To Nathan, on your 33rd

Last night, Nathan asked me how it felt to be married to an old man. a) he was 12 hours early; and b) is he the last person to hear that 40 is the new 30? Really, now...I've been 30 for a few months and - when I remember that I'm no longer in my 20's - have no problem with being 30, since I won't be 40 for 10 years. And if he's 33, he's got 7 years to go before we're talking "old". I digress. Today is Nathan's birthday. He's 33. We're at his parents house this week. More on that later. I've been deep into reminiscing about the past the last few weeks. And our marriage has lots and lots of "past" - three whole years and almost 4 whole months of memories past. See? Lots. Dear Nathan, Three years ago today was your first birthday as a married man. We were living in a crappy apartment in the best town in the world. June 29, 2003 was hotter than my worst nightmare - Phoenix on a bad day. But we'd been married almost 4 months and I was still eager to please you. (Ah, the good old days.) So I told you that yes! I would fix anything you wanted for dinner. And dessert? Name your cake. To my great horror, you took me up on the offer. Our apartment was on the third floor. It wasn't air conditioned. And we had a wall of beautiful windows that the sun hit beginning in the early afternoon, which turned the hot apartment into a boiler. For dinner, you picked lasagne - your mothers recipe. That sauce, when done according to directions, takes hours to cook. Thank goodness I'm not one for directions (and thank goodness your mother didn't notice that night). I thought the lasagne and the hot oven was going to be the worst of it. No! The cake. Do you remember what kind of cake it was? I do. I've never made it again. It was some kind of fancy chocolate cake. But the best part was the icing - it was a chocolate whipped cream icing that had toffee bits folded in. The worst part? Getting whipped cream to whip in the super hot apartment. Not so easy. Getting the chocolate toffee whipped cream to keep from melting as I spread it on the cake? Even tougher. Your parents came over for dinner. They climbed up the stairs to our 3rd story furnace and stayed just long enough to gobble down dinner before bolting for the air conditioned car. Smart people. You, my dear. You were worth every drop of sweat that day. I'd do it again in a heart beat. I love you!