This whole weekend has had a very dramatic feeling to it, perhaps caused by the fact that EVERY WAKING MINUTE of it has been set to the pounding strains of the Star Wars theme music. This is thanks to the release of the trilogy DVD, an event which has thrilled my geek husband to his very soul. He went to Walmart on Friday, supposedly to purchase something like batteries, and came back with the box set. He tried to pass it off like the DVD purchase was an afterthought, something he just picked up, like you do with milk, but I know better. However, he should get credit for the creative explanation he gave for the purchase: "One day, when we have kids, this is one of those movies we can watch with them! It's really clean and it's a great story. They'll love it!" So, really, he didn't buy it for himself, he bought it as a gift for our non-existent children. Uh-huh.
I used to be much cooler than I am now, and I do like Star Wars, really, I do. I saw it for the first time when I was 15 and then I became such a fanatic that at one point in my life, I actually owned a life-sized cardboard Yoda. I think it's still somewhere at my parents' home. I don't think I could ever bring myself to actually throw it away, since my brothers gave it to me, but at a certain age, a three-foot Yoda cutout just no longer goes with the decor. I think for me, that age is 24. For my husband, that age appears to be somewhere between You Can Take My Star Wars Movies When You Pry Them From My Cold Dead Fingers and Never Ever Ever.
At least he'll be a cool dad. If I let him live through Return of the Jedi. Because the MUSIC IS JUST MAKING ME CRAZY!

I am a raging caffeine addict. I am very open about this, and if I remember correctly, one of Dan�s wedding vows was �I promise to make you coffee every day and stop at any Starbucks we run across on road trips.� The problem is that he�s too good at this, and now I�m dependant on him. He�s like my coffee drug dealer. Every morning he gets up and starts a pot of coffee while I�m in the shower so I can drink some while I�m getting dressed and then fill up one of my eighteen trillion travel coffee mugs for my drive. This little system has worked wonderfully for the last 18 months or so. But Thursday morning, I realized the fatal flaw when Dan. Forgot. To. Make. Coffee!!!! I went into the kitchen after Dan left and there was only a half-inch of cold coffee from the day before in the pot. I actually touched the pot to see if maybe it was hot and for some reason the coffee pot just turned itself off in mid-brew. It was like when your car doesn�t start, but you keep turning the key in disbelief. After a few minutes of panic, I cut my hair-drying routine short and left the house with wet hair so I would have time to stop by Starucks. Crisis averted. But it threw me off for the rest of the day. So what am I going to do about it? Nothing, actually. I�m beyond helping myself. So I better be really nice to Dan, or he might cut me off.
A note about the photo: This photo was taken of Dan at my family's home at Christmas. He is modeling a scarf and hat set given to me by my grandmother. Both the hat and scarf are the right size for me, but are rendered somewhat absurd when worn by Dan the Giant. I chose this picture because it is the most drug dealeresque shot I have of my husband. Aren't you intimidated?

This afternoon, Dan and I ventured into the horror that is J.C. Penney on a Sunday afternoon in search of dress pants, shirts and ties for him. My brother, Aaron, is getting married on November 20. As I have been telling Dan, it is our responsibility to try to look presentable given that photos are taken at weddings that will be hauled out and shown to posterity long after we are dead and gone. When those photos are brought out, we don't want our children's children to say "Why is that one couple wearing sweatpants?"
Since this will be an evening wedding held in First Presbyterian Church of Jackson, Mississippi, I have been trying to ease Dan into the idea that he is, in all likelihood, going to be required to wear his suit. This he seemed to accept, but convincing him that the onoe dress shirt and one tie he owns might not be up to the weekend's repertoire of wedding and pre-wedding events we will be attending was another matter. Men, I have learned, basically don't understand why they can't just wear the same clothes to everything. Pants? Check! Shirt? Check! Shoes? Check! Everything else is secondary.
So today, when we went to J.C. Penney (Am I the only person who cringes at the mere mention of J.C. Penney?) it was not without some tension. The first task was finding pants, and this brought our first interpersonal derailment of the afternoon. It turns out that Dan, as a man of a manly sort, does not understand that just because a pair of pants is black, it doesn't mean they are dress pants. Khaki can be dyed black. It doesn't make it dressy. So it was like he was playing a game where he didn't know the rules. He would hold up a pair of pants and say "How about these?" and I would sort of look at him like you would look at a person who was proposing that he wear black jeans to a formal rehearsal dinner, and he would get all discouraged. It was sad, but he got better at it as we went along.
The shirt thing was going slightly better until I realized that Dan has never found out what his official shirt size is. I will cut him some slack on this, because the menswear system of clothes sizing is WAY more complicated than it is for women. There are like three numbers involved in buying a real shirt for guys. Women pretty much only need to know a couple of numbers for their entire wardrobe. So we got Dan measured and found out that at a shirt size of 18 inches in the neck and 36 in the arm, Dan fits into a category known as "Virtually Non-Existent in Normal Men's Clothing Stores" and "Too Small to Qualify for the Big and Tall Department."
After much digging through the endless pile of shirts, came up with three nice dress shirts, a gray, a dark blue, and a red, and three ties, plus one pair of pants, for a price that we could live with. We came home and Dan tried on his new duds with his charcoal gray suit to make sure they matched like we thought they would. And here comes the point of this post.
Have I ever mentioned how great-looking my husband is in a suit? Probably not, because he never WEARS ONE. But let me tell you, he is a handsome man. I am almost afraid to take him to this wedding .. someone will steal him from me! I didn't think to take pictures because I was so busy looking, but I'll take some at the wedding. Wow. Men should wear suits more often.

Dan, in an act that would mean I would love and honor him till death do we part even if I didn't promise to do that when we got married, bought me the first season of Arrested Development on DVD. I'm coming off of a terrible week. I've pretty much been working since last Monday, including Saturday and Sunday, and I am delusionally tired. But then, last night when we got home from teaching our kids' class at church, Dan got out this Wal-mart bag and started going "I got you a surpriiiiise! I got you a surpriiiiise!" And then he took the DVD box out of the bag, and I knew why I married this man. Only Dan would understand how profoundly happy that makes me. So now, Dan and I are going to watch 22 episodes of Arrested Development until I laugh myself to a happier place. And, apparently, my husband wants me to be happy. Isn't he great?

On election day, I had to go into work late so I could work until midnigt, but I still had to work from home and file a couple of stories. It just so happened that Dan had to work from home that morning because there was some work being done on his cubicle at work. So, we sat at our dining room table clicking away on our laptops, drinking our coffee, and
at one point I looked up from behind my laptop and saw this:

And I thought: We are such nerds.

This story has a happy ending.

Sometime last summer, Dan got interested in radio controlled airplanes. When I say he got interested, I mean he became completely obsessed. Suddenly, we had bookmarks in our Web browser leading to RCA sites, magazine subscriptions to RCA publications, the whole nine yards. Except, of course, the airplane. That was a matter of much discussion. I was fine with the idea when I thought a radio controlled airplane was about the size of a toy truck. Something manageable, that would fit easily under a bed. It wasn't until we were lying in bed one night talking that Dan let slip the fact that RCA's have, on average, a SIX FOOT WING SPAN. Folks, we live in an apartment. An apartment where, like most people in apartments, we have no garage. An apartment where about every two months I try to re-evaluate what we can possibly throw away to give us more space for all of our constantly-accumulating things. So when Dan told me that he thought we could just keep the plane in the guest room, I laughed out loud. WHERE in the guest room did he think we were going to put this thing? On the ceiling? Yes, it turns out. Dan thought it would be possible to just hang the thing from the ceiling. To make a long story short, we hit what I believe is called an impasse. I was not interested in having guests smacking their heads on a large toy suspended from the guest room ceiling, and Dan was convinced that it would work. Or, at least, that's what Dan thought the situation was. In fact, it had occurred to me that Christmas was coming up awfully soon. So, I saved months worth of the reimbursement checks I got for mileage at work and bought Dan an airplane. We did a massive closet reorganization, and now the Arrow hangs from a hook in our biggest closet, where I have to say it fits better than I imagined it would. The photo up top was taken when Dan was building his plane, which meant our kitchen was covered in tiny parts and power tools for hours at a time. Now he's learning to fly it from the people at the hobby store, and he's happier than any kid you've ever seen riding their first bike. Let this be a lesson to the single women out there: No matter how old they get, men NEVER get tired of their toys. They just call them hobbies.

