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That’s a line from the world’s greatest romantic comedy, Annie Hall. And I thought of it this morning because today is our third wedding anniversary. Apparently middle-class America celebrates the third year of marital bliss by exchanging leather goods. A symbol of durability, leather reminds couples in their third year that they’re doing something right. Whatever. I suppose now is the year to buy that swing Mr. G has always talked about.
Here’s my favorite clip from Annie Hall. I can completely identify with Allen’s character here. God they just don’t make movies like this anymore!
INTIMACY
We’re five years shy, Mr. G and I, of the seven year itch, celebrating as we did our second anniversary last night. Last year, some might remember, we spent our anniversary in the hospital because I was on bed rest for twelve weeks. So despite having to take Bump with us on our anniversary dinner (our favorite the only babysitter has gone to NYC for grad school None of our loyal bumpsitters was available that night) , we had a splendid time all things considered. It helps that we went to one of the most family-friendly places in Seattle, which happens to be about five minutes from our apartment. I’m telling you, if you haven’t been to Tutta Bella Neopolitan Pizzeria, you need to go now. Now. And don’t let the family-friendly tag turn you off: it’s only FF because it’s wide open, somewhat lively, and generally busy, so you don’t really hear the kids that are there. And, as my good friend Jess once announced (shortly after I gave birth to Bump): kids are meant to be seen, not heard. Or was it the other way around? I forget. But you get the point.
Last year because I couldn’t walk I made my husband a card for our anniversary. The antepartum ward had these elaborate arts and crafts stations that we bedridden moms-to-be could work with from our beds. This year the tradition endured and I made Mr. G yet another card that included another bad poem (a limerick no less) and a picture I “drew” on our computer (see above).
I haven’t yet received my homemade card, people, because Mr. G works on his own schedule, anniversaries and deadlines notwithstanding. That’s cool with me right now, because these days this household is all about extensions, delays, plan-B’s, and the like. That said, he has until tonight at 7PM to get his shit together. Otherwise I’ll start demanding more traditional (i.e. expensive) anniversary gifts. Tis’ my right, right?
To the two down and the decades to come!
you’re often on-line till wee hours in the morning; you’re an e-zine junkie; and you claim to read my blog “almost every day.” so what say you to posting a comment or two on this here blog every now and then? (you didn’t think i’d post this, but here it is).
there are few things more egotistical than blogging the self. so, humor me, will you?
loving you regardless,
L.
Mr. Grubby and I had a girl’s name picked out well before I even got pregnant: Mina Katherine McGuire. Mina is short for “Wilhelmina,” a common Dutch name, my mom’s middle name. Katherine after Simon’s extraordinary “Grams”. (Admittedly, I fell in love with the name and character “Mina” when I first read Stoker’s Dracula.) It took us weeks after we found out we were having a boy to decide on Aidan. Boy names are much more difficult to choose for some reason, and I’m not alone in thinking this! Many of my new-mum friends had girl names picked out well before they knew their baby’s sex. It’s like fashion: everybody knows that it’s much more fun to dress a woman than a man, so too with baby names. They’re like permanent accessories and can make as much of a statement as fashion can.
Aidan Shea McGuire?
Aidan Che Mcgure? (Simon actually proposed this…it almost seems to work now)
I’m posting an antepartum (before birth) picture of myself and me hubbie well after the fact because it dawned on me today that many of my friends, family, and colleagues never actually saw me pregnant and ’showing.’ As many nurses and friends (with kids) told me during bed rest: once the baby’s born you’ll miss those lazy days in the hospital — days when vanilla milkshakes were only a buzzer away…
This post was taken by my mother who hours before the shot searched up and down the building for a spot that looked the least hospital-ish. Great idea, mom.
