Sunday Letter

Dear husband-

People think we’re crazy. I think they might be right, but it’s the only way I know to live this life with you. Prepare yourself, for I think the next few years are only going to warrant more crazy talk, from the careers we choose to how we raise our littles to the strange things we buy to go in our strange little house. It can’t be helped and it mustn’t be fretted about, for we know but one way to live and we’ll just have to do it. And that will be all of that.

I loved making our new friend this weekend, who, if I believed in reincarnation would definitely have been Ernest Hemingway, what with his beard and his rough old face. This time he’s gifted as a carpenter rather than a writer, because he knows what we know- that working with your hands is the best kind of work no matter the profession. I know God dropped us off in this city for a reason, but hearing him talk about working on his 1903 farmhouse just made this life seem so busy. We’ll keep putting the brakes on against the world while we’re here, but maybe someday we’ll buy that farmhouse. And maybe you could grow a beard.

Thanks for making me a smoothie this morning even though I had to beg you to do it. I know you wanted to volunteer, but I stole your joy in that, so I’m sorry. I won’t tell anyone your recipe of “a bunch of secret stuff.” Even though I think it was just blootleberries and milk.

Cheers to the next few weeks of life together. I love you to the moon.

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