Twenty - Part 3

Part 1
Part 2

When we were 21 years old, we accepted that a wedding reception involved a nicely decorated church fellowship hall or gym,
punch and cake,
church-approved background music,
and if you were really on the cutting edge....a picture slideshow.
And not much else.
 
Back then there were plenty of relatives and friends to hug.  We got almost nothing to eat while visiting with everyone and woke up in the middle of the night at a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere starving to death.  I deeply regretted not having more formal photos taken of the groom's side of the family that had assembled from parts unknown across the country. There is a photo of Robb fake-dancing with my Mom.  We had fun....I mean...we had pulled off the wedding part and were very relieved. But it was a buttoned-down affair, reflective of our theology at the time.

Fast forward 20 years and we found ourselves once again in a church.  But this time, there was no question about having fun.  This was a party. And Robb had thought of everything.  For him, God is in the details.

He hired Fayetteville's poet laureate, Clayton Scott,  turned food-truck-chef of Best Frickin' Chicken to cater with chicken and waffles on the menu.  Their secret maple cream gravy is no longer available on the menu, but Robb got him to make me my own delicious batch because he knew how much I love it!  Long-time friend Derek from Core Brewery brought kegs of delicious local beer.  Samantha, who is one of the single most interesting and beautiful people I have ever met in my life, created the cake with a nod to our original wedding cake, with gorgeous flowers on top and candied rose petals on the cupcakes.  Scott was emcee and spun the tunes ...a masterful mix that included personal favorites and crowdsourced dance-tunes...while his exquisite Julie arranged all the flowers, including the bouquets and boutonnieres...using daisies and roses, our original flowers.  The whole thing smacked of thoughtful planning, generosity, joy, collaboration, inclusion, and un-self-conscious celebration.

Our friends Derek and Natalie spoke words of blessing over us in the form of toasts. Their words reminded us again that the love we have for each other, the life we are building, isn't just for ourselves, but instead, brings good to our community, both in and out of our church.

Somewhere in all of this, I was getting bits and pieces about the secret Facebook Event Page where the collaboration had run wild since March.  That's right...for almost five months, this joyous scheming had been simmering away.  There had been a moment when I glimpsed the page open on Robb's computer and I saw the picture at the top of the page from our wedding day, and I asked him what it was, and he had fumbled for an answer.  I chalked it up to "the surprise" and didn't think much else about it.  Little did I know of the playlist suggestions, group-thinking, and clandestine virtual high-fives that were going on under my nose as each piece of the puzzle fell into place.

What I did know was that something wonderful was becoming obvious:  My husband, who finds it so difficult at times to be vulnerable, had dropped all masks while planning this event with everyone. He was telling the truth when he wrote on the event page: "If you ruin this surprise, I will never speak to you again."  But he was also bringing people along on a grand adventure. Instead of acting as a lone wolf, he shared the whole project, inviting everyone in on the fun.  Creativity IS leadership, and he was building trust and bonds with our children and with everyone involved with the event.  Who does something like this unless they are an extraordinary person?  He believes deeply in the comedy and the fairy tale of the gospel and he has a gift for keeping child-like wonder alive for people who sometimes drift out of Narnia and think they've outgrown it.  That is what fuels him.  That is the consistent, stubborn, nearly insane assertion he has been rock-steady about since I met him: this belief in God's grace as the transformational element above and beyond all we could ask or imagine. So why not throw a perfect party for the love of his wife?  Why not pastor a church tirelessly with a full time job as well? Why not help a stranger in need?  Why not welcome all to the communion table? Why not attempt to wade the water of politics with love in your heart for everyone?  Why not believe the Cleveland Browns could win the Super Bowl?   All is grace.

If he had a twin, separated from him at birth, it would be Natalie.  They are wired so similarly and appear so differently.  So it is no wonder that my beautiful friend was intricately involved in the whole thing, I couldn't possibly explain all that she did, except perhaps that she "got it."  She knew what he was shooting for and worked to make it all happen.

