Tis the Season...

Last year, I asked a question that has proved to be an important one. 

What is the key to slowing down time?

When we’re children, it feels like time is just some weird entity; a grown-up thing that we have to learn how to measure with a big round race, hands, and a bunch of numbers. As far as time itself, it takes forever when you’re a kid.

I remember once when I was three, I was sitting in my living room playing with a doll and I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be 10. Ten. A two-digit number. I remember I couldn’t fathom it. I don’t really know why, but I knew that moment would stick with me forever.

Over the years, it’s taught me different lessons at different points in my life. But most recently, it’s taught me that living in the moment is one of the most important things you can learn.

In fact, I had to make it a New Year’s resolution this year so that I would actually work on it. Over the year, I’ve dug up some important items that have helped teach me this lesson in more ways than one.

The first one took place right after I began dating Jake, who is now my husband. If you don’t know our story, the Reader’s Digest version is that we met, fell in love and began dating 3 days later, were long-distance for 11 months while I finished my undergraduate degree and then we both moved to Boston. Jake proposed, we got married 6 months later. Now we’ve been married for almost 5 years.

Back to the lesson I learned, once Jake dropped the bomb that we were going to get married 3 days after we met, the marriage talk came on fast and strong. By the end of the week it seemed we couldn’t keep the word out of a single sentence. While I was excited, Jake was the first real boyfriend I’d had. Something about it sort of felt like I’d never driven a car and someone had just handed me the keys to a Ferrari and told me to drive it on the highway. I had no idea what I was doing, and there was something about it that I just wasn’t enjoying. I quickly told Jake that I wanted to enjoy each piece of our relationship. I didn’t want everything on rush-order.

With that, the marriage talk dialed back and we started living in the now. We began truly dating each other. That carried on to our engagement and it’s now been carried into our marriage. In fact, we talk about that conversation when one of us starts focusing too much on the future and not enough on what we have right now.

So, why am I writing on this topic right now? Well, it all started a couple of weeks ago.

I love every season of the year. In fact, the very divided and pronounced seasons is one of the things I loved about living in Boston. I love the big, blooming trees that are every shade of pink that you could imagine that come with spring. I love the warmth of the summer months – going to the beach and the smell of coconut everything. I love the most gorgeous shades of red, orange, and yellow that come with fall – the longer shadows and the cooler weather. And last, I adore the cold winters blanketed with the most beautiful layers of snow you could ever imagine.

As such, I love celebrating each season as it comes. However, in the past few years, I’ve noticed my self-control with my first PSL* of the season has inched its way up sooner and sooner each year. First it was September 1^st, and then it was whenever the earliest date Starbucks would give it to me, which has now usually been in August. This year, I made myself wait until the actual first day of fall. I knew it would be hard since everyone and their mother starts talking about it the second Starbucks puts it on the menu, but I actually waited until September 22.

That first cup was one of the most delicious of the season. There was something deeply satisfying about reaching this small goal. Plus, waiting for it prolonged summer. I found myself loving a fruit salad I invented over Labor Day that consisted of strawberries, green grapes, watermelon, and nectarines. It was divine, summery heaven. It made me appreciate those last few days instead of reminiscing and wishing it were already fall and taking a trip to Trader Joe’s to stock up on all-things-pumpkin.

Imagine my surprise when the day after my first beloved PSL of the season I turned on the radio on my way to work and they were talking about Christmas. CHRISTMAS! On September 23.

Now, I’m no Grinch. I LOVE Christmas. Believe me, I do. It is hands-down my favorite holiday. Christmas is also a full 3 months away. That’s an entire season away! It’s just barely fall! I’m just getting into cooler weather being a good thing. Bring on the football games, apple and pumpkin picking, Halloween, cozy mugs, and all the good shows coming back and filling up my lonely DVR!

I love you, Christmas, but wait your turn! We haven’t even enjoyed Thanksgiving or Halloween or even October, for that matter! As such, I would like to celebrate one holiday at a time.

I’m not saying don’t plan. Plan away! I have nothing against organization. But, live in the moment, too. If you don’t, you’re never really all that happy.

Perhaps we should all just take a moment and breathe in the right now. For me, I know this time in my life is fleeting. At some point, Jake and I will have children. I will be overcome with joy when that day comes, but I want to enjoy the precious moments that are just the two of us. I love only having the two of us to think about right now. I love late-night talks and perfecting our marriage. I love thinking about taking trips together, perfecting our budget, living in an apartment that’s not particularly kid-friendly, and just enjoying this part of our marriage. I want to be content in the life I actually have…not the next stage of it.

