Seven years ago today I was running around like a crazy chicken with my ever-loving head cut off. One of the busiest days of my life. I must have run fifty errands. It was the fullest day ever, from start to finish. Up early to gather family from the airport, back home to greet family arriving by car, delivering people to shops for final fittings, retrieving various clothing items from friends' houses, gathering for family lunch, last minute shopping, wrapping little thank you gifts, packing, trying to relax in a bath, preparing my apartment for overnight guests, running house keys over to someone, trying to track down friends gone astray, attempting meaningful connections with fifty people, talking constantly on my cell phone, scarfing down a late dinner, partying with my girls at my aunt and uncle's house, barely staying awake driving some friends to their overnight accommodations, driving myself home, staying up half the night chatting with my mom, being completely unable to sleep.
I wouldn't have given seven years ago today a thought if not for three words spoken to me this morning. My husband awoke, rolled over, put his arm around my waist, nuzzled my hair with his nose, and mumbled groggily into my ear:
"Happy Anniversary Eve."
I love that man.