Dulywed: Year 9

Poppy,

I'm sorry. When I held your chocolate croissant ransom tonight and made you answer how many years we'd been married before I turned it over to you, I was wrong. I thought it was eight years, but it was only after taking two punitive bites that I realize it's nine. Just think of it as me saving your life with calorie restriction.

This year I actually had to contemplate whether I could save your life. We started this year with you getting some scary swollen lymph nodes on your neck and head. You've had this persistent cough for a few years, and I'd always assumed it was asthma. When those nodes popped up, I was worried. Maybe that cough was something else, something scary, something named Hodgkin's. I started keeping track of your nightly fevers and the dates we went to the doctor for stuff. I tried to take control of something, even if that something is data, because my heart would be in chaos without you in it. One day I had a cathartic cry in my car in the driveway, asking myself what if it is the worst case scenario? Can I handle it? I took stock of myself -- my ability to provide for us financially, my ability to care for you physically, my support system's proximity -- and I felt relieved. I knew that even if you had to go through chemo that put you in a coma, I could carry you up our steps. I could go full time at work and keep our health insurance. I could coordinate help from my mom and yours now that both of them live in our city. I knew I could handle it, and that made me confident that I could get you through it.

Luckily, you got better. Must've just been some pretty intense asthma.

Since then, our year has been awesome. So good that we've wondered aloud when we're going to get our share of the bad luck. I mean, my family has basically disintegrated, your family finally had a mini crisis, but in between those bad-ish times, we've been having a blast. First we went to Turkey and rode in a hot air balloon over one of the most magical landscapes in existence. I cried and you laughed at me. Then we went to the cabin in Yosemite and explored waterfalls with Walt. When it was time to leave, I cried and you laughed at me. Then we went to the Philippines for Bubba's wedding and escaped to Thailand where we rode an elephant and gave it a bath. I may have cried but you'll never know because it was splashy. And a few days ago, you wanted to go to lunch at Indian buffet and I didn't want to put pants on. I cried and you laughed at me. Basically, this year I learned to throw tantrums and they are hysterical. Also, we were characters in a video game and I was promptly shot in the stomach and killed. HILARIOUS.

The thing about all this, about all these 9 years, that I appreciate the most is that we're still laughing. I mean, we're still bitching about dishes and garbage and video games and the toilet paper roll and the last of the soy milk, but our laughing is still going strong. Like the other day when I saw those gray hairs coming out of your chest and pointed and laughed. God, you are so funny when you get old.

I love the ridiculous things that you say, things that have become such a part of our vernacular that I say them to other people without realizing how insane they must sound. Like Triple X Laydowns. You know, that vegging we do on the couch in the pajamas that we change into the second we cross the threshold? The relaxing that's so intense we take the back cushions off? Not one thing sexy about that degree of lazy, but it is called Triple X Laydowns and it is the best part of my day. And your songs. Oh, those ridiculous songs that come out of your mouth before I even open my eyes in the morning. Where does that come from? If I wasn't about to kill you I'd be cracking up with your random playlist performance.

Speaking of performances, well done at the Stein Holding Competition at Oktoberfest this year. Your muscles are great even after all this time.

The gift that comes with nine years is pottery. Or maybe willow. Or possibly wicker. Hallmark can't get it together. I'm going with pottery. It seems like after nine years, if things fall apart, there's likely to be some residual that will persist for civilizations to come. Some lasting remnant that archaeologists will dig up and be like, wow, they weren't as stupid as we thought. When they dig up our graves, which will be together because if you die I'm coming and if I die you'll have no joy left in your life so you'll automatically die, I hope they find our faces frozen in a guffaw. I hope our laughs outlast us. I hope that the silliness, the freedom to be ridiculous and absurd and wonderfully appreciated for it, I hope that lasts forever.

Happy anniversary. I'm not a chicken.

Amber

Whale Tails. Not the trashy kind.

Dustin and Lena came to town for some residency interviews, and it turns out that Lena, whose education failed her since she cannot fence or speak French, is a pretty awesome sailor. She brought the enthusiasm to sailing that Mack wishes I had, but, to be fair, she doesn't have to be on antihistamines. I was just glad someone else was onboard to do the work.

We were tooling around the bay when we saw a whale spout puff up from the ocean surface so Captain Mack pointed us that way and we got a real life whale show.

With just the sails up, the whales surface and come close since they're not scared off by motor sounds. When I got home, I checked the tail and found out our entertainer was a humpback. Mack and Lena kept us on his course, and Dustin and I, well, we appreciated it. 