I challenge you to do the same. I promise, there is so much you will start appreciating that you don’t even see right now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always easy, but it’s 100% worth it.

*That’s Pumpkin Spice Latte, for you non-coffee people.

A call for Love.

Picture: https://www.rawstory.com/2016/07/protests-continue-in-nyc-minnesota-after-philando-castle-and-alton-sterling-fatal-shootings/ 

It was my senior year of high school, and I hadn’t had the best day. Although it was a Friday and I was planning on going to my school's football game with a  bunch of friends that night, the day had me beat, and I was not in the mood to deal with anything more that might present itself as “difficult.” Thankfully, I had already had my last class and only my free period remained. I rounded the corner into the dark, eerily-lit hallway where the senior lockers were. There were only a few people in there, and most of them were getting ready for class. And then, I heard it.

I don’t really remember the kid who said it or even the specific remark, but I do remember who it was about. A junior boy on the football team had just made a snide, unkind, adolescent remark to one of his buddies about our head of school.

Before I go on, I should explain something about our head of school. He was an incredibly kind man who cared about the students. On top of it, people really had no idea how much work he put into his job. He did his work silently and humbly, watching most of the students from afar with a careful, watchful eye, always having our best interests at heart. What was heartbreaking to me, was that there was only a small percentage of students who understood the full magnitude of how much he loved and cared for the school. There’s one more important detail about him, but I’ll get to that in a second.

As I heard the comment that was made. I paused only for a moment before I could almost feel my blood boiling inside me. How dare Mr. Football make such a remark. Before I knew what was happening, I had grabbed the edges of his jersey to pull his face inches from mine. He towered above me (not hard since I’m only 5’3”), but I didn’t care. I talked in a low, don’t-mess-with-me-or-I’ll-kick-your-ass voice. “Don’t you dare…EVER…say anything unkind about that man ever again. Do you hear me? Or SO help me…” I had no idea how to finish that sentence, and before I could say anything I would really regret, I let go of his jersey and began to walk away wondering what had gotten into me.

“W-why do you care?” The words were crafted very carefully so as not to further tick off the tiny, blonde, psychotic senior.

I stopped and turned around again. “He’s my uncle.” As I turned back to head to my locker, I heard him say, “Oh…I…I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” I turned my head back and stared at him for a quick moment to read his body language. His face had turned a few shades red and he hung his mop of hair a little lower than before.

A part of me wanted to take it all back in that moment, but I didn’t want to excuse what he had said, so I turned and continued walking down the hall. By the time I had gotten to my locker, my hands were shaking. I began to spin the lock on my locker, but I was completely unable to remember the combination.

Seriously, what had gotten into me? Who was this girl? On one hand, I felt like a badass. It was not me at all. In fact, the Lauren most people knew matched my height - cute and sweet, and I was usually wearing a smile on my face. No one - including me - would have expected this out of me. On the other hand, I had acted completely irrationally and out of anger.

I didn’t blame Mr. Football for not knowing he was talking about my uncle. Although Mr. Football and I didn’t know each other, we went to a small, private high school where you at least knew who everyone was even if you weren't friends.

I had carefully concealed the fact that I was related to the head of school since my freshman year. My father had been head of school at my previous school, and while most days were like any other students’, there were definitely days when being related to the head of school did not make life easier.

When I decided to go to the high school where my uncle was head of school, it was slightly easier since I would no longer share a last name with the man in charge. Although, with what had just transpired, I really wouldn’t have cared at that point. I had also just learned the hard way that covering up my familial relationship hadn't made my high school career all that much easier.

What people often fail to realize is that not only does the head of school working his tail off, somehow people forget how lonely that office can be. While the job at the top of any company (whether school or corporate) can often seem to be the one you want, it’s also lonely at the top when you have to make all the shots. There are a lot of public decisions that have to be made based on confidential matters. So often when the decision the head has made is actually the best one, the average person doesn’t have all of the facts and can easily paint the head as a monster.

As the daughter and niece of men in this position, I understood this fact all-too-well. On top of it, people forget when they turn to say something bad about anyone that they’re talking about another human being. They’re talking about someone’s dad, uncle, friend, grandfather, son, husband, etc. And make no mistake, I’m no angel. It’s not as though I’ve never said something unkind about someone else, but that doesn’t make it excusable either.