 We never learned to dance.  It was "not done" at weddings by most in our circles and there are no dances at Christian schools, either.  I would fumble badly through even the Chicken Dance.  It is kind of a metaphor, really, for how we learned to be in the world: some unfortunate mix of my personality type, circumstances and lousy theology had kept me for years under the impression that emotions must always be expressed neatly and tidily and our bodies aren't to be trusted as a medium of tidy emotional expression.  But looking around, I was easily reminded that everyone was here for joy and not one person in the room would judge us. We could dance like David and there would be no snooty Michal to ruin the fun.  So we danced the night away.   Which suited my parents just fine, because my parents are nothing but smooth and elegant on the dance floor and Robb was sure to include "their song" in the playlist.

Our Charleigh was born for dancing.  I asked her where she learned to dance like she does and she turned her chin and said, "I just make it up."   Her athleticism and fully-committed attitude had us in stitches.  I tried to keep up with her once and ended up with burning thigh muscles and a river of sweat running down my back.  But how we laughed!  And our friends!  I knew I could count on them to keep that party swinging. I could watch them dance for hours and my sides burned from laughing.

At the end of the evening,  our friends whisked us out the door without letting us help clean up.  Their send off was a sweet detail:  At our wedding, I dreamed of being sent away under a shower of rose petals, of course captured iconically by the photographer.  But our florist forgot the rose petals, and instead, I have a photo of 300 people outside a church that always reminds me of the frankly awkward scene in the Sound of Music when the partygoers wave to the children and echo their "Goodnight."  It always bothered me.   (the movie and the omission of the rose petals. Equally.)

So of course, my husband remembered the rose petals.  Of course he did.   And Nikki captured it all.

And then he said,
"Are you ready for one more surprise?"

Baby Makes Six - Finding Out

It's hard to believe that when I wrote my last post on January 1, I was pregnant and didn't know it yet.  And we thought 2013 was challenging!

About a week later, the night before Robb's birthday, I was planning to go out the next day and trying to decide between re-joining the gym or pricing out treadmills.  I had it in my head that I would go out shopping the next day for Robb's birthday presents and would make a decision about the fitness needs of this family.  I'd missed the gym since Robb lost his job back in September, but the kids were begging for a treadmill for here at home, which had some appeal.  I just couldn't think where the best place to put it would be.

For some reason I felt as though I couldn't quite make my decision without answering the nagging question of "Shouldn't I be getting some kind of monthly visitor soon?"  If I had looked at a calendar with any focus at all, I would have realized something was terribly amiss.  But more than a few months ago, Robb had gotten sick of my "frequent" (I say rare) freak outs about being pregnant and had quietly started charting it out for his own mental health, and knowing that he had the information on his little spreadsheet somewhere kept me from bothering to even check for myself.  I mentioned it to him and he breezily mentioned I was due, in the same way he would approximate if we had money in the bank for a pizza.

Looking back, I realize we had gotten very casual indeed on the topic of a pregnancy.  More than five years ago or more, we had decided to try for another baby, but as the months went by, nothing happened. Our lives were too full to chase the dream very hard and as years passed, we came to believe that we were just too old for this sort of thing.  I grieved being "old and dried up"  and Robb made jokes about being much too winded and we simply stopped thinking about it, except for those rare times when it seemed like I might be a whole hour or two "late."  We even had a little stash of pregnancy tests on hand.  One by one, they would turn up negative, we would feel disappointment and then relief.  Followed by the thought that maybe we should do "something permanent"  about all this, which just never seemed right either.  My mom has always said, "When you're done having kids, you know it."  I would puzzle over that, but couldn't quite agree.  I didn't know.  Robb didn't seem to know either.  The kids consistently asked for a little brother or sister, to the point where I asked them to stop because it made me feel badly.   So many times, I would begin to set the table and grab six plates instead of five.  We'd all be sitting in the living-room, watching tv, and I would stifle the urge to call upstairs for "somebody else" to come down and make the circle complete.  I chalked it up to growing up with a family of four kids, but I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was missing.  And all the while, Robb would turn into a squealing little girl whenever we saw a tiny baby out in public.  He would crinkle his eyes into a tight smile over little sleepers and say, "Just one more." And I would reply dryly, not because I was opposed, but because I felt helplessly incapable.  

So as that day turned into night, I waited for the kids to go to bed and then informed Robb that I was going to take that pregnancy test.  It was the last one in the cupboard.  He suggested that I wait until the end of the week.  Or maybe after I had a glass of wine.  I told him I just wanted to get it over with. It would be negative and I would be sad and have some wine and go to sleep and get up and go shopping the next day and forget about it. 

