a swelling happiness
Mark’s currently taking a class on radical publishers/writers during the British Romantic period — which of course creates 1700 pages of  light summer reading for him. (Wink. Wink.)  Although he at times must  drudge through
a {public} note about love: eleven years of marriage
Mark and I are married 11 years today, a year that has been the most difficult and yet binding; the kind of year that forces our heart roots, once shallow and neatly divided, deeper into
final light + our backyard + husband next to me + kids playing + red wine + 65˚ = {this
{this moment}: A Friday ritual. A single photo (or group of photos) capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor, and remember. (inspired by soulemama)
on love |the messy sort that endures all
Mark, I wonder if I’ll ever forget that moment. That phone call. That evening, sitting by the pool at my parent’s house, talking about American Beauty, interrupted. Life, interrupted. I had only spent days with
on love | have I always trusted you?
Since I first read Amber and Seth (and several others) writing letters to one another about their marriage, I’ve wanted to do the same. It seems normal to pay attention to, write about,  and photo
California | celebrating 11 years later
THE BEST OF IT by Kay Ryan However carved up or pared down we get, we keep on making the best of it as though it doesn’t matter that our acre’s down to a square
happy 35th birthday, love.
It really is a wonderful life. And we all wanted to make sure you remembered, so this is how we celebrated you this year on your 35th. You also received many written words of life
happy 8 years.
Even today. A day that we find out that Blythe has a staph infection which requires excessive hot baths, ointments, and antibiotics (not to mention the glorious job of popping puss pockets on her butt
new life
Mark had asked me recently, “Are you sad that this is your last pregnancy?” (Somehow hoping to solidify our agreement that this will be our grand finale.) “No.” I responded. “It’s not the actual pregnancy