When I woke up the next morning, there were two halves of me. There was the half of me that was proud for what I had said. I couldn’t believe I had had the gumption to speak up and actually have the courage to stop this guy in his tracks. Perhaps Mr. Football would think twice next time before saying something so snide and hurtful about someone else.

The other half of me felt…gross…and it took years for me to figure out why.

Over the past several years, it seems single acts of violence have gone up.

Shooting rates have gone up and spread like wildfire. It seems that everywhere you turn, there’s a new one. And, who’s to say where it started, but there have been so many, it’s hard to get them all straight. There have been school shootings, ISIS shootings, police shootings, any number of the shootings that began and sustained the need for the #BlackLivesMatter movement. At one point, I read a statstic that there was almost one shooting a day in 2015.

But 2016 has come, and with it, more shootings. There was Turkey and Brussels and Orlando Philando Castille and Alton Sterling and now tonight: Dallas. Where does the violence end?

It's not just the shootings. Let’s not forget the 2016 presidential debates. Clinton or Trump? Trump or Clinton? Or Bernie? It seems the majority of Clinton supporters say, “Well, I don’t like Clinton, but ANYONE but Trump,” and vice versa for Trump. There's violence that have broken at their political rallies and it seems almost everyone has done their fair share of name-calling spit-fire online.

The hate and fear never seems to end, and so with it comes more fear and more hate.

It took all of this to figure out why I had felt so gross about my tiny outburst from over 10 years ago: I had answered hate with hate. Yes, I stood up for myself (or rather, my family), but at what cost? Was anger really the way to go?

You can’t solve a problem with the same problem.

Right now, it feels like evil is winning. It feels like evil is its own entity – like the devil exists, has come to earth and has made himself nice and comfy in our homes and in our minds, trying to scream, "I'm real! I exist!" But there is something so much more powerful than all of that: Love.

My call is not for gun control, for stop-the-violence, or go to war, make the government change, or to force people to stop using the All Lives Matter hashtag because they don't understand what #BlackLives Matter means. My call is for Love. And to Love first. 

Do all the other things. I'm not saying don't take action; don't call law reinforcements; don't have laws changed. But I am saying that whatever you do, do it with Love. 

To me, everything that is supposed to fall into place will fall into place after we love first. I think it's only evil that says, "yeah, yeah, we'll get to the love stuff later. We need better gun laws. Get out of my way, jerk. I wasn't letting you into my lane of traffic. I'm in a rush."

ONLY Love can drive out hate and fear. And make no mistake, fear is no friend to anyone. Fear is what limits us. It’s what makes anyone want to carry a gun in the first place. Fear leads us to say things we don’t mean, to hide when we need to speak up, to falsely use power we don’t have to make ourselves heard, to judge instead of help, to gossip instead of reaching out…

Fear is no friend.

Love is our only friend.

Love also doesn’t start by someone else doing it. It’s something anyone and anything can do. You have the power over your own actions. You can love yourself, love your friend, and eventually love the enemies you’ll eventually discover you don’t have, because fear brews that one, too.

And if even that seems to hard, start with gratitude. Fear would like to tell you that you don’t have anything to be grateful for. Everyone is killing everyone and nothing is good right now.

Wrong.

Every single person on this earth can find something to be grateful for. That much, I do know. Start with gratitude. Gratitude grows into Love. Love is something we could all stand to get better at.

A couple of years ago at my school’s gala, we had an acoustic guitarist who spoke to the crowd and said, “Practice only what you want to be good at.”

I don't know about you, but I'd like to get better at loving.

People want love and comfort. I think of when I was a child and I felt scared and all I wanted was to be picked up by one of my parents and have them tell me everything would be okay.

And then everything was.

You don’t have to agree with me, and it's your prerogative if you want to judge this instead of following it, but those are my two cents. Getting down from my soap box now.

Lauren out.

The Beauty of a Single Moment

This past weekend, my husband and I drove to my birth city to watch one of my oldest and dearest friends get married. I don’t know about you, but I don’t always realize the beauty of a moment as it's happening. In fact, one of my goals for 2016 was to take more time to live in the moment instead of always trying to plan ahead or trying to relive something good from the past. I do more of the former than the latter.

But as I sat in the pew at St. Francis of Assisi Church in uptown New Orleans, the beauty, clarity, and meaning of the moment all hit me like a big Mac truck. I had just stood up as the bride walked in when it all hit me. I’ve been friends with Emily since kindergarten.