We have a quirky thing in this marriage.  I don't take pregnancy tests alone.  Sorry if that's TMI, but when your husband is flawlessly egalitarian, he says, "You didn't get pregnant alone, so you don't get to find out alone."  I joke back that "It's my body" and he retorts with "It's my baby."  There is no winning this little argument, and so I have long since abandoned my fantasies about how I would break the news to him.  We're in this together.  And having done it so many times, we have a ritual and rules: The chief of which is "No looking until after three minutes, just like the timer says."

But this time, as I handed him the test, he glanced at it in an obvious fracture of the rules. Before I could holler "foul" his face morphed into a facefull of disbelief so aggrandized, I was certain he was joking. And then he held the joke for one millisecond  longer than what was actually funny.  And then the world started spinning a bit and I steadied myself against his sink in the bathroom, while he slid down the glass door of the shower, onto the floor with the test still in his hand, still staring at it, still mouth agape.

"no."
"no."
"no."
"no."
"no."

One no for disbelief. One no for distance.  One no for surprise. One no for trying to swallow a million changes in one bite. One no to be sure I heard that right.  Curiously missing from all the no's, I realized later, was a no for NO. I don't even know how long that moment of suspension lasted where we separately tried to make sense of what was happening. It seemed like a long time.  

Robb has the amazing ability to feel things in the moment and I generally do not.  I normally hover above and around a shock until I know it's safe to feel whatever I feel.  But this time, we seemed to switch roles completely and I breathed out words of calm and clarity and perfect knowledge as I realized them myself, "I think this is what we always wanted."

And he began to cry big mushy, happy tears.  "Yes. You are right."

He told me later, he was mostly afraid that I would be unhappy. 

Knowing that our uppermost feeling was joy was helpful. But there was still enough shock to completely immobilize us for the next hour.  We sat on the bathroom floor trying to answer all the questions at once. How do we tell the kids? When do we tell the kids?  When do we tell other people?  WHERE is this kid going to fit in this house?  We had been straining to figure out where to put a treadmill...now we were needed to fit in a whole other person!  There are social norms for announcing your first, second, third baby, or even your adoption. But what exactly is protocol for announcing your fourth baby, 10 years removed?   "Let's not tell anyone at all," we giggled.  "Let's not put up anything on Facebook and just show up with a baby!"  What about my work?  What about the stupid cement floors?  There is NOTHING baby-proof in this house!  Why did we get another dog? Why didn't we get a bigger bed when we got the new mattress?   We already need new cars...what kind of car do we even need now?   When does the insurance kick in? CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE what what would have happened if this happened a month ago?  Two months ago?   It would have been a disaster!  But seriously...Who are we going to tell?   This is too huge to keep a secret!  

But we did. For three days.  For three days, we just went around with the silliest grins on our faces, shooting texts back and forth full of exclamation marks, exchanging knowing glances over the kids' heads and frequently pulling that silly pregnancy test out of the drawer just the make sure we read it right.  It was delicious and bonding to have a secret from the kids, our friends and the world. 

Finally Robb could contain himself no longer. The kids all seemed to have later activities on that Friday night, which landed them all on our bed around 10:30 pm, in good moods and a little wound up from their budding social lives.  I got the raised eyebrow "Can't we just tell them?" message over the tops of their heads, and I shrugged back with the "Are you sure? They are going to ask a lot of questions and we don't have a lot of answers?!"  Which was met with the, "I don't care...I want to tell them" lip pursing.  "Let's video it."  I said out loud in common English, which must have seemed like a weird comment to the kids, if they were even listening to me at all.  So phone in hand at the ready, Robb cleared his throat with a "We have something to tell you."  I waited with the camera ready to capture the AFV $10,000 moment, as Robb said the actual words: "Mom is pregnant."

Blank stares.
Blank faces.
Silence.

And then a simultaneous, "You are lying. This is a joke. Na-uh. We're not falling for that."

It took the production of the almighty pregnancy test and many, many reassurances to convince them, none of which really "worked" on camera.  Finally, Charleigh gave in with a scream and throwing her hands up in the air.  Vin toppled next. And then finally Mattie...ever keeping her emotional cards close to her vest....released her bright, excited smile.  And then it was done.  We all gave ourselves over to just falling in love with the idea.  Some of us naively. Some of only too aware of what was to come.  But all of us, happy and excited for what September would bring us. 

