We watched The Princess Bride this morning, Sam and Caroline for the first time. “I’m glad you stuck with us,” I said to Scott.
“I saw it before, in college.”
I knew this. I also knew he hadn’t been too keen. But he had clearly enjoyed it with the family. As he and Sam fixed the lintel that Sam broke apurpose two years ago and has accidentally snapped in two other places since, I said, “it doesn’t count until you’re with your true love.”
“That’s way too sappy.”
I kissed him anyway.
If you know any of our history, it’s this part: I didn’t think this kind of love was real until I fell for Scott within moments of meeting him.… Read the rest
I leaned out on the platform, straining my ears for the train’s first distant rumble. “It’ll come, Jessie,” Scott reassured me. It was July in Chicago. We were waiting for the L. And his enthusiasm was as high as my own.
When I was a kid, I hated trains exactly when my dad and sister were enjoying a Lionel phase. By the time I reversed my position, they were through. But once miniature engines claimed my interest, they never let go. Marrying an addict only fueled my interest. We honeymooned by train. We look for historic railway projects where the real hobbyists practice their art.… Read the rest
Thirteen years ago, I knew by the end of our first date that I would marry you. That certainty rendered me speechless. At the beginning of the evening,
I did not believe in true love
I did not believe in love at first sight
I did not believe in having children
and I did not believe in trusting people you barely knew.
And four hours later, I not only believed all of those things, I embraced them.
I had my standards set so high that I had never actually dated. At all. Because dating was a great way to get hurt.… Read the rest
I don’t repost a lot here on Jester Queen. In fact, this will be a first time ever. In honor of my eleventh anniversary tomorrow, here is what I wrote about the tenth anniversary last year.
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… Read the rest
Scrape-squeak-squeak. Scrape-squeak-squeak. Dunk-gadunk squeeeee.
“ I think we have rats in the attic.” I stood in the hall looking up.
Scott came from his office and listened with me. “Attic fan.”
“But it sounds like The Devil in The Exorcist. You remember that scene where Ellen Burstyn tries to convince the housekeeper there’s a rodent infestation, only it turns out to be Satan?”
“Jessie, the only thing I remember about The Exorcist is that you said it was suspense and dragged me off to see the director’s cut in 2000.”
“It is suspense! And it sounds like it’s living in our attic.” I pointed at the ceiling.… Read the rest
“Turn it down
.” Scott’s face loomed as my door swung open.
“I had that closed.”
“We can hear you in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s too loud.” Caroline poked her head under her father’s elbow.
“You’re only complaining because it’s heavy metal. If I had the Beatles up, you’d be in here dancing.”
“You’ve got Beatles? I want the Beatles!” Sam joined the fray with enthusiasm unreasonable for someone who should have been zoned out in front of the TV.
I clicked around until my desk stopped shaking with the gunshots of “For Those About to Rock, We Salute You.”
Scott rubbed the back of his head.… Read the rest
These two pictures hang above my desk. They say an awfully lot without my needing to interpret them for you, but let me talk awhile anyway. My husband is not just a father to our children. He’s their Daddy. Sam, who is a Mama’s boy, has lately started demanding his Daddy-hugs at bedtime again and saying, in a worried little voice, “I like Daddy best.” He doesn’t yet understand the ebb and flow of a parent-child relationship, and he worries that he’s hurting me. He always seems surprised by my delight. I tell him, “That’s wonderful. I love you, and sis, and Daddy best.”
Sam’s a carbon copy of Scott.… Read the rest
The weekend after I got back from my solo Ohio trip, I had scheduled a surprise for our family. (This was a bad idea; I’m even worse at planning surprises than I am at keeping them.) I wrote the melodramatic message “Make no plans. Board the dog” across the calendar weekend of December 10th and waited for Scott to notice.
I actually did a very good job of waiting, since I bought the tickets towards the end of November, and he didn’t notice until the day before I left for Cincinnati. He was adding a kid therapy to the calendar and asked “What plans aren’t we making next weekend?… Read the rest
Scott and I celebrate our tenth anniversary this year. Today, actually. October 13th
. And we’d like to do a dozen things that parents of young kids just don’t have time for. So we will not be going on a cruise. Or taking a thoughtful hike for miles and days down the Appalachian trail. Or even trying out skydiving together. (I’m not sure Scott would have acquiesced to that one anyhow.) Thanks to my friend Linda and her husband Robert, we did catch Garrison Keillor in Tuscaloosa last month, and that was something anyway. Other than that, we will be staying in this year.… Read the rest
I got me a good sunburn this weekend. I’m not pink, either, I’m red, from my shoulders to my midback. 30 SPF sun block just isn’t strong enough for me anymore, I guess, and it helps if someone other than Caroline applies it. It’s been a long time since I pulled a stunt like this, and, quite frankly I did myself a much worse disservice then than now. This time, although the burn stings and looks quite nasty, it doesn’t feel too bad, and it’s only on part of my top half.
The last time I got a bad sunburn, I was finishing up my first year of grad school at the University of Kentucky.… Read the rest