I can’t remember our early years of marriage without remembering the story. Once, twice, three times a week—as we lay in bed, his arm wrapped around me, wrapping up another day—he’d start the story with the same question: Do you remember the day we met? No answer required. All on his own, my husband unraveled…
If I’d known how tough the first few years of our marriage would be and how often I’d need to hear a voice of wisdom on the other end of the line, I’d have doubled—even tripled—my bridesmaids. My husband and I were not one of those newlywed couples comprised of two self-confident and spiritually healthy…
It’s hard to stash a shopping bag of secret contents into a closet from the early 1900’s. These closets are sometimes wide but never deep. Stash it low and the bag peeked out from behind disheveled shoes. Stash it high and my six-foot man was sure to be eye-level. I heard footsteps in the hall…
“The two of you—together—raise a lot of red flags for me.” My eyes shifted from the man behind to the desk to my boyfriend, and back to the man behind the desk. I doubt this gentleman could tell you the name of my two-year-old son, or even guess my favorite ethnic food, but he had…
