It's an easy-to-remember date. Unless you were out until well past midnight the night before with your two young children under the balmy Riviera sky, drinking champagne on a balcony in Golfe-Juan. Unless you didn't wake up with one child sick with a "sharp-pain" in his lower right abdomen. Unless you hadn't already scheduled to attend a party for someone else.
We didn't forget that it was our anniversary; it just went largely unremarked. A kiss and joking partnership hand-shake ("Good job!" "Good job!" "Let's keep it up!") marked the event as went about that day's cares.
A few days later and earlier this week as I was leaving the office, blinking in the bright, hot afternoon light on my way to my car and thinking about the next few hours ahead (picking up one boy, then the second, what to make for dinner, if I was missing anything, how to occupy the kids while I did evening chores) when I heard the *ding! ding!* of a bikebell. I looked up to see E, in chinos, short-sleeves and with a backpack, whizzing by and giving a slight wave and a smile. He was on his way back to his office after a meeting on another part of the company's campus. He looked so natural, so himself, on his bicycle. And absolutely extraordinary.
This moment of watching E be E in the quiet afternoon shifted me from mom list-making mode and let me feel a connection of love between us that reminds me why we married in the first place. "Good job", I say to myself.