This year I didn’t have quite the foresight.
Nor the energy.
Nor the memory.
Truth is, I forgot to call the babysitter to see if she would come stay with our kiddos so we could go celebrate an anniversary like most married couples.
On a date.
By the time I remembered, I was too ashamed to call her for fear that:
1) I’d sound like a typical mother of 9, forgetting everything until the last minute, if at all.
2) I’d actually have to put on uncomfortable undergarments. And wear a dress. And uncomfortable aka non-Born heels.
Considering all the chocolate chip and Cheeto puff eating I’ve been doing over this past winter, those undergarments would have had a mighty big job.
So I decided to give my undergarments a break. I didn’t call the sitter.
And our anniversary ‘date’ consisted of lunch at a local Chinese restaurant, indulging in an excess of pan fried noodles, beef lo mein and General Tso’s chicken.
With our 11, 9, 7, 6, 5, 4 and 3 year old in tow.
Afterward, we both agreed it was the best date we’ve had in a long, long time. Or maybe it was me stating it, and him agreeing to it… simply to alleviate my guilt over not calling the sitter.
Either way, those were the best pan fried dumplings I’ve ever had.
Happy anniversary, baby. I am so grateful that you love me just the way I am.