Here's a piece of trivia about our marriage: Dan is physically incapable of keeping secrets from me. I am amazed that he even managed to keep secret his plans for proposing to me a few years ago. To this day, I am convinced that the only reason he was succesful at that was because we didn't live in the same state at the time. But before then and ever since then, Dan has never failed to break down and tell me about every great gift he has ever gotten for me. It's like he gets so excited that he has a good gift that he just can't contain himself. Never was this more clear than this week. Dan and I celebrated Valentine's Day on Saturday because he is leaving for a business trip on Monday. So about a week ago, Dan starts dropping hints about this "really great Valentine's Day gift" that I'll never guess. The way Dan undoes himself in these situations is that he truthfully answers questions I ask him in my efforts to find out his secret. So, needless to say, by Thursday night, I had gotten it out of him. But finding out early did nothing to diminish my absolute joy at finding out that Dan got me tickets to see Alison Krauss and Union Station in a few weeks. I had no idea they were even coming to Albuquerque. So, to Dan's credit, he did do a REALLY good job of Valentine's this year, even if he can't keep his mouth shut.

A note from Dan: Haley can't keep a secret either. She told me what she got me that same day.

Yeah, that was because I didn't want him to feel bad.

When Dan and I were dating, there was a loooooong period of time when we saw each other once a week at most. Between when we got engaged and when we got married (you know, that whole 4.5 months) we managed to be in the same state about three times, one of which was the visit when we planned all the major aspects of our wedding, and once when we took care of details, like getting our marriage license. Back then, it was bearable, because we were enduring the separation for a greater end, so that we could get married and be together always.
Right now, I am sittng in my couch writing for the blog at 9 p.m. on a Friday night, because Dan has been in San Diego on business for a week, and althought he was supposed to be home two hours ago, his flight has gotten all messed up, and right now he's in Phoenix. At best, he'll be back at midnight. At worst, sometime tomorrow.
It's an interesting fact of marriage that this kind of distance bothers me much more than it did when we were dating, and when we were dating, I thought I would die if the distance continued. I thought that being married and being together so much more than we were dating would mean that whenever we had to be apart, it wouldn't bother me so much. But it's not true. I've spent this whole week alone, and I'll admit that the first night or two was nice. I caught up on some reading, made some phone calls to friends I had been meaning to make, and went to bed early. What I haven't done is see Dan or talk to Dan very much except for those awful five minute conversations you have when you're apart. It's surprising. When we were dating, we talked on the phone a lot, and it seemed like a good enough way to stay close at the time. But now, it's not enough. I am not a needy person. I have lived alone. I don't need 15 people around me to feel OK. I would often rather stay home and watch TV than go out and party. And yet, after a week without Dan, I have realized that I am getting weird. Turned into myself. Lonely.
Dan will be home some time in the next 24 hours, and everything will be fine. But I've discovered something this week: the longer I'm married, and the more the relationship between my husband and I grows, the more I see that we're truly not meant to be alone.
I'm glad I'm not.

Look at this picture. What do you think the little green object I'm holding in my hand is? The rules are that you must post your first guess in the comments section after you find out what this unidentified object is.

So here's the story. Last Friday, I was cleaning our apartment. As part of this massive undertaking (don't kid yourself about the amount of mess two childless adults can create in one week) I too the sheets off our bed to wash them. In the process of pulling up the fitted sheet, this bright green object flew up into the air and hit me on the head, much like an alien saucer. I picked it up and realized that it is a piece of plastic food from the play kitchen in the Sunday School classroom at our church where Dan and I teach a group of kids on Wednesday nights. Specifically, it's a replica serving of English peas. Check it out:

I knew I hadn't brought this object home, so I figured it was somehow Dan's doing. When I called him at work, he said "Oh, yeah, on Wednesday during class, I was holding that and standing behind you and I thought it would be funny to put it in the hood of your sweater and see if you noticed. You didn't."
So I walked around with a piece of plastic food in my sweater for probably two hours before I came home, took off the sweater and somehow got this thing wound up in our sheets. Dan has never been prouder of himself.

So first, some bad news. I'm going to be leaving you for a few days. But, never fear, our dauntless hero, Kelly, has agreed to take over posting updates in my absence. As for why I am running out on you, I am going to Arizona with my husband, Dan, to celebrate our upcoming second anniversary. Our anniversary is actually on Tuesday, April 19, but we are going to spend a few days in Phoenix and Scottsdale to celebrate.
This is a photo from our wedding.

The reason we are doing the celebrating a little early is because in addition to celebrating our anniversary with my handsome husband, I also get to spend it with U2. We actually managed to get tickets to the Phoenix show on the Vertigo tour, so this time tomorrow night, we'll be doing a very good impression of people who want to hear music so loud that their ears ring for two days.
A note for our older readers: U2 is a rock band from Ireland. They have been hugely popular for longer than I have been alive and, reportedly, put on a fantastic live show. Unfortunately, the name U2 sounds kind of like the words "You, too," when you say them. This lead to the following conversation between my mom and I.
Me: "Yeah, we're going to go to Phoenix in April and see U2."
Mom: "Wait. How are you going to see me in Phoenix too? I'm not going to Phoenix."
To mom's credit, it's pretty much my fault that she missed the 1980's. I love you, mom!
Dan and I got married two years ago on April 19, and I can't believe how quickly those two years went by. I'm sure I'll be saying something similar at our 50th wedding anniversary, only I'll be talking louder, because I will have destroyed my hearing at rock concerts in my twenties. ("I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN 50 YEARS, DAN! WHAT?")
It is fitting that we are celebrating this way. On the day Dan and I got married, I drove myself to the church to meet my bridesmaids and get dressed. I had my wedding dress in the back seat, and I was so happy that it was FINALLY April 19, and I was getting married to Dan. And I was listening to U2's song "Beautiful Day," with the windows down, almost bouncing up and down in my seat from sheer giddiness. That was the start of the happiest day of my life, which turned into the start of the happiest two years of my life. Here's to many, many more. I'll talk to you all again after I get back into town on Sunday.

Haley: "I think I'm just kind of in a funk."

Dan: "You mean like this?" (Sings) "Play that funky MUUUUsic, white boy. Play that funky music Rii-ght." (Starts dancing)

The sight of Dan getting down with his bad self would get anybody out of a funk. I can never say I am short on things to laugh about.

OK, folks. Do us a big favor and help us settle a dispute. You've probably all played a popular children's game wherein the players make a fist, pound the fists twice and then choose one of three hand signals, either a piece of paper, scissors or a rock. Is this game called:

A) Rock, Paper, Scissors
or
B) Paper, Rock, Scissors.
This debate has reached gargantuan proportions in our home, and we cannot go on until we get it settled. Save our marriage. Vote in the comments section. I will let you know which one of us was right after we get your votes. But believe me, I'm right.

An update: A formal call has been placed to the campaign headquarters of Dan Wachdorf for Childhood Game Specialist telling him of the overwhelming votes in favor of "Rock, Paper, Scissors" as the correct name for the childhood game that should, truly, be used to settle all disputes in a civilized democratic society, as Drew noted in the comments. However, Mr. Wachdorf refuses to concede his defeat, citing a lone, unsubstantiated source at his office that he claims voted for "Paper, Rock, Scissors." Analysts say this is a desperate attempt to avoid admitting that his wife was right. To his credit, this is hard for him to do because she's not right about this stuff very often.
More news as we have it.

Shortly after Dan and I got back from our honeymoon and started settling into our apartment in Albuquerque, the 2003 NBA Playoffs started. We watched every game in the series, following the San Antonio Spurs, who won that year.
It's no secret that I am not a great big sports fan. But Dan and his family are rabid Spurs fans as a result of living in San Antonio. So I figured I better start finding reasons to like the Spurs. Fortunately, the only professional sport I have ever even remotely been able to watch is basketball, because it moves quickly and I understand it. This in startling contrast to football, a game whose rules I am convinced are made up as the players go. To my great surprise a few games into the 2003 series, I realized I was really enjoying watching the Spurs. So here are the top reasons you should all drop what you're doing and root for the Spurs as they face off against the Detroit Pistons in this year's Playoffs:

1) Because the Spurs are nice guys. None of them has an attitude problem or a huge ego. They don't yell at referees, they don't cuss anyone out, they don't foul people intentionally. In Detroit, on the other hand, a fight broke out in the middle of a game earlier this season during which a player smacked a fan in the head with a chair. Real classy.
2) Because Tim Duncan is the MAN. Also, whenever a team member of his does something good, Tim pats them on the head like you would do to a little kid, and you realize how enormously tall the man is.
3) Tony Parker is consistently one of People Magazine's 50 Most Beautiful People, and he has a great accent. He also makes funny faces when he plays.
4) Manu Ginobili has great hair AND is from Argentina. He's also an incredible player.
5) Potential names for children. All around, the Spurs have the best first names in the NBA: Manu, Nzar, Mohammed, Beno, Rasho. We're considering naming our first-born child Manu Wachdorf, just because the name Manu is so much fun to yell. Try it!
6) Because we are emotionally fragile. Last year when the Spurs got eliminated by the Lakers in the semi-finals we cried, and if they lose in the finals this year, I'm pretty sure Dan won't be able to get out of bed for days.

