One evening several days after our anniversary, our two older children meandered into the kitchen and nonchalantly handed my husband and me each a newspaper-wrapped package.
"Happy Anniversary," they said. Their voices were calm but in a strained sort of way, like they were trying to choke back a bad case of giggleitis. And then we tore open the packages and everyone lost it.
Teenagers can be so much fun.
This same time, years previous: the quotidian (9.1.14), caramelized oatmeal topping, around the house, and dreaming.