That factoid seems to roll off my tongue every time I talk about her. However, the magnitude of how long this friendship has lasted is what really hit me. I don’t remember the day I met her or the first day of kindergarten all that well, but when I think of any given day or any given memory I have between the ages of 5 and 8, she’s in most of them. Most of them took place at school or one of our 8976987699506 sleepovers we had when we lived in the same zip code. 

I moved from New Orleans to Houston after the second grade, and I still remember when Emily and her mom came to say goodbye before we pulled out of the driveway for the last time at our old house in Metairie. It was by far the hardest good-bye I had to make.

At the time, I had no idea how challenging the transition would be – or how permanent of the move would eventually feel. It hadn’t really hit me yet that New Orleans would no longer be my home. In fact, it wasn't really until the beginning of the new school year when I actually felt it. At the beginning of the summer, I was just excited for something new, but I hadn’t really grasped what that meant.

What I also didn’t consider were the friends I was leaving behind. I didn’t do a fantastic job at keeping in touch with anyone, but thankfully, Emily was good at it...or made herself good at it after I left. I remember talking to her on the phone on my birthday, writing each other letters, and then there were the few times I got to visit over the years. It took a few years before I had an excuse to actually visit Emily in person, but when I did, it most certainly included spending the night at Emily’s the way we always had before.

Over the years, it didn’t matter if we hadn’t talked in months, we always called without fail on each other’s birthdays. I remember even on my 16th, Emily called me from a bus. At the time she was a cheerleader and they were either traveling to or from a football game that involved an overnight. I couldn’t believe that in the midst of her busy schedule, she still remembered that it was my birthday. I remember being hit by the fact that I would always be friends with her when that phone call came in.

A few months later, I got to go visit her for a high school semi-formal. It involved one of our many sleepovers, going to classes with her at my old school, driving around in her car and reminiscing about our K-1-2 days, and that particular trip, she introduced me to Burberry Brit – a fragrance I still wear today. I think of that trip every time I wear it.

I got to see her a bit more during my senior year of high school when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and she had to spend several months living in The Woodlands (just north of Houston). I had high hopes that she would somehow have to live at my house and go to my school, but unfortunately that did not happen and she was placed in a little north of me. Still, having her an hour away was slightly better than the 5.5 hours it took to get to New Orleans.

A couple of years later, while we were in college, it had felt like it had been too long since we’d seen each other and so we planned out a weekend and I drove out to Baton Rouge. She was going to LSU at the time and was going to be there for the summer. The drive from Houston to Baton Rouge was the longest trip I had ever taken by myself in a car. I remember being slightly nervous, but being able to see Emily was well worth that trip. Nothing particularly monumental happened, but I was so happy to catch up, stay up all night and talk about anything and everything, and finally meet her boyfriend, Alex (who she just married this weekend!). It’s a trip I’ve never forgotten, and I can't drive through Baton Rouge (or pass the Dalrymple exit) without thinking of that weekend.

After I met Jake, I had a laundry list of people that I wanted to call, but she was very close to the top of the list. I’m pretty sure I asked her to be a bridesmaid in the same breath, and I was so grateful she said “yes” and was up on the alter with me when Jake and I said our vows.

When Emily’s text came in last summer saying that she and Alex were engaged and thinking of an April wedding, I don’t think it was even a question when I discussed it with Jake. I’m pretty sure I just yelled into the next room, “We’re going to New Orleans in April!”

And now, sitting on the pew watching her take her own vows four years after I took mine, I couldn’t help but be grateful for the magnitude of the moment and for this friendship that has lasted 23 years. It hit me so much that we had both been at these monumental moments in each other’s lives and I felt so grateful for her friendship, I can’t even begin to put it into words.

It’s so important to take a moment and just realize the beauty in every moment. Be grateful for moments as they are happening. The ability to live in the moment is something wonderful and important that comes so easily when we’re children and everything is new and you’re under the care of adults that are taking care of everything for you. However, don’t lose that child-like innocence. Don’t let the weight of adulthood beat out the beauty of taking in each moment as it’s happening – however big or small that moment is.

Congratulations, Emily and Alex!

If I Fell

Recently, I spent the weekend at my parents’ house. My husband was out of town on a business trip for 10 days, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to spend some time with a few of my favorite people. I love spending time with my family, and even an hour with them is always a little rejuvenating.

I had some good laughs with my brother; I went on a few walks with my dad; I went to a lecture with my mom; we all went to church on Sunday; I got some home-cooked meals, and life just felt a little more magical by the time I was driving to work on Monday morning.