Now that I've tried to drag you down with me, I have to get back to watching Game One. I leave you with an excerpt from a column by Bill Simmons of ESPN.com Page 2. I am enjoying the playoffs immensely, but if anything is ticking me off, it's the music. Seriously, who decided to play a Phil Collins song during the playoffs and how fast can they be fired?

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/050608&num=3\

Today, June 19, is Dan's 25th birthday. Not that you would know that he was going to be 25 based on how hard he has been begging to be allowed to open his gifts early. It's like inside of this 25-year-old professionally succesful married man lives the soul of a six-year-old boy who lives for Christmas and birthdays. I've written about this before, but in case you're new to the saga, Dan cannot STAND any form of gift-related suspense. It drives him crazy. He can't even wait to tell me what my gifts are on any given holiday. If I wasn't a big believer in waiting until Christmas Day, I could easily convince Dan to give me my presents in November. When we have kids, I'll have to be the one doing all the shopping for birthdays, because if Dan is involved, he'll break down and tell the kids what they're getting as soon as we bring the gift home. Knowing this, I intentionally did not even wrap his presents and put them out in the house until late Saturday afternoon, thinking that if he knew he only had a few hours to wait until Sunday morning, his birthday, he could handle the suspense a little better. But no. Within two hours he had worn me down to the point that I let him go ahead and open up one of his gifts.
I tell you this story to introduce the picture I'm posting below.
Even though I would like to say that I took this picture of Dan with his presents all wrapped this morning, on his actual birthday, I have to admit that this was taken last night, seconds after I caved in and seconds before he ripped into the present in the blue bag. Notice the huge grin he has in this picture: I'm pretty sure it's the victorious grin of a small child who has just won a major psychological battle through prolonged whining.
As you can see, I am going to be a really wimpy mother. I can't even manage the child I have now.

Happy Birthday, Dan. I love you so much. And that's why I make fun of you on the Internet.

Overheard in the Wachdorf home at 1 a.m. on a recent morning when Dan woke up to find the light in his bedroom STILL ON and his wife turning pages in the new Harry Potter book.

Dan: "OK, it's time to turn off the light and go to sleep now."
Haley: "No, I'm becoming well-read over here. You should be glad that I'm literate."
Dan: "You can be literate in any other room in the house if you want to, just not in bed. That's not what beds are for."

I still have about 300 pages left, so don't anyone tell me anything if you're ahead of me, which you probably are. (This means you Tim Smith, Daniel Meigs, Rebecca Tredway and Andy.) I promise to post something less geeky in the near future.

As I mentioned before, Dan's sister Hannah has been visiting us this week. It's been fun having her here, because she's a really neat girl, but also because it's been interesting to watch she and Dan together. As the following photos will reveal, siblings can grow up as much as they want, but if you seat them side by side, eventually, someone's going to get their hair pulled.

But, it all works out in the end.

These are the first words that Dan said to me on Wednesday morning, after he had been out of town for three days. He had been traveling until late Tuesday night, and when he got in, I was already asleep. So when I rolled over in bed on Wednesday morning, I was seeing him for the first time in a little while. I had missed him, and it was a nice moment. He hugged me and then he said the words that every woman wants to hear.

"Will you buy me a monkey?"

I am so not making that up. Since then, Dan's been elaborating to me all the reasons why a monkey would be a really useful animal to have around.

"We could train it to find the remote control. Or better yet, we could just train it to change the channels itself! It could be the Remote Monkey!"

"When we get a dog, it could ride around on the dog's back!"

"They had a monkey in that movie Swiss Family Robinson!"

And on and on and on. I have no idea what brought this on, but then I am usually not sure what triggers the various obsessions that Dan develops from time to time. Obviously, we will not be buying a monkey, but I might have to break down and take him to see the chimpanzees at the zoo. If you see us, be sure to comment on how badly a monkey would mess up wall to wall carpeting.

After scanning the comments on the "Dan wants a monkey" entry, it has come to my attention that you people are not backing me up. Y'all think he should have a monkey. So what I'm asking you now is when he gets a monkey, can he come and live with you? If not, then I think it's time for you all to ponder your previous comments and then TAKE THEM BACK. Otherwise, Dan will be calling you soon to work out a rotating schedule for his room and board. Let me know what you decide. Because Dan is doing a victory dance as we speak.

Last night, Dan and I were getting ready to go to bed, when a very scary thing happened. I had gotten all settled with a book I was reading, and Dan was starting his usual campaign of trying to talk me down from my usual 30 minutes of reading to 10 or 15 minutes. I was really tired, so I decided I would skip the reading and go to sleep right after I got up and got a glass of water. Then, I walked around the corner of our bed just in time to see a centipeded that I KNOW was six inches long slither its way under OUR BED! Now, you have to realize that even though the centipede was pretty gross looking, I probably wouldn't have freaked out so badly were it not for a little-known fact about me: one of my greatest phobias is that a bug will crawl or fly into my ear. The mere thought that this will happen in the middle of the night when I am sleeping is just too much for me to handle. So I immediately started doing the "Dan, come kill the giant bug!" dance, and because my husband is a good man and he understands my deepest most neurotic fears, a 20-minute hunt for the Nuclear Centipede ensued. This was not a small undertaking, because we have three Tupperware containers of winter clothing stored under our bed right now, but Dan did it all, while I sat on the bed and shivered in terror. If I wasn't so scared, the sight of Dan pointing our bedside lamp up under our bed while brandishing a giant can of Raid and a pair of kitchen tongs would have been very comical, but I was not in a laughing frame of mind. Eventually, all the light and kitchen tongs drove the centipede out from under our bed, and he was dispatched with enough Raid to kill a small mammal. Dan picked the bug up with the tongs and flushed him down the toilet. The Tupperware containers of winter clothing are still sitting in our guest room because between the trauma of the whole experience and my overall exhaustion right now, but we slept in our Raid-fresh scented room last night. And once again, I knew that the man I married really does love me, no matter how high-maintenance and crazy I am.
That's a good thing to remember right now.

True conversation that took place in our home on Sunday evening.

Dan: What's that song, the one about (sings) "I'm not sixteen for the moment" or something?

Haley: Well, that is not how that song goes at all, but it's a terrible song, so I don't wish to talk about.

Dan (laughing): Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that "Thou shalt not utter the words to any sub-par songs in the presence of the Almighty Music Nerd." Forgive me, your highness.

I was going to argue in this post that I'm not that much of a nerd, and that Dan is exagerrating, but then while I was writing this, High Fidelity came on Comedy Central and so of course I stopped to watch it. (Because thou shalt not click past the best music nerd movie ever when it is on television.) But then I had to turn it off. Do you know why? Because I have seen that movie so many times that I know all the words, and so I noticed every time a scene was cut short so the movie would fit neatly into the time slot alloted for it. If I could use some of this brain power for anything even remotely useful, I could probably take over the world.
But instead I realize that my husband is right, and admit it on the Internet.
Still, that is a really awful song.

As you may have noticed, my site is currently festooned with little Google ads. This was not my idea. If it annoys you greatly, you will have to take it up with Dan the Great. It is his idea to put ads on the Web site, not because there is any reason to think we could make any money, but because he has recently become fascinated with Google. He loves them. Not in the same way that you and I love Google because it's cool to type in people's names and find out all kind of crazy information. Dan is fascinated with Google as a computer technology business. He believes they are going to take over the world any minute now. So maybe the ads are Dan's way of making sure that when Google does launch its world domination campaign, they will know we are on their side and will not harm us. I don't know. All I know is that Dan could pretty much shut my blog down tomorrow and I would not be able to do anything about it, so if he wants to put some ads on it, I have to let him. However, we have argued over the placement of these ads, and if you still see a big blue box to the immediate right of this post, it is because Dan hasn't yet reached the point where he can't stand hearing me whine about it any more, but don't worry, he will get there soon.
Anyway, if the ads interfere with your reading expereience, let us know, but otherwise, carry on as usual. Until Google tells you otherwise.

