eight is great

Today marks eight years since Dave and I were married. In that time, we have accumulated one Master's Degree, one Law Degree, one fat bill for all that paper, one row house, one gay car, one grey cat, one maniacal brat.

Not to mention a ton of really good friends, some European and Central American travel time, a lot of good old-fashioned life experience, a grill you can cook a fifth grader on, a bunch of stuff from Ikea, a bunch of other stuff from dead people, a few hundred things from Target, a wholesale club membership, and electrical appliances.

Sure doesn't look bad on paper, but it all seems like a bunch of madness when you are living the life.

I was talking to my mom last night about all this, and she said to me something to the effect that she is so happy for Dave and I and it just seems that no matter what comes along we know just exactly what to do. "I'm glad it seems that way", I said. In my head it feels that I just go through each day not even knowing what shoe goes on what foot and I'm so busy trying to put my pants on two legs at a time that it is a miracle that the house doesn't burn down. Luckily, Dave is always right behind me with the extinguisher. Don't tell him I admitted this, but he's the one making sure we do everything exactly like we are supposed to. If not for him, I'd be a nomadic gypsy. With a laptop and seven blogs, telling you guys all about my hazy crazy lazy hippy dippy skippy adventures on the open road.