On Sunday night, we had a cookout. My dad grilled burgers, and although it was the end of January, we ate outside. This would definitely be a perk of unpredictable Houston weather. Two years ago on the same date, I remember my boss was calling off work due to ice, and now here we were in short sleeves grilling burgers and pretending we were minutes away from the ocean on a cooler June evening.

My parents just got a new sound system, and we had The Beatles playing all afternoon. At one point, my parents’ song, “If I Fell,” came on, and they promptly stopped what they were doing to dance to it.

As I watched these two people I admire so much dance to a song they so loved, I thought about their story. It’s quite magical.

My parents met on their very first day of college at St. Lawrence University. My dad was one of the freshman boys who was helping people move their stuff into the dorms, and my mom happened to be one of the people he helped.

This was only the beginning of their wonderful friendship. Freshmen year, my dad dated the girl who was then my mom's sophomore roommate. Without any explanation, my mom’s roommate broke up with him on the first day back from summer vacation. My dad was crushed and turned to my mom as a friend wondering what happened. In addition, my mom broke up with her boyfriend half-way through the year. Mom never talks about this boyfriend, but I’ve always gotten the impression that he deserved the dumping he got. Soon after, my parents found themselves drawn to each other at every event they both attended.

February of that year rolled around and my dad’s fraternity (SAE, if you are wondering) had a party coming up. My dad was sitting at lunch one day with one of his friends and saying he had no idea whom to invite. This brilliant friend (who was later the best man in my parents’ wedding) suggested my dad invite my mom. At first, my dad shot the idea down saying they were just friends and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. Mr. Brilliant reminded him that if my dad didn’t ask her, someone else would, and they would end up talking to each other the whole night anyway, so why didn’t he save himself the trouble and ask her himself?

A few seconds later, my mom walked by, and the wheels began to turn for my dad.

Sure enough, he asked my mom out to his fraternity’s party. Even though my mom didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship either and was also hoping someone else would ask her, she accepted the invitation.

That night, they saw each other at a hockey game and walked over to a fraternity party that played a Beatles and Beach Boys count-down. “If I Fell” by The Beatles came on, and they turned and sang it to each other.

It was only 10 days after my parents' first date when my mom called her mom and told her she had just started dating the man she was going to marry. After she got off the phone, my mom dashed off to class. On the way out of her dorm, she ran into my dad. My dad said the moment he saw my mom walking out of her dorm and rounding the corner for him, he knew my mom was the one. As he has put it when he tells the story, "It was like seeing my whole future walking toward me."

Later that evening, my dad asked my mom what she had been doing that day. As she ran through the events of the day, she mentioned talking to her mom before running into my dad on her way to class. My dad paused, looked at my mom and said, “You told your mother we’re getting married.” If you know my dad, you probably know about his uncanny ability to read minds. Though my mom was a little floored at his accuracy, that was it. From then until their wedding day that was still 2 years away, life turned from "If I Fell" to "Wouldn't It Be Nice."

They were married on June 21, 1975 - a few weeks after college graduation and at the young age of 21.

When I was little, I loved that story. It was one I could listen to over and over again and never get tired of hearing (or telling myself). There was a time in my life where it was almost painful to think about, because I accepted it was true for my parents, but I was sure that it was never going to be that magical or wonderful for me. Life is life, and magical stories like theirs are rare. Even magical stories have ended in divorce.

I know there are some of you out there reading this and feeling this way – for whatever reason. Maybe you’re single and you’ve never been in a relationship. Maybe you’ve had your heart broken one too many times. Maybe you’re divorced and think you’ll never love or trust anyone again. Maybe your spouse has passed on and you feel like finding great and true love is like winning the lottery: incredibly rare and only happens once.

Once upon a time, I felt that way. I would hold onto a story like my parents’ and just hope and have an empty prayer that maybe I might have one half as magical.

But here’s the thing: God knows your desires better than anyone else does – often better than you yourself do. And even in your darkest hour, He’s still there pulling you through and providing good, because that’s what He is: Good. Always.

I always knew this in my heart, but I remember that empty, lonely feeling of hopelessness that made me want to curl up in a ball and disappear for a while when life threw a curve I felt I couldn’t hit. But sometimes, when you don’t even know it, something completely magical is waiting around the corner, and if you just stop and sit on a bench feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll miss the wonderful blessing that’s waiting for you until you pick yourself up, and move forward because that incredible future is only steps away.

So, to whoever you are and however you celebrate, whether you are happy or just on the verge, whether you know your blessings or are wondering what your blessings are, God’s got this one.