This weekend, Dan and I were kind of debating whether or not we should go ahead and do the whole Christmas tree thing. We are really busy in the next few weeks, and we're leaving to go to Mississippi on December 15, so it's not like we'll even be here to enjoy our own tree. All day Saturday while we were making and revising Christmas gift lists for our families, a process that was seemingly endless, I was thinking that it would probably be better to just skip the tree this year. But then I changed my mind and set it up anyway. I'm glad I did. It's so pretty. This morning, we woke up to see the first snow of the year on the ground. It wasn't a great snow, but it was really and truly cold outside for the first time, and it was all cozy inside our apartment with our tree. Then tonight, Dan made his mom's sugar cookies. It's this complicated recipe where you have to refrigerate the dough for a day and stuff, but they are so good. We're going to take a bunch of them to our Wednesday night class of kids at church to let them frost and decorate, but tonight, we did a batch of our own. It was so much fun.

This is Dan making the frosting. He had to beat me back to keep me from putting my fingers in the bowl. It's soooo good.

Then, we made pink and green icing and had fun with sprinkles.

I made the butt-kickingest snowman ever, with a little green, flowerdy hat and a pink coat.

Dan made fun of this Christmas tree I made, but I think it was cute.

And now I think I am ready for it to be Christmas. All I need to do now is watch Charlie Brown Christmas.

Yeah, I just quoted Queen. I can't help it. I have been under some pressure in the last few days and it's affecting the soundtrack in my head. Now the drop-deadlines have passed and I'm under the kind of pressure where you sit around and think of everything that you might have gotten wrong. Journalism is awesome, because if you screw up, you do it in front of thousands of readers. Woo-hoo!
But this story does have an up-note, and here it is: In the middle of a day that had me questioning why I do what I do, not because I don't believe in it and like doing it most days, but because it makes me worry that I'm going to have some kind of stress-related medical event at a very young age, in the middle of this day, the receptionist in my office called and asked if I would come out to the lobby. I did, and there was a big, beautiful bouquet of roses and a bunch of balloons waiting for me with a card from Dan! He sent me flowers! All the rest of the day, people asked me if it was my anniversary or my birthday, and I got to tell them, 'No, it's just something my husband did for me."
I know you all want to gag right about now, especially since I recently wrote about how great my husband is. But seriously, my husband is great.
I'm sure that one day, I won't remember all the many reasons why I thought my head was going to explode today. But I hope I will remember my roses. That's a good memory to keep.

Overhead at the Wachdorf house:

Haley: Your hair smells good.
Dan: It must be my hair gel.
Haley: What kind is it?
Dan: Garnier Fructis.
Haley: That is such a girl product! You better not admit that in public.
Dan: Well, it's not like they make non-girly hair gel. "Introducing Manly McBeefcake, the hair gel for men. Made from raw cow hide and the sweat of dead men." They don't make that.
Haley: It wouldn't smell good, either.

I think something might be wrong with Dan. He's watching a documentary on the History Channel about the history of synthetic leather. Really watching it. I checked. I said "Dan, are you actually watching this?" and he said "Yep."

Of course, a few minutes ago, he was utterly absorbed in some Web site called "Ask a Ninja."

Envy me, ladies, because I am married to a man of many interests. You know you're jealous.

Happy third anniversary, Dan. I love you so much and I'm so glad that you are my husband.

I have heard lots of women say that their husbands are really just little boys trapped in the body of men. It's hard not to agree with that statement when people ask you what you did on Saturday night and you say "I went to watch my husband race tiny cars."

For the last year or so, Dan has been building and learning to drive radio controlled cars. First he went through a radio controlled airplane phase, but after that first miscalculation he has found his true love, and it is a pink car. Meet the Losi, which is in line after me to inherit all of Dan's worldly posessions should he pass away.

On Saturday, I went and saw Dan drive the car in his first real race. It was so cute. Our friends Mike and Kate came out to watch, and Kate pointed out that the manly men of the race track probably would not appreciate me referring to their cars as "cute." But it's hard not to when they are so tiny and take such funny-looking jumps off of the dirt hills. I laughed and laughed. But when Dan raced I was very serious and rooted for him. He did very well, so I went for the gold medal in the Embarrasing Wife Olympics and gave him a big kiss in front of everyone and took his picture with Mike. It wasn't until Dan and Mike were standing next to one another that I realized they were wearing matching Old Man Fishing Hats.

I couldn't stay for the whole night but Dan came in a while later, dirt-covered and elated, with a big smile on his face. It was that smile you see on the face of little boys who have spent the afternoon on their favorite dirt pile with the truck collection. I told him he was cute.

The following are two photos, both taken on Dan's birthday. The first one is from 2005, the second from 2006. Look at the two photos and tell me what difference you notice about Dan between the two photos, and what you think about that difference. You know, like on Sesame Street.

Photo No. 1, from 2005:

Photo No.2, from 2006:

Bonus points if you can tell me the rest of the lyrics to the Sesame Street song on which this entry's title is based. Also, I think the lesson I'm learning from looking at these photos side by side is that I need to get more creative with my picture-taking methods.

On this, the second night in the last three that I have spent watching my husband watch a televised Texas A&M basketball game, (and bear in mind that the third evening of those three was reserved for the Super Bowl) Dan and I had the following conversation. Dan remarked on the fact that the Texas A&M basketball coach is not married.

Me: Yeah, he doesn't have time to have a life, that's why he's not married.
Him: He's really dedicated to the game. It's probably better that he's not married. At least he's not ignoring his wife or something.
Me: Maybe they should make all Aggies stay single so that they can give their whole attention to being Aggies.
Dan: (Silence.)

Yes, it is a full time job being an Aggie. And being married to one, for that matter. if the Aggies keep up their winning streak, I may never see the front of my husband's face again, just the side of his head as he turns his face toward the glow of our plasma television.

Maybe I will take up knitting to pass the time. I think Dan would really like a giant burnt orange University of Texas sweater, don't you?

On Saturday, Dan and I had a two-hour sit down with our calendar to try to schedule a bunch of things that need to happen this summer before the baby comes. Among those things are some kitchen renovations we've been putting off, some traveling I'd like to do before that gets too complicated, some family visiting us here in Albuquerque, and somewhere in there the fact that we need to take a six week childbirth preparation class.

It was not an easy task, because every time we'd get one things seemingly settled, it would be come apparent that our most recent decision conflicted with some other aspect of the List of Things to Do. But at the end, we'd gotten it straightened out, down to filling out a form signing us up for the childbirth class we chose, putting it in the envelope and putting the stamp on. Before I sealed the envelope however, I glanced back at the informational packet my doctor's office had given me and noticed that in addition to the childbirth prep course, they also recommend an infant care and safety course and a breastfeeding course.

We were so fried after the process of trying to find a six-week period of time when we could take the first class, that I almost didn't even mention this new information to Dan. But we were there anyway, so I asked how he felt about the infant care course, and brought up the breastfeeding course as well.

I mentioned that the infant care course might be good, because I've heard they give you a plastic baby doll and have you practice things like bathing and diapering, but I could tell Dan's mind had shot right past the infant care course and was trying to compute the breastfeeding class concept.

"What are they going to teach you in a breastfeeding course?"
"Well, I don't know, but the class comes pretty well recommended, and it's only a couple of hours."
"Yeah, but I don't understand how a bunch of women are going to learn to nurse babies that they haven't had yet."

It's funny when you get to the point in your marriage when you can almost see thoughts forming in your spouse's mind. At that moment, an expression of imagination crossed Dan's face, and it became obvious to me that he was envisioning a group of women sitting in a circle, trying to nurse plastic baby dolls. The imaginative look is replaced by an expression of alarm, and then he snaps out of it and says:

"Yeah. I'm definitely not going to that class."

I guess I can see his point. I'm sure any man would not feel exactly at home with that discussion. But it makes me wonder what he thinks we're going to be talking about in the childbirth class. The stork?

Today is mine and Dan's fourth wedding anniversary. Thursday is not a very romantic day for an anniversary celebration, since we both have to go to work. But still, we were lying in bed this morning talking about how it's been four years since we got married and marveling at how quickly that's gone by and how much our lives have changed and are getting ready to change again.