We also saw pods of dolphins and pelicans and sea lions. It was such a beautiful day, and then I remembered this time last year, when Mack and I were taking a test after our first sailing class, after a day on the ocean with whales and dolphins and sea lions. It's amazing how much we've learned and enjoyed in the past year on this new sailing adventure. 

Halloweenola

This year, Halloween killed me. I flew to New Orleans for Leiah's bachelorette party and I died. So did the other gals on the trip.

Leiah, Magnolia, Joanna, Alison, Me, and Chala. A handful of well adjusted, employed, inspiring, normal chicks

AND THEN THEY ALL DIED. AND GOT SLACK JAW.

Leiah had a rockin' zombie bride costume made from her old wedding dress, and it felt wonderfully appropriate to give it new life at her bachelorette party. I mean, we're all made up from bits and pieces of all the experiences we've had, the good and the bad parts, and if those bits and pieces get us to make happier and better decisions, might as well embrace 'em.

Like these hangover bags wouldn't have been possible if we hadn't all had thooooosseee mornings.

Hangover bags featuring sunglasses, ear plugs, sleep masks, hair ties, eye drops, Advil, lip balm, a little V8 can and a tiny bottle of vodka, as modeled by two people formerly known as Whiskey and Vodka.

We played a bunch of fun games, like Who's Most Likely To... and Leiah/David trivia. We may have added in a drinking component and ended up playing on a car parked in the yard of our AirBNB. EXPERIENCES. THEY GIVE YOU WISDOM.

Although, they also give you kitchen club dancing and make you sing Ahhhh skeet, skeet, skeet skeet! and dance underneath Amazon-sized women. Which are Leiah's type when it comes to friends.

Thanks to Uber, we managed to get out and see the city. We went to Frenchmen Street and ate pita pizzas. And we ran into a League of Their Own, but it was all guys dressed as ladies. We bought art at an art market. We walked down streets around Frenchmen, all decorated for Halloween and illuminated by centuries-old gas lamps. New Orleans is awesome. Covered in a thin layer of booze and/or vomit (depending on how sober you are), but undeniably interesting in a good way.

Can't do Nola without Cafe DuMonde's beignets. Even if the server was an assholes.

If you look close enough, you can probably see 3 illegal things going on here. 

Apparently Leiah and Allie know how to make goblets from gum wrappers. Which were perfect for getting those disgusting Hurricanes down in small enough portions that puking wasn't worth it.

Leiah got a psychic. In true Leiah fashion, she's pretty sure the universe is telling her to quit her job. We got another take away ;)

Crawfish! Sucking heads! At Channing Tatum's restaurant! Spicy!

The big night out was Saturday, which was actually Halloween night. With its reputation for voodoo and hauntings, New Orleans is like a living Halloween backdrop. So we all summoned our inner dead, slashed up some perfectly good thrift store dresses, shellacked some makeup on our faces, doused ourselves in blood, and got zombied.

Just as we were about to head out, Joanna went to check on her truck and IT WAS GONE. Towed. From the corner. We hopped an Uber and tried to act normal at the tow company. 

Just another zombie getting her car from the impound. So normal.

We dragged our asses up and down Bourbon Street, fumbling into a bars whose names had something to do with a cat because UK, and ended up in a karaoke bar. In case you don't know her, Magnolia is a karaoke goddess. We got her on the list, rolled her little scooter through a crowd of people to get to the stage, and her and Leiah busted out a rendition of Me & Bobby McGee that made all us cowards die of jealousy.

It rained a lot, but somehow we managed to bar hop between downpours. And when it was just drizzly, it made our costumes even better. Then we used Leiah's veil to relive the trauma Shannon and I caused her as a child when we'd bring out THE GUARDS when she wouldn't do what we said. My god, we were assholes. Clever, brilliantly manipulative assholes.

One guy was dressed as Maruchan Ramen and giving out Ramen noodles as part of his costume, so after our big night out, we made some impromptu ramen with fried eggs and fried garlic on top. Exotic drunk California-inspired New Orleans-granted ramen. 

I still don't know how we managed a 3-day weekend with drinking every single day, but we did. Each morning I woke up thinking, I don't know if I can do this again, but a couple Yeungling later and my inner 22-year-old came out. Then we all went out. And we found this... a very handsome outer 22 year old.

I love that Leiah is wearing her FEYONCE shirt.

That weekend in New Orleans, celebrating Leiah and enjoying the extraordinary women she keeps close to her, was one of the best Halloween weekends I've ever had. Perhaps not the best for my organ function, but definitely good for my soul.