All you have to do is Trust. Sit back, relax, and have a very Happy Valentine’s Day.

Wedded Comfort

Isn't he cute?! I really like him...

It’s hard to believe it, but Jake and I just celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. In some ways, I’m so used to our marital life that it’s hard to imagine life before. However, our actual wedding day feels like it was just seconds ago.

On our first anniversary, Jake began a tradition that we’ve carried on every year, and now it’s something that I almost yearn for and crave by the moment it comes. Each year, we’ve gone out to dinner at a nice restaurant, but my favorite part is the conversation we have. We talk about the year we’ve just had and we talk about what we’re grateful for; what went well, and what needs a little bit of tweaking for the year that’s coming up.

We actually have these conversations all the time as far as talking about what’s going well and what could use a little TLC in our relationship, but the conversation we have on our anniversary is my favorite of the year. I suppose it’s because each year has had its own progress and beauty with it, and I have felt so grateful for how far we’ve come.

As we close out year four and think about year five that we’re already a week into, there’s something that I thought was important to write on: marital comfort. I’ve written on this topic before, but not quite in this fashion. I know I’ve written on the conversations I had with my mom when I was younger about how important it is to marry the right person which is ultimately someone you can be yourself with, but here’s something I wasn’t expecting. Your comfort level with your spouse grows each year. Or, at least, mine has.

When I think about our first year of marriage, I was still having trouble with new married life. This isn’t to say I didn’t like it then or that I have it down perfect now. It’s grown each year. Something I have realized is that you really can’t judge exactly how married life is going to go by the end of year one. There is always room for more progress and more love. I’ve talked about love growing more and more each day – sometimes, even each moment. But what I’ve found more than anything else is that my actual comfort level with Jake has grown so much. I’m pretty sure that if you asked me what I was most comfortable with at the end of year one – my pre-marital life with my parents or my marital life with my husband – I probably would have answered pre-marital life.

That’s not to say I didn’t love my husband or our life together. I did. I just felt like I was still figuring things out. I suppose it’s sort of like buying a pair of shoes. You go shopping and you find that perfect pair of shoes. They’re the perfect color and shape and they fit you like a glove. As you walk around the store ensuring they’re going to be comfortable on your feet, your mind wanders to your closet and all the cute outfits you could pair with them and the shoes become even more unbelievably perfect. You happily make your purchase, bring them home, wear them for a day at work, and you come home with a big blister. If you’re smart, you realize it’s a new pair of shoes that you just need to break in – not take back. You don’t love them any less, but after a day of wearing them, you’re a little sore. Your feet don’t feel like their normal comfortable selves yet, but after wearing the shoes a couple more times, your feet are happy little clams and the blister becomes a faint memory. Besides, even with the blister you felt like a million bucks and as an added bonus, all you heard was how great your new shoes were.

I thought about far we’ve come as we were talking at dinner this year. It made me really take stock of how I had come as a married woman, but it also made me feel sad for marriages that don’t make it past the first year or the marriages that aren’t supposed to happen in the first place. It made me wonder how many of those marriages were supposed to end and how many just needed a little TLC. But most of all, it made me feel even more grateful for my marriage and the incredible man I get to spend it with.

Marriage is a two-way street and it takes two people to love and care for it. I love that I married someone that this matters to. It matters to him if I’m not happy, not acting like myself, or if I need a little extra love. It matters to him if I’m happy – especially if it’s because of something he’s done so that he can repeat it. It matters to him if I am not my best, and it matters to him enough that he wants to help me get back up to my best if I’m not at it. That goes the same way for me. It matters to me that my husband is happy and joyful and acting like the wonderful man I know he is. The way we talk to each other matters. The way we relate to one another and the way we treat our home and our marriage matters. We matter. He matters. I matter. And because of it, our marriage is always progressing.

I don’t mean to say we’re perfect. After all, our marriage is only 4. It’s a little baby in preschool with a lot to learning to do. There’s a lot that we haven’t had to experience yet – like a big move (we moved from Boston to Houston, but it happened separately at the time!), buying a house, or having kids. However, for where we are and where we’re headed, I’m happy and excited and so is he, and that’s the best thing I could possibly ask for.

Happy 4th Anniversary, Mr. Lowe. I love you!

Oh, if you’re curious as to where we’ve gone for our anniversary dinners, see the list below.

1. Top of the Hub in Boston, MA

2. Spindletop in Houston, TX

3. Sorrento in Houston, TX

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