If you had told me eight years ago, as I prepared to walk down the aisle, that my soon-to-be husband hadn’t seen any of the Star Wars series, I might have stuttered my step a little bit. I might have looked at him and thought, “Who are you?” I would have married him, but I would have wondered about his soul, his inner most being.
On his birthday this year, my parents caught wind of his lack of Star Wars watching — yes, 7.5 years into our marriage. They gifted him with the original trilogy and I followed up with the prequels. Over the summer, to understand what on Earth or, uh, Space his oldest son was talking about on repeat, he watched all of the movies.
He liked them.
We can stay married. Hooray!
I say these things in jest, of course. I’m married to my best friend. I’d love him even if he didn’t ever watch Star Wars and even if he didn’t like it.
Mugs from Lennymud on Etsy.
But I love him just a little bit more now.
Happy Anniversary. I love you. (I know.)
Let me show you a cute picture.
Now, it’s not perfect, but it’s cute. And you had better get some “oohs” and “ahhs” on, because getting that one, solitary, singular, imperfect but semi-decent and cute photo took more patience than I had on a Monday night one week before Christmas Eve.
How hard can it possibly be to take one good photo of two boys — two boys who are semi-pros at sitting and smiling — and a six month old puppy?
Oh so hard. Let us see, shall we?
This is how it all started. Poorly.
Immediately following the above photo, as I was trying to get the dog off of LittleBrother’s lap, she peed on his lap and got to spend some time in her crate.
So I took a photo of the boys by themselves. Then we ate dinner. The world really might be ending soon, because LittleBrother finished his dinner first and helped me work on the dog sitting for a photo if I held treats up.
We could just Photoshop BigBrother in, right?
I’m not sure why LittleBrother looks as though he’s in pain.
Maybe because he knew she would do that. Yeah, probably.
Eventually BigBrother finished his dinner and — uh? — the dog farted? I don’t know.
And then Callie gave up and came for the treat. Whatever, dog. Have it. I’m done.
At least — at least — she’s really very cute.
Remind me of this post next Christmas when I say, “Hey! I’m going to take a picture of the dog with the boys in front of the tree!”