43

I turned 43 yesterday. My son, Josiah, gave me an extra squeezy hug and my son, Drake, gave me the highest of fives. I got some nice cards, including one from my grandma that was left completely blank inside.
"My cousin, Debbie, made that card," my mom told me.
"Grandma, you forgot to write inside the card," I said, showing it to my grandma.
"What?" That is always her first response.
"You forgot to write inside the card you gave me."
Then she stared me down, and I lost.
"It's pretty though. Debbie made it." I said to let her off the hook.
"Debbie made what?"
"This card," I said, showing it to her again.
"Oh, that's a pretty card."

 And that is when I learned that Grandma's ways are beyond me and not to be questioned.

The Mystery of Girls

During a game in which the boys were asked questions that, typically, girls would know the answers to and girls were asked questions that boys would know the answers to, the boys received this question: "During which season is it traditionally unacceptable to wear white shoes?"
"Why would it matter what color your shoes are?" Drake asked. "That's just crazy."
"That's a real thing?" Mike asked. "There's really a season when you can't wear white shoes?"
"It wouldn't be winter," Josiah stated, "because white shoes would match the white snow. That has to be allowed."
"Maybe summer," Drake suggested, "because you might step in mud and they would get dirty."
"Oh! It has to be either fall or spring because that is when it rains most and they would get the dirtiest," Josiah agreed.
"Let's go with spring," Mike suggested. "I think that is when it is the muddiest outside."
"The answer," Makenna announced, reading the back of the card in her hand, "is from Labor Day until Memorial Day."
"What?" they all sputtered together.
"That isn't a season!" Josiah shouted.
"Would that be winter?" Drake asked.
"No," Mike answered. "It's technically part of all the seasons."
"It's just traditional," I tried to explain, "to only wear white when it is warm."
"That's not a season!" Drake stated.
"I will never understand girls," Josiah said.

I kind of see their point.

Kitty Love

"I'm going to get some kittens to keep the mice away," I told Mike at the beginning of summer.
"I hate cats."
"I hate mice."
"I can see how this will end. Just please keep them away from me."
"They will be outside cats. You won't even know they live here."
"I hate cats."

So imagine my surprise when I walk into my front yard and see my cat-hating husband snuggled up in the grass with my kitten. I'm not calling my husband a softie. Not out loud so he can hear it, anyway.

To be fair, that kitten is irresistible. 

Wow Internet

"I didn't know my personal, private card that I gave you for our anniversary would end up on the internet," Mike said.
"Well, you'll have to be more of a jerk if you don't want stuff like that to happen."
"I already tried that. I still ended up on the internet."
"Good point. I guess it's your destiny."
"What other things that I do are going to show up on the internet?" he asked.
"Probably this," I told him as we steered our car through the maze of rural southern Illinois backroads. "How do we know this guy isn't some serial killer?"
"He seemed really nice on the phone," Mike confidently assured me.

Finally, around 11 PM, we found the remote location of the man Mike had located earlier that morning when he scoured Craigslist postings from the cities and towns along our route home from Nashville to Des Moines.

He wasn't a serial killer.

He was, in fact, super nice. He sold Mike the banjo of his dreams and spent the next hour showing Mike how to play. His surprisingly young wife and I made friendly chit chat, and I found her delightful. I was mesmerized by her horn rimmed glasses and bouffant hairdo. We all exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.

We left with an old banjo and some new friends.

Wow Internet. Wow.

Lucky

On our first wedding anniversary, we bought each other expensive, frivolous gifts and went out to eat at a restaurant we couldn't afford in fancy clothes we borrowed.

On our fifth anniversary we attended the ballet.

On our tenth we splurged for a night in a fancy hotel.

On our fifteenth we were in a marriage crisis and barely smiled.

On our twentieth we told God thank you for the miracle of saving our family, bought each other expensive, frivolous gifts and went out to eat at a restaurant we couldn't afford in fancy clothes that we should have borrowed but didn't.  