One of Dan's ways to tell me he loves me is to say "I think you're pretty great. We should get married." And my part of the routine is to say "Wait, we already did that!" It's stupid, but it always makes me smile and think about how glad I am that we "already did that."

So today, we're celebrating something we already did and looking forward to doing all the things we haven't done and the many years we hope and believe are yet to come. I love you, Dan. Happy anniversary.

Today is Dan's 27th birthday, which means that he has to stop calling me an old lady. I'm six months older than him, and he really enjoys the part of the year when he can refer to me as old. But it's over now. We're both the same amount of old, and I think 27 is going to be a big year for both of us, since this is the age we'll be when we become (cue the weighty-sounding music) .... Parents.

It's funny, but it's harder for me to picture myself as a mom than it is for me to picture Dan as a dad. I've always known Dan was going to make a great dad. He's wonderful with kids and genuinely enjoys spending time with them. And as several people at our church can confirm, kids really gravitate to him. I think it's because he just understands what kids would like to do more than most adults do. I'm not proud of this, since I think craft-type stuff is supposed to be something that women are just naturally good at, but after four years of leading the three-to-six-year-old Wednesday night Pioneer Clubs class at our church, the number of fun crafts and activities that I have planned for those evenings is far outweighed by the countless ones that Dan planned, bought supplies for, and led the kids in doing. After a while, it became obvious that his ideas were consistently better than mine, so he took over that aspect of the class entirely and I just helped the kids man their glue sticks and glitter. Dan can tell you about 25 things you can make with popsicle sticks without seeming at all un-manly. I love that.

So today, I am happy that Dan was born, that he is my husband, and that he is going to be Kate's daddy. We're very blessed girls to have a man like him.

I will get the embarrassing part out there at the start: We went to see Transformers on Wednesday. I knew we were going to have to do that because very early in the day, Dan started going around the house singing the part of the Transformers cartoon theme song about "more than meets the eye." Once he starts singing, you're pretty much going to have to cave in and do whatever he wants. I'm just telling you this in case Dan ever starts trying to persuade you.

So we went to see Transformers, which was good because the air conditioner was not working so well in our house and the movies are nice and dark and cold. And the movie really wasn't bad. In fact, it was pretty good. The only bad part about it was that everyone else and their mama went to see that movie on the 4th of July. So we got to the movie early, got our popcorn and settled in for some pre-previews people watching. And here is what we learned:

There are apparently hundreds and hundreds of people who think it is appropriate to take very small children to a PG-13 movie. I'm talking about kids who needed booster chairs to see over the seats in front of them. Kids in diapers. Really little kids. It was kind of disturbing, especially given the fact that an actual children's movie, Pixar's "Ratatouille," was playing down the hall. But then, I suppose there's no better way to teach the kids about our nation's independence than taking them to watch Decepticons try to annihilate the Earth. Or something. (A note: Originally this sentence read: "... teach the kids about our nation's independence by taking them to watch autobots try to annihilate the earth." Then Joshua, who is set to marry Dan's sister Hannah in two weeks, pointed out to me that the Autobots are the good guys who try to help the earth, and the Decepticons are evil. I have corrected my mistake, and would just like to say to Joshua, thank you for helping me get my Transformer lingo straight and proving once again how perfectly suited you are to join the Wachdorf family. You're going to be the geeky, Transformer-watching little brother Dan always wanted. Maybe at Christmas we can get you matching jammies and you can watch cartoons together. It's meant to be. And you and Hannah are good together, too. I'm getting choked up.)

So was this just an Albuquerque phenomenon or did anyone else see people hauling lap children into this film? Of course, you would have to admit to seeing Transformers to comment on that, but I invite you to just embrace your inner nerd and 'fess up. You know you loved it.

Dan came back from San Antonio last night, and I am glad. In addition to a suitcase full of dirty laundry, he came bearing gifts for Kate. Several LARGE shopping bags were stuffed full of baby clothes bought by the female members of the Wachdorf/Dubovik clan during an excursion to the fantastic outlet malls. This is going to be a fashionable baby, thanks entirely to the impeccable taste of her many female relatives. Thanks, ladies!

But Dan also bought the baby a gift from him during his time in Texas. It's a book. But not just any book. A book called "Texas A&M Aggies 1 2 3: My First Counting Book." He is enormously proud of this purchase. It is shaped like a football helmet, and teaches the baby to count things like mascots, athletes, trophies and pennants. It will also ensure that Kate knows the vital fact that there are 100 yards in a football field.

I think this is Dan's attempt to make sure that his daughter is more sports-literate than her mom while simultaneously brainwashing her into wanting to attend A & M. I guess we'll find out if it works in 18 years or so.

In the meantime, here's Dan, posing with his propaganda:

Actual conversation that took place in our home last night:

Haley (gesturing toward a laundry basket full of Kate's clothes): Dan, would you mind folding those for me?

Dan: Sure. (Looks at the basket, sees that the clothes are pink and miniature.) You mean you actually fold Kate's clothes? They're so little!

Haley (laughing, sort of wondering if he's kidding): Yes, I fold them. What did you think I did? Put them in a giant wad in her dresser?

Dan: Well ... yeah.

A dozen beautiful roses arrived for me yesterday morning from Dan, who sent them not because it is a holiday or our anniversary or anything like that, but just because, to quote him, he loves me and wants me to feel special. (Awwww.) I did not waste the opportunity to have a teaching moment with Kate, and told her, while she ate her peaches and tried to calculate how she could get one of the roses into her mouth, that when she grows up, she should marry someone who loves her so much that he will send flowers for no reason. That information will come in handy when she's 25 and we let her start dating.

Last night, we were getting ready for bed right after Dan finished watching an episode of a show called "Ax Men" which is about loggers in the Pacific Northwest. I don't watch the show, but I do hear it playing, and to me, it sounds like lots of yelling and crashing trees interspersed with plenty of bleeped-out cursing. But apparently, if you have testosterone coursing through your veins, this is a very inspirational program, because my computer scientist husband had this to say as we climbed into bed.

"I think I'm going to quit my job and go be a logger. Yeah. I think of all my talents, manual labor is really the strongest. Why are you laughing?"

Maybe because until recently, Dan mowed our lawn with a Weed Whacker. But I'm sure the transition to a GIANT CHAIN SAW will go very smoothly.

On Saturday, Dan and I cleaned out our garage. Earlier in the week, the garage door broke, and we had to call a repair service to come and fix it. You know how sometimes you stop noticing how awful something looks because you see it all the time? That's how I had gotten about our garage, because I was used to kicking cardboard boxes and piles of unshelved tools out of the way to get to and from the car. But when I took the repairman in there, I kind of saw it for how messy it really was, and I was embarrassed to be taking anyone in there, even a total stranger who I will never see again. So that is how Dan ended up getting recruited to help me clean it up on Saturday afternoon. He was thrilled.

We had settled into separate tasks - Dan was putting tools away and I was sweeping, and at some point I looked up to see Dan nonchalantly wearing this on his head:

This is actually a Bumbo Seat that Kate has outgrown, but Dan decided it would make a good garage cleaning hat. He wore it for at least 20 minutes, which was plenty of time for me to go get the camera, for which he smiled AND made a ridiculous face even though he had to know that I was going to post the picture on the Internet. If he has hasn't learned that by now, it's not my fault.

On Saturday, we're celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. Five years sounds like a long time, and since these last two years have brought us our first house and our first child, I could be feeling like we've reached this new, mature stage in our marriage and are now officially old married people. In a lot of ways that is true, because having a baby does change everything, just like everyone tells you it will, and we have grown up a lot as people and in our relationship with one another since we got married back in April of 2003. But pictures like this remind me that deep down, Dan is still the same goofy guy I married five years ago, and that makes me really happy, because I love that guy.

So now, a vote: Since Dan is standing in front of his Texas A&M flag in this picture, should I email it in for use in the Aggie alumni newsletter as an anniversary prank? And if I do, what should my joke caption be? I am thinking something along the lines of "In his spare time, Daniel Wachdorf, Class of 2002, serves as Omniscient Ruler of the Order of Alien Ambassadors, whose members wear special hats to identify themselves as translators for lost space aliens seeking directions from earthlings."

If only we lived in Roswell.

On Saturday mornings, Dan is sweet enough to get up with Kate at 7 and play with her until it's time for her to take her morning nap so that I can get some extra sleep. Then we usually put her down for her nap and spend some time together. This morning, when we heard Kate wake up from her nap, Dan went to get her, and I stayed in the kitchen and drank coffee, but because I forgot to turn off the baby monitor, this is what I heard:

Dan: "Hey Smiles!" (This is what he calls Kate when she wakes up from naps because most of the time she gives you this smile like you've been on a long trip and she's ecstatic to see you again.)

