Yesterday was the anniversary of when Jeff and I got engaged and I swear I would never have known this if it weren't for Jeff's mom wishing me happy tidings via e-mail. This woman is a vast storage house of knowledge about the little details of people's lives. The CIA should hire her to be a secret agent. Then whenever she met some important contact she would not only be able to commit the entire conversation to memory, she would then recruit them to work for our side by serving them high carbohydrate snacks, recommending appropriate beauty products, and possibly mending their slacks.
Here is a picture of Jeff and me on that rainy day in Paris five years ago, about ten minutes before he pulled that ring outta nowhere and cried, "Your dad said it was okay!" (I never get tired of telling that story.)
Obviously that picture was scanned from my scrapbook, put together before blogs were invented.
I am on my third day of taking the fertility drug Clomid. It's supposed to induce a sort of mini-menopause, and I swear I am having hot flashes. But then again, I think it's been in the eighties here, so it could just be that. Back in the days when we thought we had to prevent pregnancy (ha!), I used to take birth control pills and, later, depo–provera shots, and Jeff and I got into the habit of referring to them as the No-Baby pills. ("Did you take your No-Baby pill today?") Now that I have started taking the fertility drugs, it's a peculiarly similar situation only now when my watch goes off he asks me "Did you take your Baby Pill today??"
Anyway, lest you get the idea Jeff's mom is the only mom between the two of us with talent, I offer you this painting my mom just sent me. My mom doesn't commit any personal little details to memory. In fact, she recently spent several minutes on the phone with me waxing all nostalgic about something from my childhood that I know for a fact actually happened to my sister. But she does paint, and I thought this was kind of neat…