In honor of my husband's birthday, I am posting this horribly embarrassing photo of myself, taken at the peak of awkwardness, in a rather unflattering pair of tights. I'm doing this instead of telling you a story about how he painted my bedroom the wrong color. It was probably only mostly his fault, and I'm not mad anymore. Because I love him.
I also, apparently, love fringe!
For the record, this outfit was assembled for my first and last figure skating competition, where I skated a routine to 'Deep In the Heart of Texas' and came in third out of three competitors. Soon thereafter, I discovered that kissing hockey players was more fun that figure skating, and I traded in my white boots and toe picks for a pair of hockey skates.
How did a post for my husband's birthday turn into a post about my adolescent kissing habits?
Dearheart, Dar, Hun, Golgi, Babee, Stephen. I love you so much for weatherizing my window first. For feeding the kids when I'm losing my mind. For always finding all of my typos for me. For making me like beer.
For taking me to concerts, even though you don't like them. For taking me to plays and getting spit on. For eating hundreds of dollars worth of sushi for me when I didn't like it.
For understanding the importance of sparkly patriotic hats, and the friends we wear them for. For the way you've supported my photography and all of the fancy camera stuff you've happily bought for me over the years.
And of course for these little hell raisers.
I hope you have the most amazing year ever.