Anchor

I’ve always told my husband that one day when we’re rich (*snort*) I’m going to commission an artist to paint us.
Him with his feet so far in the ground that he’s making a good dent in the concrete beneath him and me so far up in the air that I’m about to float away…
except that we’re holding hands.  I’ve got a red umbrella (Mary Poppins style) and he’s got a crisp suit on (all biznass).

And he’s keeping me from losing myself in la-la land and I’m lifting him up and keeping him from sinking in reality.
It’s the perfect dynamic.

I mentioned this to some friends last night, and one of them recommended this video.

To which I say: YES! That’s us. And my kids would love me so much if I put those wings on…
So here’s to the man who keeps me from naming my children as if they were 90 year olds. Thank you.
And here’s to the me who keeps my husband from getting too many worry wrinkles on his forehead. You’re welcome.