Kate: Laughs and kicks, I can hear her heels thumping against the mattress.

Dan: "You took such a good nap! Let's get you dressed so we can go out and eat breakfast, OK?" (Sound of drawers opening.)"We'll pick out a cute outfit for you. What do you think about this dress?" (More kicking, giggling, etc. from Kate.)

And back in the kitchen, my heart almost exploded with love for the two of them for the millionth time. One of the most precious things about this first year with Kate has been getting to see what a great dad Dan is. I'm so thankful for him, and I'm looking forward to celebrating his first Father's Day, which is probably the last Father's Day that he won't be able to trick Kate into telling him what gift he's getting. Or at least showing him where I hid it. She's a pretty big daddy's girl, after all.

Kate and I are sending our love to Dan on his birthday, which is today. Unfortunately, he's away on a business trip. But celebrations are planned for this weekend, and in the meantime, Kate is marking the occasion by eating the birthday sign I made in order to take this picture for Dan:

I had to put it out of her reach for the picture, and five seconds later, this is what happened to it, in case you think I am exaggerating:

We miss you, Dan! Happy Birthday.

The photos posted here illustrate two points. The first point, in keeping with the title, is "It's Dan's birthday tomorrow!" The second point of the pictures is to let the grandmas see Kate's new hair cut. I took her to get her bangs trimmed the other day because she was starting to look like the guy from Flock of Seagulls. Now we have cute bangs instead.

In less than 12 hours, we here in the Wachdorf house are embarking on what Dan has dubbed "The Weekend of Dan." Tomorrow is his birthday, and Sunday is Father's Day, so he has taken the opportunity to just call a three-day holiday in his honor and plan an elaborate series of celebrations, some of which I think will be more amusing than others. Let's see if you can pick that part of the story out for yourselves. The plans for tomorrow are as follows:

1. Breakfast at Einstein's Bagels.
2. Ice cream cake. Dan loves him some ice cream cake. Seriously, seriously loves it.
3. Presents. I am probably looking forward to this more than Dan is, just because it will mean that he will know what I got him and will therefore be able to stop asking me about it every. ten. minutes.
4. Having secured a babysitter for the evening, Dan and I will go to restaurant of his choosing (he still hasn't made up his mind, so for all I know, we're going to Taco Bell.)
5. After dinner, we will go to an indoor shooting range for target practice.

Yes. That's right. My husband, when told that I was up for whatever he wanted to do for his birthday, chose a romantic evening at the firing range. The back story on this is that Dan recently purchased a hand gun. I am fine with this, since we have taken very extensive security precautions with it in light of Kate's presence in our home. Still, at no point have I expressed a desire to shoot the thing. In fact, I think I may have expressed the exact opposite sentiment, something along the lines of hoping that we never, ever have reason to use the gun. It's not that I have anything against guns. In a recent conversation, some friends from Alabama and I agreed that when you grow up in the South, guns are just kind of around, like scenery. People shoot guns recreationally, they hunt with them, they have them in their trucks. In fact, you can pretty much bet that several people around you at any given moment in Mississippi are packing. So it's not that I recoil at the sight of a gun. But my first thought upon seeing one is about the kind of extreme circumstances in which one might have need of a gun, and those thoughts do not make me go "Woohoo!" This, I am starting to understand after six years of marriage, is not how men think, or at least not how my husband thinks. My husband sees a gun and thinks "I need to shoot that gun. And so does my wife." So off to the shooting range we go.

The ostensible reason for this jaunt to the land of ammo and testosterone is that since we do own a gun now, I need to learn how to handle it reliably and safely, and that's probably true. But I know that once we're past all the safety stuff, it's going to turn into a competition. So I invite you, dear readers, to place your bets now: Can I outshoot Dan? Here is all the relevant information you need: I have fired a gun before, but not for a very long time. I am, however, not a terrible shot once I remember what I am doing. Dan on the other hand has been target shooting for a while now, and claims that he is pretty good. I, on the other hand, am very good at distracting Dan when he's trying to concentrate, and I am totally prepared to play dirty, so that may even the playing field a bit. Leave your birthday wishes, predictions and wagers in the comments section, and I'll let you know what happens. That is, after I finish grand marshalling the festivities Dan has planned for his Father's Day celebration, which include more gifts, more ice cream cake, and the grilled shish-kabobs he wants me to cook for him. If Kate knew how much ice cream there is going to be in this house this weekend, she would stay awake counting down the hours until tomorrow.

Well, I won't keep you in suspense for very long. The Birthday Boy is a much better shot than I am. My apologies to all y'all who voted for me for letting you down. Apparently, I underestimated Dan's skill with a handgun, which I suppose is comforting since he is the one who has been practicing. But would-be home invaders should still fear me, because based on my shot pattern on the person-shaped target we used, my strategy is to shoot bad guys in the, umm, guy region. Dan assures me that this will be very effective as a home defense strategy, but since that is not where I was aiming, it doesn't say a lot for my sharpshooting skills.

Here we are shooting. First Dan:

Then me. There was this girl next to me who was putting round after round into the exact middle of all the targets. It was impressive. I think she was laughing at me.

We did lots of other things to celebrate the Weekend of Dan, including the much-anticipated eating of the above-pictured ice cream cake, which unfortunately is still going on, since the smallest ice cream cake you can buy serves six to eight people. If just the two of you eat it, the cake probably helps you gain six to eight pounds, but who is counting?

We also went to the aquarium and botanical gardens to hang out and see the butterfly pavilion, which was fun. Turns out butterflies are really really fast and rarely stay still, so this is the only clear picture I got of one even though there were hundreds of them in that pavilion. Still, isn't it pretty?

We had a picnic after that.

That evening, after our shooting spree, Dan and I went and ate steak, which is a nice manly birthday kind of thing to do. Then we headed over to the home of Mr. and Mrs. J for a little gathering to see our friend Mike, who was back in town for a couple of days. Mrs. J, ever the awesome hostess, even had birthday candles and cake for Dan. Here's a picture of the group:

Sunday was Father's Day and therefore Part II of the Weekend of Dan. Kate gave him a Wii game he's been wanting, and then promptly demanded that they play it together before church. They play Wii like this a lot, with Kate holding a controller and totally convinced that she is playing too.

As you can see from this next picture, it was a very suspenseful game. Dan let Kate think she won.

Later in the day, there was more meat in the form of the grilled shish kabobs that Dan always always asks me to make for his birthday, and of course, some quality Daddy daughter time in the camp chairs that we have never taken camping. This is about as rugged as we get.

Here is the story of how we bought Dan a suit this evening. I am going to tell it in two installments because I want to go to bed. The first part is basically all background. The second part involves Balloon Fiesta, New Mexico's unpredictable weather, sweet tea and a minor miracle. Settle in.

In a week, my sister is getting married. This has caused much excitement in our home as I've previously mentioned. What I have not mentioned is that it has also resulted in something of a wardrobe crisis as well. I'm not sure if New Mexico natives are aware of this, but the Land of Enchantment has a very laid back dress code going on. You could pretty much go to the swankiest four-star restaurant in Albuquerque where they come by and remove individual bread crumbs from your tablecloth with silver tongs and while you'll probably see some folks who are dressed up, you'll also see a few people in blue jeans and cowboy boots. This is all very good and charming in a Wild West sort of way, except that it has brainwashed me and made me forget The Rules.

What are The Rules? Well, let me tell you. I grew up in The South. The Deep South. And among other things, one thing the South takes very seriously is the Dress Code. There are certain events to which you wear certain things. I can't really be more specific, because most of the Code is unspoken, but there was a time in my life when I knew instinctively that if you are invited to a bridal shower at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday, you should wear nice slacks or a skirt and a sweater set. Probably also your pearls (Real or fake). These are the Rules. I don't know why. You just do it.

Then I moved away and came here, to the Land of Come As You Are. And I have to say, it is refreshing in a lot of ways. No one cares what you wear out here, which is a relief sometimes. Except when you leave and go to a wedding. Now, to her credit, my sister Hannah is about the most chill bride I have ever met in terms of what everyone else should wear to her wedding. She's not putting any pressure on us. I called her to tell her what we were wearing, and offered to send photos for her approval since our outfits will be in her wedding pictures, and she laughed at me. The drama is all in my head, and it's because I realized a few years ago to my horror that I have lost my internal decoder ring for the Rules and now I don't know what to wear to anything once I'm out of the high desert. For about three years now, when we're going back to Mississippi and attending an event of any significance, I have to ask my mom what we should be wearing. She still knows The Rules, and she's much better at picking out clothes for me than I am anyway.

