Memphis Travel Guide it will include three things: Rendezvous, Beale Street, and a Walk Me Down in a guitar-shaped cup.  Who needs Graceland when you can have 40 ounces of bright blue goodness with a shot of 151 for just $2 more?)

I'm so glad we went to Beale.  It reminded me of Bourbon Street that night.  I felt like I had come home.  To the Mothership.   

We had such a great time!  We have three small children and a babysitter who needed to leave by midnight so we didn't get to stay near as long as we'd have liked.

Great anniversary night.
Pretty darn good four years.  (And we've added two kids in those four years!)

What more could we ask for?

Here's to four (and forty!  And forty four!) more!
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