Happy Anniversary

Today is our pseudo-wedding anniversary.

Actually, Pooks and I never had a wedding (for that, I thank my pre-wedding pregnancy and Mejii-MIL's wedding boycott). Instead, we eloped on Leap Day in the New Millenium (or technically the last year of the Old Millenium). So every four years on 2/29, we celebrate our true wedding anniversary. I wanted to celebrate it only every four years, but Pooks convinced me that our anniversary should be celebrated every year, so we chose 2/28.

We had our shotgun wedding at the botanical garden in Land Park. Just my mom, my good friend and sworn in justice-of-the-peace Good Mikey, Pooks, and a very, very 6-month pregnant me (I guess you could say BedHeadSid was there...).

That year, like this, it had rained every night for almost a week and things were very wet, grey, and melancholy at times. The ominous weather, Mejii-MIL's wedding boycott, and my pregnancy hormones rendered me an emotional wreck, and I wondered if getting married was the right thing to do.

I had my doubts about getting married to Pooks: 1) we'd never discussed marriage before, 2) his proposal ("I suppose we should do the right thing and get married") was less (far less) than ideal (did I mention that he was drunk and I was high?), 3) we lived paycheck to paycheck and hadn't a red cent to our name, 4) we lived in a bohemian studio amongst some of the partying-est, albeit interesting, bohemians, and most importantly, 5) we didn't know where the fuck we were going in life.

Hardly he nor I were the marrying type. And yet we did.

Here we are seven years later, the appointed stage of the "Seven Year Itch," and I can say with a clear conscience that, hooking up for life with Pooks was the best thing that happened to me. Although we've had our rough patches, we've come this far, and in retrospect, I am the better for it.

Thank you Pooks for sharing your single bed, your meager yet nourishing food, your humble and bare home; for listening to my woes and bullshit yet being kind nevertheless; for being my best friend at my darkest hour and for being my staunchest supporter at my finest hour. Thank you for not minding that the house is a mess 60% or more of the time (really!). Thank you for working so hard for our family. Thank you for telling me everyday how much you love coming home to your family. Thank you for telling me how much you love me everyday; even when I have no make up on; even though I've gained 50+ pounds, outweigh you by 10, and can pin you down in 5; even when the hair on my legs are longer than yours.

(writtten 3/1)
Lastly, thank you for last night. Our anniversary date was everything I wished it to be. We enjoyed each other's company, had some tasty hor d'oevres and libations, and watched a thoroughly captivating art house film that we talked about for hours afterward (Pan's Labyrinth was a magical ride and fully deserved the oscars/nominations). I was smittened by you still; you made my heart flutter and caused me to blush many a time last night. After all these years...

Did I do right by marrying you Pooks? Absolutely, without a doubt, with all my heart, I love you and know we were meant to be. The universe willed it and it took over a decade for me to understand it.

Me love you long time, Pookie.

Amgen Bike Tour Sacramento - Hey that's Pooks & BHS!

Yesterday, Pooks and BHS had a fine day at the Amigen Bike Tour stage of Sacramento. Even though both of them had their colds to contend with, they stood out in the cool weather to receive the body of cyclists (peloton?) on their final leg of the norcal tour. As the cyclists poured over the Tower Bridge and into the final laps around the capitol, Pooks and BHS stood on L Street and marvelled at the colorful blur of riders as they crossed the finish line. Pooks and BHS were so excited to partake of this California race, but it seemed so anti-climatic in those final few seconds, Pooks said, especially after all the waiting, the buzzed anticipation of the riders.

Ah, isn't that the way it usually is, though? The path, the journey, the time spent between father and son -- that's where it's at.

BTW, the Sac Bee and other newspapers thought my two boys were photogenic enough to print in their article about the Amigen Tour.

happy love day

the brutes are at my feet, mewling and caterwauling as i speak. so let me make this fast. the boys had a great valentine's day. Halmoni and i got beautiful flowers that Pooks walked all over downtown for and BHS stitched Halmoni a purple heart puff necklace and wrote her a personal Valentine's day card. i baked my sweet pooks a sweet apple pie and tried not to nag him too much.

as i write SHMT is whacking me with a stick toy just now and BHS is screaming at him to sidetrack SHMT's attention from my whacking post. SHMT is making suction noises as he walks on hardwood floors (he's now climbing on the box barricade, to the TV, to get on my lap-he just whacked BHS). BHS is exerting his big brother authority by screaming at SHMT, "NO HITTING BROTHER!" We're trying to get BHS to "talk" to his little brother instead of yell, but you know, all the early childhood development pyscho-babbo aside, sometimes a good blood-curdling scream stops the violence in its tracks. but then, there's the odd screaming/loud, nature/behavior of SHMT that keeps cropping up. where'd that come from? our house is filled with such quiet people...

okay the intercom to the phone just rang and SHMT is on the line talking into it. Now BHS has taken over and is pretending to be Pooks, "Hi honey, just calling to say i'll be home from work soon..." Now he's coming into the room, making all kinds of feedback screech out.

ah, nothing but peace and quiet at the home of the flying slesickis.


oh yes, BHS's birthday is on the horizon as well as...
1) a camping trip with Grandpa R,
2) a possible wedding of my brother's that may be in the Bahamas or Korea,
3) a trip to Korea if my dad is up for it, and
4) a trip to Palm Springs if we can swing it in the fall.

2007 at the very least will be a year of travel, and hopefully not a year of travail like last year.