Ten Years Later

Forgive me the introspective posts, but I read an article on NPR today about how much we change in 10 years and yet we still have a hard time imagining that we will change in the future. Here is a link.

I can't help but think about change in light of the fact that we'll being going to a conference this weekend where we may see the author Brian McLaren, who Robb met back in the summer. During their conversation  Brian inquired about me, which really helped to repaint my old feelings of wanting to punch him in the face at one time not so long ago....but I digress. He said that he meets a lot of guys whose theology and practice have changed. They are reading books, meeting other thinkers and sharing ideas and thereby develop in their beliefs, but their wives are often left out of these conversations. In the worst situations, a woman finds herself caught between her pastor husband who has moved into a new arena of thinking that is scary for her, and a pastor-daddy who hasn't moved at all.  I feel for those women. Because the only way out of that situation is to sit down and do some reading, thinking and owning of your own theology. But it takes time. There is no substitute for time. Not in learning. Not in grief. Not in making changes. Time is transformative.

Ten years ago....I was 28 years old.  (I had to stop and take that in for a moment. Twenty freaking eight. TWENTY 8. Dang.)

The year was 2003 and I was the mother of a 3 and 1 year old. We had just purchased our first house (THAT house).

I was deeply depressed. Whether postpartum or seasonal affective disorder, I don't know, but I have trouble bringing those days to the front of my memory. I had to go find a picture in a scrapbook because there were no digital pictures, no iphones, no blog, no facebook, just an old PC that Dr. Carter gave me as a gift for helping him move out of his office when he retired.  He was still living on earth and we were still emailing on a regular basis. I took pictures of the kids with a film camera and there are very few shots of me, mostly blurry images that I asked Robb to take to prove my existence.

I spent an afternoon looking at those pictures and while my clothes and hair made me cringe (seriously, girl, couldn't you do SOMETHING with that hair?) it was the snapshot of that girl's mind that most surprises me.

I had no friends my own age that I spent time with. I had no friends that were not connected to the church.  I had no unchurched, non-Christian, non-fundamentalist friends, nor friends of any other Protestant denomination.  I had zero interactions with the LGBT community. I had zero interactions with atheists, pagans, hippies, agnostics, Jehovah's Witness, Mormons,  Jews or Muslims.  I voted straight-ticket Republican and struggled to understand how a democrat could also be a Christian. It was inconceivable in my mind.  I had a firm grasp of Christian contemporary music at the time, but no idea what was popular on the secular radio stations.  I played the piano from the hymnal and praise chorus book if I was needed on a Sunday evening service. I primarily read Christian non-fiction books about theology or devotionals by Kay Arthur.  I felt guilty for not being more faithful to the inductive Bible study method. I don't recall seeing movies, but I think we saw one or two a year if it was something we really liked. Drinking alcohol was prohibited by our church constitution and membership agreement.

I spent every single night watching hours of television. I thought play dates were something made up for tv show families and I stayed home with my kids all the time except for church and when we went to get groceries and go shopping as a family. I weaned my son cold-turkey at 8 months because he bit me. I had never heard of attachment theory. I expected my kids to sleep in their own beds from about 6 weeks on (with varying success rates) I rarely went out alone. Sometimes we went to the public library.  I had no goals for the future other than getting Robb into a doctoral program and doing whatever it took to get him into the upper leadership of the church's denominational fellowship.  I could only envision myself as a housewife and couldn't imagine having a job or working outside our home.  My only concern was our home and making it pretty. I did all the regular cooking, cleaning, and laundry and would have been mortified if Robb was to do any of this kind of work since it was my duty. I couldn't imagine life beyond Calvin's baby-hood, but I expected to have two more kids after him. Adoption was something we had talked about in the past, but we were sure it was expensive and we were not thinking much about our future.

I was afraid to drive on highways and went out of my way to stay on back roads due to a near-accident I had while I was pregnant with Mattie. I was afraid of Robb dying. I was afraid of conflict. I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of criticism. I was afraid of life.

I thought family members would always be there and I took them for granted. My grandparents were both living and so was my brother in law. 

I had no concept of recycling or the environment and sincerely believed that if God made the world that humans couldn't mess it up enough to hurt it much.  The extent of my knowledge of Africa was that they were poor and hungry. I had no idea of the extent of the epidemic of AIDS or of any ways that could be helped.  I knew that Compassion International was an agency that Michael W. Smith helped. I knew nothing about the foster care system in America or of the way it worked.

