Even more than the turn of the New Year, March is the month of new beginnings for me. It’s when the scent of spring starts rising from winter’s cold ground and the sun begins to take back it’s share of the day. It’s when sidewalks stay moist from melting snow and patchy brown grass remembers how to come alive again. It’s when the weather tips ever-so-slightly to the warmer side of cold, reminding us how good the days ahead will feel on unbundled necks and hands and faces. Every bird’s trill, every budding tree, every clear and cloudless sky breathes life into my soul like only spring can.

And for me, it always begins with March.

I have this thing with remembering where Mike and I were and what we were doing on any given day together. My absolute favorite time to do this is March. So much of our history began here and in remembering those moments I see how much potential and possibility and good lie ahead of us.

Just like spring.

{ March 14, 2002 }

Eleven years ago I was packing for a college visit to Minneapolis. Mike called and asked if he could see me before I left for the weekend. It was cold out, but we went on a walk around the neighborhood anyway. Right as we made it back to the park by my parents’ house, he asked me to be his princess.  It was an easy yes.

{ March 17, 2006 }

Seven years ago I was sitting under a nail dryer at a salon whose name I can’t remember now with my sister and friend Andrea. I am not Irish, and truthfully had no idea it was St. Patrick’s Day. I just knew I was getting married in the morning. This mani-pedi was the last thing on my to-do list before our wedding weekend officially started. As soon as we knew it was safe, we piled into the car, mindful of fingers and toes, and drove to the church Mike and I grew up in. All of our family and closest friends gathered around pink tables in the youth room for pasta salad and beef sandwiches from Corky’s before practicing who would do what, when and where for our wedding.

{ March 18, 2006 }

It was beautiful out the day we got married, clear and sunny and warm. Some people say they get nervous before their wedding. Maybe I just have nerves of steel but I was never more sure of my decision to marry Mike than when I was bustling around the sanctuary with my train drawn up before the wedding.

If I cried, and I know that I did, it was because I knew I was living one of those moments in life that are so rare and so precious that you want to remember every detail as best as you can, but deep down you know you are attempting the impossible.

The moment they opened the doors and the music started playing all I saw was Mike.  Everything and everyone else faded. I hope it’s one of the pictures that stays in my mind as bright and brilliant as the day itself.

{ March 19, 2006 }

The airfare and accommodations for our honeymoon were generous wedding gifts and as such we were blithely unaware of what we’d find when we arrived. After all the stress and excitement of getting married we were elated to be together and away, so we didn’t much care. As the shuttle pulled up to the resort my jaw dropped and I caught my breath. Never had I seen such a beautifully ornate hotel, palatial and grand. It felt like we walked right into a movie.

At dinner on our first night we were seated with a couple from Chicago, of all places, who were celebrating their anniversary. They had come to Puerto Vallarta on their honeymoon some 20 years prior and had come back to remember.  There is nothing, nothing, nothing like the sweetness of a beautiful honeymoon.  Ours was all that and more, and I hope that someday, maybe we’ll be able to remember the same way that couple from Chicago did.

{ March 17, 2011 }

Two years ago, on the eve of our fifth wedding anniversary, we drove to the hospital I was scheduled to deliver at.  It was brisk, but not cold out, and I could smell that sweet scent of spring that I love so much as I waddled to the car. Everything was calm, calculated, controlled until I heard the precious cry of my second born over the congratulations of the nurses. I can tell he was angry because that cry was so distinct, almost defiant, like he could not possibly believe someone would dare take him from me without first asking his permission. From the very first moment, he was completely my Noah.

The following morning, with the sun streaming through my room, I looked at the perfect sleeping angel nestled in my arm, thankful for the most exceptional anniversary gift Mike and I could have ever received. He still is.

{ March 2013 }

I have found so much happiness in my life with Michael.  Eleven years together, seven married, with two little boys that fill my heart with unspeakable joy.  Today I choose again to cherish all that is good in our lives, the love that we share, the hope we have for tomorrow, and the faith that guides our steps. These three boys have made me the richest woman in the world and I thank God He gave them to me.

Happy Anniversary Michael.

Happy Birthday Noah.

I love you boys.