We've had a pretty eventful couple of weeks. It all started when these guys turned 8.
Two days after that my husband turned 40. FORTY. Now, he already plays with his dingaling and looks at his muscles and smells his own body odor, but all that doesn't matter because in case you haven't noticed he's HOT.
And so with the help of Dirty Steve, I was able to plan a weekend in Bristol, RI with the majority of the Mothership, one of whom (the dingaling on the far left) came all the way from L.A. to touch Paul Bunyan's muscles. They sure do love to do that. And Jarhead, although he drove from Lake George, is from Aspen, CO and Timmy James Hender Fender, although he drove from Newport, RI, is from Lake Forest, IL. And Stinky Jon drove down the next day from N.H.
young at heart.
Four days after that we swam in a dinner of tomatoes at the Kitchen Table Bistro's annual tomato dinner. FOURTEEN years of marriage. That means we've earned the right to now publicly display our affection and touch each other wherever we want when we're watching a movie on the couch. It also means that we've been married long enough to feel sad about losing Paul Bunyan's wedding band this summer at the beach but not overly concerned about replacing it right now. He says he won't pretend NOT to be married when he's at the bars downtown dancing like a college boy but then again he has all those muscles now.
Two days after that- after being off my antibiotics for a week- the wily lyme beast reared its ugly head. Right back where I started two plus years ago. It was laying dormant for this whole year. I'm trying to find hope in striped rocks on the road as I pull up Japanese Knotwood roots to pulverize into a remedy. I'll eat octopus if I have to. Anything to kill the beast inside me before it kills me. I'm trying to stay hopeful and to remember that EIGHT plus FORTY plus FOURTEEN is a big number to fight for.