My point is that I, guilted by no one, have been kind of uncertain what we should be wearing to the wedding. I'll save you most of the agony by saying that Kate and I are all squared away. (Kate will be adorable. I will pass for her mother.) But when we started trying to figure out what Dan should wear, we sort of hit a wall. Clearly, what I remember of The Rules state that an evening wedding calls for a suit. Dan used to have a suit. He still has it, in fact. But it was bought in a rush for job interviews during his last semester in college, and it's never fit right and isn't comfortable at all. So he never wears it. Meanwhile, Dan's work dress code falls under "New Mexico. What Are You Going to Do?" The man can wear blue jeans to work every day. He is happy as a clam. So am I, because I don't iron. If he had a job where he had to wear dress shirts and ties, we'd be paying a second mortgage in dry cleaning costs because if it's up to me, it ain't going to happen.

About a month ago, we started looking into what we would need to do to get Dan a nice suit for the wedding and other occasions in life that just call for a suit. Those of you who know us in real life know that Dan is tall. Really really tall. I never really thought of this as a disadvantage for a person until I realized, when Dan ran into the top of a low doorway ten minutes into our first date, that the world is just not built for people as tall as Dan. Furniture is too small. The roof of a compact car almost touches his head. Heaven help you if you have to fly on an airplane and can't score a seat in the emergency exit aisle. And it turns out that in the land of suit-buying, Dan's tall suit size translates into "What? Are you serious?" Then they bring out the two suits they have in that size, which are never on sale, and that is the end of the attempt to find you a suit. The only exception to this procedure appeared to be at stores where you had better be prepared to donate an organ to pay for the suit they'll be selling you. So we got pretty discouraged and concluded, at Hannah's insistence, that it would really be OK if Dan just wore a dress shirt and tie to the wedding. I was OK with that, because I do, regardless of what this post might lead you to believe, understand that the most important thing is that we're going to be there to support Hannah and Daniel at their wedding and no one really cares what we wear, Rules or not.

But as I mentioned, we bought Dan a suit tonight. And you'll just have to wait to hear the rest of that story.

This is the second part of the epic saga relating how we bought Dan a suit yesterday evening. Part One is here, in case you just can't keep up with all the action.

Yesterday did not go as planned. My plan for Kate and I was to spend a pretty quiet morning and afternoon at home in anticipation of the fact that later we were going to meet some friends for the Special Shapes Glow, an evening event at the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. The glows are events where the pilots don't fly the balloons, but inflate them so spectators can look at the designs. When it gets dark, they light up from inside and it's like looking at giant Christmas tree ornaments.

While we are big fans of the Fiesta, the one frustrating thing about it is that it is very weather dependent. If there is too much wind, it's dangerous for the pilots to take off in the mornings, so it's possible to get yourself down to the field at the crack of dawn only to witness a field full of disappointed spectators. In the evening, too much wind during a glow means the pilots won't inflate the balloons for fear of scorching the canopy. The fiesta's policy on canceled events is that your ticket can be used for another event later on in the week, but I think that's kind of lame, since it assumes you can make it to another event. Which brings us to yesterday.

The glows are a fun event to go to with friends, since it isn't as hard to muster your conversational skills at 6 in the evening as it can be at 6 in the morning. So we had emailed a bunch of friends to say we'd like to go and anyone else who was interested could meet us at the Park and Ride. In retrospect, I don't know what I was thinking. I don't organize things. It is not my spiritual gift. Almost every year we've gone to a Fiesta event with friends, and never once have I been in charge of the logistical planning. This is because if plans proceed without a hitch, I'm fine. But if there is any hiccup along the way that requires someone to make a decision about how to proceed, I am useless.

Now when people talk about the weather in New Mexico, they go on and on about how nice it is, and this is true. We have sun for a ridiculous number of days a year. It gets warm in the summer, but there is no humidity, which makes up for a multitude of ills. We get enough snow to be fun, but not enough that you start to hate the sight of your own driveway. And when it does rain, it usually doesn't last for long. But "predictable" is certainly not a word I would use to describe our climate. You can wake up in the morning to a thunderstorm that convinces you that you'll need your umbrella and galoshes all day, and by the time you get to work, the sun will be shining again. It's very disconcerting.

Yesterday morning started off lovely. Sunny, no wind, and all around perfect for a balloon event in the evening. I got all our stuff ready and loaded as much of it in the car as I could so I wouldn't forget. Then it got cloudy. Then sunny again. Then windy. Then rainy. Then sunny and still, but with deep dark clouds off in the distance. Then more wind and another smattering of rain and colder by the minute. By this time I had had three conversations with the friends we were hoping to meet about whether or not we should proceed. Basically, I told them, beats me. As I said, executive decisions are not my best skill. So I did what I usually do in these situations and called Dan, who does not lack for certainty in many things. We agreed that we'd talk again around 3:30 and make a decision then, since that would be around when he'd need to know whether or not we were going so he could wrap things up at work.

I put Kate down for her nap and kept looking outside every ten seconds, to see the following array of conditions at any given moment: Sun, no wind, wind, no rain, rain, windy, cold cold cold, sun out again, warming up but windy now. Accordingly, I bounced back and forth between optimism and deciding to cancel. None of this was cleared up by 3:30, when Dan called. After a long talk, we agreed that we'd just call off our plans. So I called our friends and told them that we wouldn't be going, although they were certainly welcomed to do so.

And I think that if you live in New Mexico, or have a sense of humor, you know what happened next: Pretty much from the moment we made that decision, the weather consistently improved. By the time I was driving down the Interstate on my way to meet Dan for dinner, those being the alternate plans we had made for the evening, there was not a cloud in the sky and the wind had stopped blowing. We were tempted to just head on out to the field, but that's a bit easier said than done since you need to start the Park and Ride process a good bit before the event starts. So we went ahead and got dinner and I continued kicking myself for not just going ahead with our original plans.

We ate at McAllister's, one of the only places in town where I can get sweet tea, and that made me feel a bit better about life. And then we had some time to kill, so Dan suggested that we step over to Jos. A. Banks to look for a new tie for him. We had gone through his tie collection the night before and concluded that he could really use a new one. So into the store we walked. It wasn't until we were already in the door that it occurred to me that this might be a bad idea. Kate was with us, in all her two-year-old glory, and while I have seen the outside of this particular men's dress clothing store before, I have never had any reason to go inside. It turns out that it is a rather expensive store with lots of fine fabrics stacked in giant piles quite near the eye-level of a sippy-cup wielding toddler. I gather that they don't get a lot of kids in there to start with, because the saleslady's eyes (and her raised eyebrows) went straight to Kate as she asked us if she could help us. We said no, we were just going to look at some ties really quickly, and we headed over there.

We browsed for a few minutes, taking turns keeping an eye on Kate, who was behaving as if we were in a nightclub. There were a lot of mirrors in the store and piped-in music, so naturally in Kate's mind this meant that was time to dance. Really enthusiastically. But she was being good and staying occupied, so that was fine. We had picked out a few ties we thought would be good matches for the shirt in question when we did what we should have done from the start and flipped one of the ties over to check out the price tag. And as soon as we did that, we put them right back, because holy cow, I do not have any business touching a four-foot piece of fabric that costs $85. This may have been the other message the saleslady was conveying to us when we first walked in, but far be it from me to accuse her of wallet profiling us.

We had parked nearer to the back of the store than the front, so we headed that way, herding Kate the whole way. But on the way out, we saw a sign advertising a suit sale event that was underway in the store. Since we've pretty much been on a suit hunt for weeks, we decided to just take a quick peek. Unfortunately, the shelving methods proved too difficult for us to navigate without the assistance of the saleslady, who showed us the general (pretty small) area where we'd find Dan's size, and then went to answer the phone. So we started digging. We found a couple of suits that seemed like a good fit based on the jackets, but because the lady had been really vague in her explanation of what suits fell under the sale and which didn't, I was basically having to squint in order to bring myself to look at the price tags on the suits, like you do when you're watching a scary movie and you know a bad guy is about to jump out of the closet and kill someone. Obviously, I don't have a lot of experience in suit-buying, but I would expect to pay the amount of money they want for one of these suits for, say, a new kitchen appliance. Not a piece of clothing.