Friday we celebrated our twenty-second anniversary. By now we have actually had a chance to experience all those things you say in your vows. We have had and held from that day forward for better and for worse. We have been through sickness and health. We did richer and poorer. And then much poorer. We were clumsy about it, and we took a crooked path to get where we are.

To celebrate I bought my husband a wok the size of a bathtub because we regularly cook for a small army of teenagers. He bought me a DVD player because our dog ate the remote to our last one. We went out to eat at an affordable restaurant and returned home to find our house full of teenagers who wanted to join us in watching the romantic movie we rented.

Just when I thought it couldn't get better, Mike handed me a beautiful and sentimental card that sent love ripples through my heart.

Perfect.

Voice Mail Woes

Drake told me that he was thinking about joining the wrestling team for school this year. As I was sitting in the carpool lane to pick him up from school, I thought it would be smart to call the school and find out when wrestling started. I called, and the front office transferred me to the head coach's voice mail.

Drake and his friends entered the car at the exact moment the beep to leave a message sounded in mygreet the kids after not seeing them all day voice I use when I see them.
ear. Somehow, the two experiences combined in my head, and I began talking into the phone in the

"Hey!" I said, overly friendly. "This is Sharla!" As if we were old friends instead of complete strangers. Rattled, I continued. "My son, Drake Hintz, who is a sophomore this year, is interested in Wendy."
"What?" Drake asked from the back seat.
"Who is Wendy?" his friends asked.
"I don't even know a Wendy!" Drake said.
"NO!" I shouted at the voice mail. "Not Wendy! Wrestling! He is interested in wrestling."
And then, fearing further action, I hung up.

"Well, Son," I said to his red-faced reflection in my rearview mirror, "I've done all I can do."

Mile High Bed

Twenty-two years ago, when Mike and I were first married, my parents said that they were throwing away their lumpy, old, horrible mattress. Being broke newlyweds, we told them that lumpy, old, and horrible sounded free to us so we would take their mattress.

Two months ago we decided that it was finally time to purchase a nice mattress for our middle-aged backs. Memory foam is all the rage these days, so we forked over the much-more-than-expected money and proudly hauled the heavy thing home. The next morning we smiled at each other in silence and stiffly limped about our breakfast ritual. Six days later we were watching TV well past our normal bedtime.

"Is there anything else you want to watch?" I asked when the late-night show ended.
"No," Mike moaned.
"I guess we should go to bed," I sighed.
"I can't!" Mike fairly shouted. "I just can't take it! I hate that mattress!"
"Thank God! I hate it so much!"
"We will return it tomorrow."
I put our old 4 inch mattress topper on the horrid memory foam, and we slept uncomfortably, but peacefully knowing it would be the last night we had to endure such sleeping conditions.

We overstayed our welcome at the mattress store the next day. The store offered only one chance to exchange the hated memory foam for something else, and we wanted to make sure we made the right choice. We finally settled on one, and, even though we had to pay extra, we smiled knowing it couldn't be worse.

"Did that mattress look super tall to you?" Mike asked over the phone the next day.
"No. Why?"
"I just dropped it off at home, and the pillow top on it is so big you can hardly see the headboard anymore."
"Well, at least it should be nice to sleep on!" I said, looking forward to finally sleeping soundly.

The next morning we smiled at each other in silence and stiffly limped about our breakfast ritual. Six nights later we stood silently by the bed, hanging our heads in dread, as we were about to climb in for the night.

"I can't do it!" I fairly shouted. "Thanks for buying such a nice new mattress for us, but I just hate it!"
"Thank God! I hate it so much!"

I dragged out our old 4 inch mattress topper and piled it on the mattress. Since the new height of the mattress was well above my belly button, Mike had to climb in first and then pull me up.

And that is why our fancy, new mattress is leaning against a wall while we sleep soundly on the lumpy, old mattress we know and love.