In case you missed it {or thought maybe I had vanity issues and liked to talk about myself in the third person}…my husband hacked my blog yesterday. He actually hacked it. Compliments of Live Writer.
As a birthday surprise, none the less.
He informed me, only minutes after I woke up…and minutes before he passed out {he works nights}, with a smile and a mug of tea…that he wrote me a birthday letter…but that I would have to find it. So I looked and looked and looked. All morning. In the fridge. In the pile of papers and mail. I even went as far as to look on the computer…in Word and Publisher. To no avail.
When he woke 6 hours later to discover I had yet to stumble upon it…he confessed his blog hack.
{{woah baby}}
And there you have it, world. I’m married to a rock star. Who adores me. Madly.
And no, you can’t have him. He’s all mine. But, he does like to have coffee with other men and challenge them to love their wive’s socks off. And their pants. But that’s another post for another day.
I digress.
Oh wait…while we’re on the topic of my wildly wonderful man…
My hubby took me to this fun, historical village the Christmas after we started dating. It’s called Crossroads Village & Huckleberry Railroad. I remember the Christmas-light encrusted trees and stolen kisses between sips of steaming hot chocolate. We were 21 and smitten.
It was beautiful, romantic and heaps of fun.
On Thursday, 8 years after my initial visit, while my hubby went fishing with his grandpa on a neighboring river, I reentered the gates, loin fruit in tow, accompanied by my hubby’s sweet grandma {who our little ones affectionately refer to as Gigi – or GG – for Great Grandma}.
It was loud, exhausting and heaps of fun.
Same red barns. Same $1 carousel. Same big white paddle boat with red trim. Same steam locomotive. Same ol’ general store. And delightful little classroom. Same sense of stepping back in time for a day.
Not much had changed in the village, really.
It is amazing how little the world around us changes in 8 years…
and yet, how drastically – magically, miraculously – our own little worlds can change?
As magical as that initial visit was – starry eyed and brimming with what may be {and, if I’m honest, the clever concealment of the immaturity and selfishness that bubbled beneath the surface} – the memories that have been made, the wounds that have healed, the passions that have been discovered, the character that has been strengthened and refined, the comfort and security that have been cultivated, the love-bond reinforced, and the two precious lives that have been created between then and now, leave me marveling at the sweetness of our short history together.
God has been ridiculously kind to us as we’ve journeyed together.
It wrecks me, in the most beautiful of ways.
Nothing like a little visit to a historical village to renew one’s awareness of time-treasured-togetherness.
Here’s to celebrating old memories…and to the making of the new {chink!}
*P.S. It was on my birthday last year that I officially started this little blog…here’s to one year of intentionally blooming…out loud! Thanks for taking the journey with me…it delights my heart!
