The day before our wedding, we both had time for anything but each other. I had a
million oh so important things to do like perfectly placing new address cards on plates that were going to be forgotten, and Chris was just getting in from yet another training trip for his new, very stressful job. We both had short fuses, and we had time for everything and everyone but each other. It was all the more reason to make room to go to the Basilica for Confession that morning.
During Confession, I mentioned to the priest that I was getting married the following day. He gave his early best wishes. Then, for my penance, he asked that I meditate on the following phrase:
"The best thing a mother can do for her children is to love their father."
After we had both gone to Confession, we knelt down in the pews on the left side of the west wing. The line had worked out that Chris had gone to the same priest that I did. I looked at him with a little smile. I'm always bursting to tell him anything. I whispered to him what the priest had said. Chris smiled really big and chuckled silently.
Then he whispered that the priest had told him, "The best thing a father can do for her children is to love their mother."
Of course, I cried.
(I believe that John Wooden can claim penning that quote, but I do know that Lou Holtz uses it quite a bit also. And we love Dr. Lou. Now since then, I have found that the priest that we both happened to go to that day actually gives that penance to me a lot ... except when once I told Chris, "This priest always says the same thing." Chris wisely answered back, "Maybe you need to hear the same thing." Yes, I do, and that was the day the priest gave me a completely different penance).
Ryan has pink eye right now. Last night, we were all in our room while I was getting the boys ready for bed. Ryan was climbing up on our bed and shouting, "Put your dukes up!" (his favorite phrase since Chris took him to the annual charity boxing tournament, Bengal Bouts), and I was bouncing Conor on my hip while filling Chris in on exactly how expensive the pink eye medicine was. Being the former pharmaceutical sales rep and possessor of common sense that he is, he automatically stated that the patent must have not expired yet. As he loosened his tie to put it away, he smiled and chuckled silently just the way he had after Confession three years ago, "It's okay by Baby #6, the patent will have run out."
Of course, I cried.
And I'm crying again writing this because I can't believe I have a husband who so willingly wants to grow our family with me that the thought of Baby #6 is just a normal notion that comes to mind when we think of what down the road looks like.
This is real. And this is fun.
Happy Third Anniversary, Mr. Harrington!
Our two year anniversary post here.