We ate whatever we could afford from the local grocery store, and I pretty much bought whatever was cheapest. We though eating at McDonalds was a treat and Sunday nights often found us eating a Super-sized meal, in bed, while watching tv.

I knew that Dr. Cater believed that someday people would buy everything from the internet, right down to their shoes, but I wasn't sure I believed him.  If I could have, I would have bought everything from the mall, but as it was, I shopped at Walmart.  I believed that if it came from the mall it was better than handmade. We were in debt up to our eyeballs with no plan to get out.

As I think on these things, I am genuinely astounded by the extent and profundity of the changes.  I changed at the core of my values and beliefs. I am also amazed by how much more alive I am. How I "own" my life now....back then I was living someone else's life by someone else's standards. I was waiting for someone to give me permission to make choices.  Much of what I did do was out of false bravado and trying to blend in.  My lack of understanding myself led ironically to being self-conscious and awkward, not free to serve and love others.  I am also surprised at how the changes were brought about by such small things... like joining the Public Library book club.  Having a conversation with a lady at my garage sale.  Going for a walk and finding an estate auction. One thing that led to another.

I really can't imagine what I will be like ten years from now. Aside from the extra 10 pounds each decade though, I feel really optimistic about the future.  I know that there will be times of pain, but there will also be growth. And hopefully, better haircuts.

When the Should Hits the Fan

I've been trying to write a post about this for at least two weeks, and today, with the postal carrier coming soon, and my etsy orders not packed to go, I am really feeling the tension of my Lenten fast from not paying attention. But here goes....

Not every sermon my husband preaches really sinks in for me.  But some of them are so transformative and so powerful, I look back on them as moments that something really changed inside of me. Such was the case a couple of weeks ago. 

Blogging about the real life of a pastor's wife is a little tricky. I don't want to be a reality show. That's not healthy, which is why I hesitate to write about a private conversation...a private conflict between my husband and I. On the other hand, it was a really important moment that I don't want to let myself be oblivious to.

So, for a couple of months, I was really depressed which I've written a little bit about already. Depression makes me want to withdraw and post a sign for the World that reads, "Kindly leave me the hell alone."  Which is really a statement that means, "Please don't have an expectations of me.  Because I'm going to utterly fail you.  And I really can't absorb any more feelings of failure, pain or loss." 

I suppose that is why I found myself pulling away from the people I care about most deeply.  I have a friend whose sole mission in my life is to be someone I can talk to without judgement.  I found myself avoiding her.  And my husband..the one who has most closely journeyed with me through the last couple of months...I found myself holding at arm's length.  Which is one thing my long-suffering husband does not tolerate.  Somehow in a raw conversation, I confessed that though he in no way deserves it, I saw him as the connecting point of all that things that I was grieving and couldn't seem to get over. In short, I wanted to get away from him.  He was no way responsible for any of these things, and yet, he was the very symbol of them. I imagine on a grand scale,  that is the reason they say couples that lose a child have a high divorce rate. You would think they would be drawn together by their loss, but sometimes the spouse is a daily, visual reminder of the pain. 

My husband had every right to be hurt, to respond in anger at me.  He had every right to say that what I was doing to him was unforgivable considering how gentle he has been.  Do you know how exhausting it is to be married to someone who is depressed?  But he did not respond that way.  He sat down on the bed with his back to me and said sadly, "You can't break up with me. But I can give you space. You need a vacation. You need time away.  You need a break. Where do you want to go?  I will make it happen."

That was grace.  Undeserved love and gentleness. A kind, soft answer.  I didn't deserve that.  It broke down something inside of me that had been building for a long time.  He didn't quote Bible verses at me about how I should honor him, or remind me of my duty.  He didn't pray for me to get my act together.  He didn't remind me of what I ought to do and how I ought to act or how I ought to suck up whatever I was feeling because it was wrong because it was hurting him.

The next day, he preached from Romans 6. He talked about how we Christians believe so easily in grace for salvation, but when it comes to everyday life, we really believe that it is law that will change a person.  Read more Bible.  Pray more. Do more.  It's sounds so lame the way I am writing it.  Go to iTunes and listen to the Vintage Fellowship podcast from Romans 6:15 - 23 and hear Robb explain it.  Listen to that sermon knowing that this guy, the night before, after a long, exhausting day, stayed up as long as it took to show grace to his wife. And that it made all the difference for her.  She felt free for the first time in a long time.

