Eight years ago, my best friend and I went to grab a drink after work. We talked and laughed for hours, and then he walked me to my car. We said our goodbyes, and then, completely unexpectedly, he kissed me. It was the most perfect kiss. The rest, as they say, is history.
Seven years ago, we celebrated our first anniversary by having dinner at a very fancy, very expensive, extremely overrated Argentinian steak house, then promptly returned to our true selves and went to grab a drinks and dance our hearts out at a local bar.
For our eighth, all I wanted was to go watch “Proud Mary” because we both love us some Taraji. No fancy dinner. No big romantic night out. Just a good move. But alas, parenthood happened.
Friday night was out of the question because Mona had a late game and it’s her last season and we weren’t going to miss that. Saturday we had a 10K and I was dead ass tired for the rest of the day. Sunday we had a birthday party that neither of us wanted to miss. And today is a school night.
So we ordered in. Tacos from our favorite taqueria. Except my husband is outside with Caleb putting together a basketball hoop/backboard/thingamajiggy. The girls demand my attention with their new dance moves and perfected cartwheels. And Mona has oodles of homework. So I wait. I bathe the girls and ready them for an early bedtime (cross your fingers). I ready my stuff for tomorrow because I have class so I’ll be out late. I type a post because I miss documenting stuff. I wait for that moment when it’s just us sitting on the couch catching up on our shows. Because those are our moments. This is our thing. And it couldn’t be more perfect than that.
Here’s to many more, my love. ❤