nags of a similar ilk

"I don't have to read your blog. I live it."

Right. Well, I hope you read this one. I might just point you to it.

Love.

Would you have guessed, ten years, two months ago, that the woman who showed up late to the tournament, to whom you barely said more than a "Hi, I'm Kris" when introductions were made, so busy were you concentrating on the next pull you barely looked her way, that didn't play too poorly, might have played just fine, that that woman would become your girlfriend, your lover, your wife?

Yeah, me neither.

I'm so glad we figured it out.

I'm so happy you "convinced" me to let you visit; that you were willing to move to the South Bay because I couldn't stand the hour commute after the commuting hell of Los Angeles; that you were my angel; that Melissa had answered, "but if you know of any single women, I'm looking to set him up"; that Sharon wasn't your girlfriend and invited me for that Jamba Juice run; that you didn't run the first time I just burst into tears for exactly no good reason you could fathom; that you didn't run the 100th time I did it.

I'm so glad you moved in with me; that you were willing to play house together; that you told me to "just quit your job already"; that you encouraged me to do whatever makes me happy; that you trusted me; that you showed up after I had learned the lessons in love that I needed to learn, and not before I had learned them, before I could appreciate just how incredible you are.

Thank you for breaking all the rules in relationships, simply because you didn't know them: for inviting me home for Christmas to meet the parents, after we had been dating for only a month; for buying me an engagement house, instead of the ring, and then buying me the ring anyway; for holding my hand every time we go for a walk; for kissing me goodbye every morning before you leave for work, and hello every time you return from work, and every night before we go to sleep.

Every time.

Thank you for teaching me "eh" when I want to scream "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Thank you for being you, the amazing person that you are; for hearing my call when I described to the universe who I was looking for, and being so much better than I could imagine my snuggle victim to be.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world to be with you. Don't think I don't know it.

Wonder Twin powers, activate!

Form of a four year anniversary, and a decade together.

Shape of .... Amazing.

I love you.

One of Alexander's traditions is to bring out cotton candy to the dinner table before dessert is ordered, or with the check. Ours was flavored banana bonaza.

Not that I did anything but lick it.

Kris and I have been married for three years today. Happy anniversary to us. Yay, us!

My plan was to arrive home, tell Kris to get into the car we were heading out, drive to the local sports store, have him help me buy a baseball glove, head out to the field and throw a baseball around. He's been trying to get me to throw around with him for a few weeks now, but I don't own a baseball glove (fancy that). That was what came to mind when I thought of what he'd like to do for our anniversary, throwing the baseball around, so I figured it was time to get one.

Kris had other ideas.

He made reservations and off we went to Alexanders (a site whose flash takes forever to load when you're loading uploading photos). I had some tuna dish, Kris had 12 ounces of filet mignon. At the end of the main course, I was so full, I couldn't eat another bite.

Not even a wafer thin mint.

A choclate brownie, however, I could eat. Sorta.

The waiter brought us out a "Happy Anniversary!" plate before we could order dessert. It was a wonderful surprise, and an amaingly tasty dessert. I pretty much pounded the dessert, leaving only a tiny bite for Kris, who was busy telling me of his cross-country violin trip with Matthew Albert.

When the waiter returned, I asked him if the brownie dessert he had just brought us was on the menu, I couldn't find it, and the only souffle dessert was an orange zest souffle (all souffles should be chocolate, dammit). He said no, but, hey, did we want him to bring out another one? Uh, hello? Yes.

He came back out with the next one. It read, "Happy Mother's Day." We laughed, then fixed the chocolate sauce for the correct message:

When the waiter came back, I casually mentioned Kris just graduated from college, maybe there was a Happy Graduation plate in the back? He laughed, and brought us out the next misprint:

At this point, after eating two more brownies, I had eaten so much food that standing up was physically painful. I have never been this full before, and hope to never overstuff myself at a meal like this again. I'd much rather leave just a little hungry than this full.

Kris rolled me out the door.

Happy anniversary, love. Here's to three more fantastic, wonderful years.