I wonder if we miss this opportunity for real change to happen for ourselves and those around us because we are so busy telling people (or ourselves) what they should do or think or feel or believe. "You should read the Bible more. You should exercise. You should study more. You should stop swearing. You should be a better parent. You should be a more a more obedient child. You should handle your money better. You should memorize scripture to fix that sin problem. You should just get over it."

I have a friend that calls this "shoulding on."  Robb didn't "should on" me.  He showed me grace.  He gave me freedom.  It made all the difference.  At that moment, I got free of something that had held me down for weeks.

I'm not talking about enabling people. I'm not talking about bad boundaries. I'm not talking about removing consequences from people's bad choices.  Robb expressed his frustration with me for being distant.  He was honest about how it wasn't working for us.  But his answer for change wasn't to apply the law, but to give grace. To set me free.

I don't know what it would look like for you in your situation.  I don't have all the answers.  I just know that I believe in grace because it made a difference in my marriage in my heart and mind.  It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

And as for that trip...well...I'm thinking somewhere with a beach....

A Milestone In Redemptive History

August 9th, 2011 marked our 15th wedding anniversary.  There is a part of me that feels a little goofy about it, but we celebrate our anniversaries like crazy.  I know lots of couples who say, "Oh we don't have the money"  or "It's just too busy right now to celebrate."  But for us, I would sooner skip celebrating Christmas or Easter.  As I was thinking it over (and planning Robb's gift of 15 of his favorite cigars...not terribly original, but guaranteeing 15 times that he will be able to be still and think and relax Charles Spurgeon-style) I realized that I don't hold the day in high regard because I'm a spoiled brat, but rather, because our day really is a holy day for us.  Our spiritual health and our marital health have been tied to each other for 15, maybe even technically all 18 years we have loved each other. 

On that warm August Friday night, Doug Messerall married us.  A good man, he has served faithfully in a church that would have made a lesser man fall apart years ago.  He still serves there, as far as a I know.  Dr. Rembert Carter gave the "charge to the couple"  -a practice that was common in our circles- a short sermonette just for the couple.  In Doc's case, that was 40 minutes and included a print-out of every mention of marriage and family in the Bible with notes.  I didn't realize it was long at the time, but I only really remember the main idea....that our marriage would be a "milestone in redemptive history."   In the time that has unfolded since that night, I have come to realize what that means in a much fuller and more beautiful way. 

Marriage has seasons just like everything else.  We've had lean years, hard years, as well as the more recent years of tremendous plenty and blessing.  I had doubts at times in the past because I'm fickle and struggle to make commitments because I don't trust myself to keep them perfectly.  But I have always been fully invested in the belief that together, Robb and I were impacting the world for good.  We have fought through the illusion that going backward was better than going forward and came to a place that is richer, more mature, more complex, more fascinating than the dating and falling in love phase ever could have been. 

Another dear professor of ours, Dr. Firmin told a story in class one day that he had been engaged before he met and married his wife.  He said that if he ever had a doubt about his choices, he had only to look at their two daughters to know that he had chosen perfectly.  I recall pondering this idea, perhaps in a season of doubt, thinking, "Well of course you would adore your children, but isn't it possible that you would feel the same if you married someone else and had different children?"  It was an odd thought to me.  But then my thinking came to a clearing.  I have that kind of assurance when I look at my youngest daughter, Charleigh, who is adopted.  In all the might-have-been-scenarios, Charleigh would have been no matter what Robb and I had done.  And we would not know her if I hadn't married Robb.  Adopting her was another milestone in redemptive history.

So when my dear husband told me to pack a bag for overnight, pawn off the kids and the dogs and meet him at his work, I was ready for a celebration.  He took me to a beautiful hotel where our room was bigger than our first apartment, and sent me to a three hour spa appointment where I had a facial, a massage and a mani-pedi (my first!) while he (and dang, this is still so hot to me) went to the health center and worked out, and then outside to enjoy one his cigars!  We went out to dinner, laughed our heads off and had a grand time without an ounce of guilt.  Fifteen beautiful years is something to celebrate with all our hearts, minds, bodies and souls.