My fourth child

This is Kevin James. Not Mike. But when Kevin James is on tv, Gianni shouts, "daddy!" and points at the screen. And this is Kevin James' wife, I think her name is Stephania. Also not me. But I can pretend.

Even with squinty eyes, we're pretty cute. Dontcha see the resemblance? Well, dontcha? From now on I will only answer to Stephania.

Getting a christmas tree last year. Well, of course it was last year, even I won't get one as early as the end of October! Only because it's illegal though.

This is the consequence, oh manly men, of having daughters.

This was Daddy with Cora. Obviously several years ago. Sniff. Snort. Uncontrollable weeping.

Reading to his girls. Blubber. Sob. Bawl.

Easter with Anna like, a million years ago.

Home improving: Up next - how to hold open windows with everyday household objects!

To be fair now, he was the one who suggested I name this post what I did.

Mike came galloping in on his white steed close to a dozen years ago now. Yikes, how did so much time go by?! Most of you know this story, but humor me while I tell it anyway. The first time he asked me out was kind of an accident. I was 19. He was...ahem, older than 19. I was standing talking to a friend and he came sauntering up, all casual like, and asked HER to go out with him that Saturday. She said no. She walked away. We were left standing there in awkward silence. A tumble weed tumbled by. Crickets chirped. He cleared his throat and proceeded to confirm my paranoid suspicions that I am every one's second choice in life (a disease that happens when you are Laryssa's Sister) by asking me if I was busy on Saturday night. Now I remembered him from a barbq we both went to earlier that year and I thought he was nice and good to his niece who he had brought (good with children is always sexy), but I also was of the opinion that he was a bit loud and ornery for my tastes. But what do we know about me, readers? I am incapable of the word no. Besides, who wants to see a grown man get shot down twice in two minutes? So I said yes. And we went out.

The First Date: homemade pizza, Easter basket assemblies for church kids, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It was fun. Monty is always fun. But no love at first date for either of us.

The Second Date: tennis and a picnic. Also fun. More fun than The First Date. I am athletically challenged and playing any form of a sport in front of any form of a human is very stressful for me. I would rather chew off my own eyebrows. Luckily for me, my date was also disastrous at tennis and we spent the whole time dodging each other's tennis balls (and fly away rackets) and laughing and generally annoying the other couple we were playing with, who actually were interested in the game. I remember thinking when he was untangling the racket from my hair, "This guy is kind."

The Third Date: was actually a phone call. See, he worked with The Boy Scouts of America (let's hear it for culottes!!) and had taken a bunch of miniature men up to the mountains for several weeks to do whatever it is miniature men do in the mountains for several weeks. And he called me to ask if he could take me to the upcoming fair. We talked for two hours. I think 1 and 3/4 hours was flirting.

The Fourth Date: the fair. He says he held my hand but I don't remember this. Isn't he sweet and old fashioned? I do remember going out for frozen yogurt afterwards and he sang something in German while we were ordering. I was thinking it was a bit embarrassing until the waitress winked at me and said, "You better keep him." Little did I know how much public singing that man would put me through.

I don't remember all the dates after that, just know that we were joined at the hip. He used to leave me notes at the coffee shop where I worked and do all sorts of mooshy romantic things, which are mostly wasted on me. I either don't notice (unless it's public singing) or I confess to rather having something more practical than roses and a handwritten poem, like a blender. So a perfectly romantic chivalrous man is wasted on me, I know.

Since then, he has given me three curtain climbers, two doggies, several homes, lotsa memories. We've been through less hard times than most, and more than some. He is always and forever there for me, faithful and funny and dorky and romantic. He stills sings publicly and he still enjoys embarrassing me. I wish I could remove his love for football and replace it with a love for home improvement, mad scientist style. He lets me hog the bed. He watches dancing programs with me. He has musicals on his Ipod. Whoops, how did that get in there? He is currently looking for a job. I'm considering pasting this blog post into his resume... would that be a little too like the Doris Roberts character from Everybody Loves Raymond? I think employers would understand and be grateful. He could do Kevin James impressions at the water cooler - very important for moral. He lets me drag him on idealistic family outings where it's all fun and games until someone gets an eye poked out. He thinks I'm Super Woman. This is great until I get really tired and have to smack him and say, "I am not Super Woman!" and then he babies me until I get over it.

Love you, my jungle stud!

Kisses, Stephania.