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Marin County
In February of 2017, my sister treated my husband and me to a night away. When we checked in, the woman at reception asked, “Is it your anniversary?” No, not until June. At dinner that night, the waiter wanted to know, “Is it someone’s birthday?” Nope, we just missed one, and the other is months away.
It’s official: my mat and I are getting back together. It’s probably not accurate to say we had totally broken up, but for the last few months, we’ve certainly been estranged.
Our family adopted a puppy last week, and he is adorable. He’s big and fat and clumsy and floppy, and we named him Obi Wan, Obi for short. He has giant paws, hazel-y green eyes, and a coat as soft as anything I have ever felt.
And he is totally bonkers.
Y’all. My boys are nine and eleven now. NINE and ELEVEN. I could easily write 10,000 words on how I can’t believe this is even possible, but here’s the thing. While I loved them to bits when they were babies, with their little squidgy legs and the snuggliness of carrying them anywhere and everywhere, I am really, REALLY loving where we are right this very minute.
This is always the craziest time of the year. Whatever holiday you celebrate (or even you don’t have a holiday to celebrate), there is a frenzied energy in the air. People are rushing about, work is nuts, kids are bonkers, and if you accidentally turn on the news, Peace on Earth is not exactly happening right now.
