Happy 3rd anniversary to my husband, Ryan. Nothing I have, nothing I have achieved- and nothing I will have or achieve, would mean a thing if he were not here to share it with me.

The best part of me is you.

So, months ago, my doctor asked me if Ryan and I had any vacation plans before the baby came. "Take a trip together, definitely," he said.

I'm not sure he meant that we should wait until I am eight months pregnant and then go camping in the remote parts of the Upper Peninsula, but that's kind of how we took it.






We packed George, a box of popsicles and an extra camera battery and hit the road. I've never been past St. Ignace, so the entire place was pretty new to me -- we hit up Sault St. Marie and rode through the locks, scooted over to White Fish Point and Tahqamenon Falls -- and I definitely saw a sign that was abbreviated to Tahq Falls and thought it said "Taho" -- which Ryan will never forget. We saw the Shipwreck Museum and then zipped over to Pictured Rocks. Finally, we stopped at this pond that is called something weird like Kitchi Ipi Kipi  -- or something like that -- and people, you can straight to the bottom some 45' down. Fish, springs, sunglasses, whatnot -- you can see it all. Naturally you're not allowed to even touch the water because it's where the holy spicket connects to every single baptismal tank in the continental US -- it's that clean and sacred.

On another note, holy mosquitoes. I think they make them bigger in the Upper Peninsula, and they have bigger families, because it was insane. My legs look like I've developed leprosy because a.) mosquitoes like blondes (for real, google it) and b.) I have no self control.

Ryan told me that he doesn't scratch his mosquito bites and they just stop itching in a few hours. And I was like, "ever?" You never ever scratch?" And he shook his head like it's the most obvious thing. I side eyed him pretty hard, and now I'm constantly watching for him to so much as rub his nose.

And then we got back just in time for me to turn 28 and get really angry about the humidity. But that is an entirely different story. Also, Ryan told me really nonchalantly that I have stretch marks. On my butt.

I'm just going to get really melodramatic and die now.



 Two tickets to Paradise. Get it?
 



Happy Friday!

I was about to start this by suggesting that nothing interesting was happening around here. Then I remembered that that particular implication would be wrong, because yesterday I bought purple mascara.

By accident. But seriously.

And here's some quick truth -- I am not opposed to waking up and looking like a Jenner -- specifically Kendall (or, if you're reading this God, -- Blake Lively post the rhinoplasty. Dealer's choice). And while I acknowledge that risky cosmetic decisions may be involved in pursuing that dream, I think even purple mascara is a little out of that league.

Anyway, I don't want to get too involved in an ode to purple mascara so I'll wrap it up right here: I didn't throw it away.

****

Ryan and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary this week.


A year ago, I naively suggested that marriage is easy - if only you are in the right one. Isn't it fun when you realize that you opened your mouth and blabbed something that's a little bit stupid?

We've not hit a place yet where I'd say that marriage is hard, but I would say that circumstances can change, and environments can be shaken up, and adjustments will be learned. Ryan and I took on a lot of changes in the last year, and we evolved accordingly. Individually.

I think that's what marriage is though. We both volunteered to hop in a boat together and now our primary focus is to work together forever to keep that boat from sinking. Storms are out there with some massive boat-turning waves, but so is some damn beautiful weather with pina coladas and pinky-orange sunsets. We might switch sides, we'll probably throw paddles at each other,  and we'll definitely fight about who's the Captain, but at the end of the day, we both stay in the boat and we keep it floating. And tomorrow, we paddle some more.

So I redact what I said about easy and replace it with this: marriage is good, when you're in the right one.



****

Off topic, but my second favorite thing in the whole world is getting pictures of my dogs smiling. Which I'm pretty sure I caught right here.

Happy Weekending!

Gooood morning! Some obvious fun stuff happening around here -- I've been spring cleaning lately and it has finally creeped over to the blog. A little refreshed and updated 'round here. It's like I cleaned the base boards and painted them. And not with boring white paint either. I painted those babies with something with a satin finish, and one of those whispery names that only Sherman Williams can come up with, like "Summertime Lemonade Stand Cuddly Pink With a Warm July Breeze That Smells Like Cotton Candy And Fair Food".

Just roll with it.

****

This week has been a little cray at Casa Hodges. Ryan has been flying for the past year or so, but was up for his check ride, which is apparently a little like a driver's test, but way harder because driving a car is for losers like me. Anyway, he had an oral exam on Thursday and a formal flight on Friday. Basically, we didn't talk to each for two days because I can't remember that last time Ry was so stressed out about something.

Blah blah blah, long story short, he passed both and can officially fly a plane and have passengers on board.

Hey! Guess what we've been doing this weekend!


It's pretty cool to see him fly. He's been doing this thing, completely separate from me, for the last year and to finally participate in something that he loves this much -- it's pretty incredible. I think there's some parts of people that, no matter how many years pass between you both, you can never really know. I mean, we all have those silent sides of our heads that say things, but never out loud, And I think flying is one of Ryan's silent voices.

Anyway, once, I watched this episode of Desperate Housewives that was about this guy who was simultaneously a pilot and the husband of the bitchiest wife ever. This is not a comparison to Ry and I, by the way. The point is, the pilot husband has a heart attack mid-flight and boom, they crash and die.

I'm not really afraid to fly, but I asked about fifty-seven questions, all of which were related to landing the plane if he went into cardiac arrest. That didn't happen though, and now this poor pseudo comparison can come to an end.

