Twenty years ago, had you told me that I would marry the hot varsity football star and that we would travel for years before growing that family more and that he would eventually become involved with international charity work and when the babies finally did come rolling in it would be slowly and through adoption and that they would be BOYS and that I would LOVE boys and panic at the thought of girls and that I would have a lovely chocolate Lab that I'd named George and that we would live at the base of my favorite canyon in a turn-of-the-century style Oak Park house next to the best of friends and that I would spend my free time quilting and running in that canyon and gardening tomatoes and cleaning my boys dirty feet . . . well, I just wouldn't have believed it. "I'd never name a dog George," I'd say. Or "not possible--running sucks!" Or, "Ew, boys! Say it isn't true."
But it's all true. Every little bit.
And the reason it's true is because one day, fifteen years ago yesterday, to be exact, hot varsity football star and I decided to become us. Officially. Rings and certificates and my grandmother's wedding dress and everything.
Best decision ever.