In a few minutes, the saleslady came back over to see how we were getting along, and as it turned out, once of the suits Dan had really liked did fall under a sale of some sort. So we started having this really complicated conversation about pants. Apparently, the suit jacket we found was actually part of their separates line, which meant that the lady had to measure Dan for pants and then go find out if they had a matching pair in his size in the store. She did this without ever fully divulging what, exactly, the cost of these two items together would be, and then she randomly launched into trying to sell us a much more expensive suit by pointing out to us something about the collar being made out of horsehair so that it takes on the shape of your body over time. (What?) The whole time this was going on, I was basically trying to maintain eye contact with her and ask questions that would get me actual answers not related to horsehair, but every ten seconds I was having to whip my head around and go "KATE!" to try to get some kind of an idea where in the store my child was. At this point, she was in full Wander Mode and was just ambling all over the place, stopping occasionally to break it down some more when a song she liked would come on the radio.

Finally, the saleslady realized that we were so not in the market for the more expensive suit and went off to check into the pants situation. She came back and announced that they did not have Dan's pants size. They had a size above and one above, and the different in either direction was pretty extreme and most likely not going to be fixable through tailoring, especially since we need this suit this week. We talked over a few options, but the truth was that the suit we were looking at was really the only one we could afford to be interested in, so we started gathering Kate up to leave. The saleslady went to put back the pair of too-large pants she had pulled out in case Dan wanted to try them on, and then she said "Oh wait! We just got very lucky. The pants in your size were actually put in the wrong place and that's why I didn't find them!" So suddenly, with that minor retail miracle, we were back in business, and off Dan went to the dressing rooms.

Up until this point, I felt like our ill-advised jaunt into a high-end men's clothing store was going relatively well in the child department, because while Kate had run around a good bit, she hadn't gotten upset or damaged anything. I was maybe starting to pat myself on the back a little bit about that. And as you know, pride goeth before a giant smackdown. We got into the dressing room, and Kate started calling for Dan, who had disappeared into one of rooms. "Daddy! DaddyDaddyDaddy!" she was calling him. I didn't really try to stop her because I thought we were the only ones in the dressing room. I hadn't seen any other customers. Which is why I also didn't stop her when she started crawling halfway under the door of the dressing room that she had apparently decided Dan was in. She had most of her body in there backwards, and was happily chirping away in her usual conversational tone, when the door opened and a man who was NOT DAN came walking out, stepping over Kate to get out of his dressing room. Kate totally freaked out when she looked up expecting to see Dan and saw this dude instead, and she came running over to me with giant terrified eyes. I was mortified. Here I was, just chilling out on a bench, watching my kid invade a TOTAL STRANGER'S dressing room. Mother of the Year. The guy was really nice about it and said he had kids too, so he understood. But there is really just no recovery from that. Thankfully, he was done trying on stuff, or maybe Kate's little performance convinced him that it was time to wrap it up, and he left.

Dan emerged from the dressing room wearing the full suit, and suddenly we were joined by the store's tailor, who appeared out of nowhere and started talking very rapidly in near-undecipherable half-English about the minor adjustments that would need to be made to make the suit fit just right. The only problem was that we had never gotten a straight answer out of the saleslady about what, exactly, this suit would cost if we bought it. So she came back, we asked our question, she disappeared to do calculations, and we stood there with the tailor, who was not a very conversational guy in any language and was also not too happy about Kate trying to snag his tape measure by jumping around at knee-level like one of those excitable small dogs. At this point I was hoping that maybe they have a trap door in Joseph A. Banks that will just swallow you up if you prove to be completely out of your league. No such luck.

But it was worth the humiliation, because a few LONG minutes later, the saleslady returned and quoted us a price that was unbelievably good, not just for the store we were in, but for anywhere else we had looked before. So we said we'd take it, the tailor took his measurements, and we're picking up Dan's new suit on Saturday, a week before the wedding. I will put up some pictures when we pick it up. Kate pronounced the suit to be "Ooooh! Nice!" when she saw it. I agree. Dan looks very sharp in it.

All around, I think our evening was redeemed, even though we made a bad call about the balloon fiesta weather. I'm really thankful that we found such a good deal, because we had basically given up. And at this point, I'm just relieved that now we've successfully bought Dan a very nice suit and we won't have to do that again, hopefully ever. Or maybe at least until we no longer have a toddler with us. I can't handle the stress.

Today, April 19, is our seventh wedding anniversary. Since we've got some pretty all-consuming stuff going on this week, we agreed a while back that we wouldn't be doing anything elaborate to celebrate. We did seize the opportunity to go out on a nice date a few weeks ago and on an overnight trip to Santa Fe in February, back in the distantly-remembered days when I could still get in and out of a car without major physical contortion. Still, I wanted to observe the day here on the blog, so I've been thinking about how best to do that. At first I thought I could finally get around to scanning some of our wedding photos and posting them, but our scanner is way up in the top of our guest room closet right now and this does not seem like a good time to break out any stepladders. Also, our wedding photos are great, but they don't tell you a whole lot about us aside from the fact that we used to be a lot skinnier than we are now. So I gave up on that idea. Then I remembered that recently, a friend passed along a CD of some pictures he took of us during a birthday party for a friend of Kate's back in August. These photos actually do justice to what our relationship is really like if you hang out with us on a regular basis. We don't stand around in formal clothing smiling with our relatives, like we are in our wedding photos. There is, however, a good bit of this:

(All photos courtesy of Bob Podgurski the Great.)

Oh, look honey, we took a nice photo together. Awww.

Five seconds later, Dan has a child's hula skirt on his head. (The birthday party was a luau.) Commence wifely eye-rolling.

Oh, look, we took another decent photo! Awesome! We should go get Kate and maybe one of these could be our Christmas picture!

Or not. (And no, I have no idea what was going on in this photo.) Well, now I remember why we never send Christmas cards.

Whatever it was, it did make me laugh, which is one thing I can say for us. We have fun.

And we still love each other very much. So happy anniversary, Dan! You are a wonderful husband, and I am glad I am your wife even if we don't take very many good photos together.

Today is mine and Dan's ninth wedding anniversary. The other day when I was thinking about this a memory came back to me that I haven't thought about in some time.

The night before our wedding my aunt Lisa very graciously hosted a get-together for me and my bridesmaids at her house. They gave me some gifts and we drank champagne and sat out by the pool and talked. Most of my bridesmaids had just met Dan for the first time that day at the rehearsal since we had been dating for less than a year and I had been living in New Mexico during our relationship, so there were a lot of questions about us. Then one of my friends asked me an excellent question that pulled me up short. I can't remember the exact wording but she basically asked me if there was anything Dan or I did that bothered the other one -- like annoying habits or things we might have to work out as a couple. I had no idea what to say, not because I minded the question but because I just genuinely didn't have an answer. We hadn't been together long enough to start driving each other crazy yet.

Now we will take a pause so that all the married people can laugh until tears roll down their faces.

Nine years later I guarantee you that if you put Dan and I in separate rooms and asked us the same question, we could produce bullet point lists of the many ways we have found to get under one another's skin in nine years of marriage and parenting. No, I am not going to give you that list here. And in fairness to Dan, he would probably sit there and swear that he loves everything about me because he is such a loyal, sweet man. But oh, people. I am all special kinds of difficult that no one but Dan will ever know about and that he definitely did not comprehend that day in April when we stood up at the front of a church and got married in front of God and 200 witnesses, most of whom probably could have easily rattled off their own lists about the person sitting next to them in the pew had we asked them.

This, I think is the great mystery of marriage. After nine years of getting to know each others' faults and slogging through the very high highs and the very low lows that come with average daily life as a family, we really do know one another. And yet we somehow love each other better than we ever did at the start. Nine years into my marriage, I know enough to understand that this is a sort of miracle, and it's one I definitely don't deserve.

This year we have celebrated our anniversary in very grand style. A few weeks ago we left the kids with Dan's folks who are very brave and agreed to entertain the kids beyond their wildest dreams for days and days while we went back to Hawaii, where we spent our honeymoon. It was actually a better trip than our honeymoon because after nine years, we knew exactly what we wanted to do: Nothing. We didn't sightsee much. We didn't do any of the activities at the resort. We didn't feel conflicted about it either. We just puttered around at the beach and the pool and read our books and talked. Doing nothing is super romantic when you have two small kids. It helps if you really like being together, too.

Here's to nine years and miles and miles of God's grace. I hope we are still driving each other crazy on our 50th wedding anniversary.