The end.




Ever wonder what Sleeping Bear looks like from the sky?

Well, it looks like none of us took Frost's advice seriously. We ALL take the road that has been taken only about 70 bazillion times before .






If you're interested in seeing more of what the north west corner of lower Michigan looks like from the sky, you can see the rest of my unblogged photos here.

****

Ryan's not really one for pet names -- he pretty much just calls me Jennifer -- but since the beginning of time, he's been calling me his co-pilot. It was pretty cool to actually be the girl in the next seat with a base knowledge of who the eff to call if he has a heart attack in flight, and kind of actually be the co-pilot.

****

Unrelated, but this has taken the internet by surprising storm, so I know you're probably familiar, but I had to try this "How Old Do I Look" thing for myself.

And I'm just crying tears, laughing about it this morning:



Try it. I promise, you'll cry forever. Laughing or being sad -- either way, it's worth it.

Happy Sunday!

Ryan and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary on Sunday. I dragged that man back to the beach that feels sacred enough to be holy ground and maybe it was because I made a cake, or trailed around all morning while he scouted garage sales, or perhaps, just maybe, he kind of wanted to revisit that place too; whatever the reason, he was cavalier and thoughtfully accompanied on my emotional boo-hoo trip to nostalgia.

And he didn't even show signs of minding all that much when I asked him to stand in the same places and I narrated the entire event like maybe he wasn't there or something.



I guess it's a stereotype, but I've heard on multiple occasions that the first year is the hardest. Well, maybe it's because Ryan and I delighted in living in sin for so long, but this first year was a breeze. Oh, there were challenges alright, but all of them unrelated to our marriage in general. I guess we did the legwork back in 2008 when we first met, and so I knew full well when I married him that his socks would never reach the laundry basket, and he knew I'd always spend more money on nail polish than food.


I'm going to suggest something that some may disagree with, but this is my sincere experience. Love is easy. Marriage is easy. Relationships are easy.

When you're in the right one.

This man makes me happy. He nourishes my ambition while somehow managing to keep his own lit on fire. That is my favorite of all of his sublime characteristics. Ambition. This love makes it all so easy.

I am compelled to admit that we lack real challenges and that also makes it easy. We don't have kids and neither of us is juggling 4 jobs. We know who does the dishes and we know who mows the lawn.  We have established guidelines for parenting our dogs.

See? Easy.

But, mostly we just love each other. And that makes it most easy.

***

"And remember children, marriages and flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get."

A year ago today, Ryan and I got married. A year ago, right this second, my brother-in-law Brad was out fetching coffee and sugar, while Dee and I tittered nervously in the kitchen. I couldn't sleep -- neither could her 2-week old baby, so we sat together in the dark, buzzing on the excitement.

I think all day, I'll be processing what happened a year ago right.this.minute. Around 10am, I'll remember that I was walking the pier, reciting the vows I had written, trying desperately to remember them. I'll remember that Mary Grace listened to them so many times, she could not only prompt me, she could probably recite them herself.

Around noon, I'll remember standing on a ladder, tying balloons to tree branches and hoping like crazy that it would turn out more pinterest-y and Martha Stewart-esque, than "shit, we got tee-peed the day of the wedding."

Around 1:30PM, I'll remember seeing my soon-to-be brother-in-law stumbling across the yard and thinking that the groom was on the premises. Que a mild heart attack.

At 2pm, I'll remember coaxing Ralph into my car. I'll remember forgetting my flowers and sending Stephanie and KTB back to put cups on the tables. I'll remember shutting my phone off and drinking margarita mix from the bottle. And I'll remember turning on the playlist that I carefully cultivated all summer, just for the occasion of getting ready with all of my best girlfriends.

I'll remember curling my sister's hair. I'll remember when Kate burned her leg on an old car. I'll remember sitting in that old Pontiac with MG and watching Ryan come roaring onto the beach on a motorcycle, with his fleet riding in behind him. I'll remember when MG left me with her phone and I'll remember when that text came through -- "it's time."

****

All day -- I'l remember this:

So, for some quick thoughts from a gal who's 26 now -



Primarily, real whipping cream is for Birthday coffee. It's a labor of love, but it makes the first seconds of 26 feel like the best ever.

And as a quick side note - whipping cream is also for eating with a spoon. 'Cause it's my birthday.

****

25 was a year for learning. A lot of learning. 25 was the first year of my marriage. It was the year of seeking change, chasing the hell out of it, and losing sleep to make it all fit together. 25 was a good year for friendship. 25 felt good.

Here's what I know, what I've learned in 25 -

You can make real impactful change in your life at any given time. Just, you know, do it.
Be kind. Be kind. Be kind.
Accept apologies that you will never get. Pretend you got them anyway and be kind.
It's okay to leave people behind. Some people will never set value in your relationship and it will be hurtful and harmful to keep trying. When you're the only one who picks up the phone or gets in the car, stop. But still, be kind.

****

25 had a highlight -


























****

I guess if you've been reading along this year, it won't be a surprise to you that I feel like turning 26 is a relief. I'm glad to close up 25 and its challenges. Goodbye 25.

And finally, one last note--

I made a cake last night, and there were no fires. And PS - this cake didn't come from a box. It came from a bag of flour and sugar and carton of eggs. And a few other things.  It doesn't look burned, and we aren't afraid to taste it tonight.




Isn't 26 grand?

****

 24, 25