In the wee hours of the morning on Saturday, R had such a spectacular nosebleed that Bear ended up taking her into the ER.
Where they were kind, and calming, and mystified as to why she keeps having these damned things.*
So when B and she got home from the hospital, she was happy and bouncy and not at all tired, delighted to cuddle with her Da and watch some middle-of-the-night tv. When she finally went to bed at three, we couldn't sleep - both of us were up and down checking on her. (I think I passed him in the hall a few times, actually.)
Today was drizzly and cold-ish and not really conducive to doing anything. Everyone slept in. We'd both forgotten until around lunch-time (okay, it was noon, but we were eating breakfast) that it was our anniversary. Six years, five of it with children, and most of it happy.
Bear smiled. "Remember the first year we were married?"
Oh yes. The trial-by-fire year. The year we got married and set up housekeeping, working out the newly-minted-marriage kinks slowly and learning each other in and out. It was during that year that someone decided flying planeloads of people into buildings was a great way to show the world how terrible the Americans are, and the rest of the world braced for the back-lash that surely would lead to the end.
It was the year we discovered that we were going to be parents, and B lost a beloved grandparent.
A sweet-and-sour year.
I smiled at him, the chaos of eating with kids washing around me, thinking about those days. "I remember."
Bear leaned in close and kissed me, absently uprighting a spilled sippy cup.
"Remember how quiet it was?"
Happy Anniversary, Bear.
*No blood under her nails, so she wasn't digging in her nose, (plus she woke from a sound sleep, it wasn't as if she'd been pickin' and grinnin' in a corner)
her brother had not been bopping her about the face,
the inside of her nose wasn't shredded, so dry air or climate changes or whatever the nature ailment du jour was didn't apply,
and she was bleeding from both nostrils.