Last night I came home from a friend’s house to find this:
Now to the untrained eye, this may look like a mere desk with some random (really random) stuff on it in a typical suburban home. But to me, it was — don’t laugh — the best anniversary present evah.
Today is our fifteenth anniversary. Fifteen years ago, I woke up in a very oddly decorated condo in Incline Village, California, put on a dress that I still consider way too poofy (what can you say — mothers) and got married. It’s been a fairy tale ever since (in that apparently I’ve been just charming enough to have prevented my husband from killing me).
What are we doing today to mark the special occasion you ask? Well, Tenzin is working a 12-hour shift (that will probably last more like 14 — damn, lazy government workers). And so far, no plans for a grand trip to Barbados.
But this is us. I’m worse at remembering dates than he is. We don’t really “do” holidays and get each other fantastic gifts. And I’d be more angry than happy if he went out and bought some expensive do-dad for me without discussing it first (and with those statements, men from around the globe suddenly find me wildly attractive). It may sound corny but we try to be good to each other every day, not just on special occasions, so it doesn’t seem like we need to make up for it.
But back to the desk. The evil desk. I haven’t seen the surface of this desk in. . . years? It’s upstairs in the hallway and has become the dumping ground for all the kids’ papers that they “need to go through.” Every vacation, I vow to have them sit down and sort through the mess to figure out what they can’t live without.
Unfortunately, they’ve both inherited a gene from my husband that makes cleaning go like this: pick up something, look at it, start to read it/mess with it/play with it, forget you’re actually sorting through stuff, run out of time. And so the desk has remained. . .
Until last night. Last night, while I was at my friend’s (a miraculous statement in itself), the husband and kids baked brownies and sorted through all the stuff on the desk. They even put everything into the black file boxes I got them (see — I try to be organized, I really try). Incidentally, there was a framed wedding invitation and a bunch of snapshots from the rehearsal dinner stuck back there in the rubble — how’s that for timing.
So I won’t be jetting off to a tropical island today. Or really even seeing my guy. But walking past that little piece of paradise is more than enough.
Now if we could just get started on the closets. . .
|Oops, not the best photo — Elfie had her finger over the lens.|