Sunrise on Year Eight

(Warning: if there is such a thing, this is clearly a chick blog entry)

My daily commute pleasure involves biking past the front of the Lincoln Memorial, casting a glance up at Abe, and trying to avoid ramming into a photo-snapping Japenese tourist in the process. But in the mornings, it is usually only me, the cops who are stationed by the fences to preclude trucks loaded down with explosives from getting too close to Abe, and the guys who operate the POW/MIA booths 365 days per year. Gazing to my right, I have a view of the Reflecting pool, the new WW II Memorial, and the Washington Monument.

This morning as I biked past Abe, the tip of the Washington Monument was pointing directly at the rising - OK, the risen - sun (I am never headed to work so early as to see the rising sun). The sky was clear blue, and the air was crisp, making it feel more like a September morning than a hot and muggy August one. I was reminded of waking up in Cape May, New Jersey, two blocks from the beach on Jackson Street, five years ago this morning with my wife. Cape May, unlike the majority of the Jersey Coast, faces more to the south than then east, so our sunrise walk had us looking parallel to the beach, with the sun rising half on land and half over sea.

We woke up early to watch the sunrise to mark our two- year Anniversery. That was a feat made easier by the enforced vacation sobriety of her being 6 months pregnant with our first children (twins). At the time, we agreed that waking up to catch the sunrise would be a good way to start each new year of marriage, and thus a tradition was established. The next year the tradition was broken, as all fine traditions eventually are. Once you've had twins, you quickly jettison any tradition that cuts into sleep.

It has now been seven great years since we wed. In those seven years, we have: had three children; moved from Minneapolis to Washington D.C., back again, and back again once more;
sold and purchased three homes; painted and repainted 30 rooms; and changed an estimated 12 thousand diapers. And we did it all as a team (OK, I didn't change more than a quarter of the diapers, but I painted all the rooms). Through it all as a team!

At this rate, we will have at least three more kids, and we will be solely responsible for allowing our realtor to retire early. Don't believe me about the kids? Well, in year eight, specifically no later than March 3rd, we'll have added a fourth to our litter. We have our fingers crossed for a girl. With four boys, I can see it now:

"Dad, we're headed to the golf course, we'll see you later."

"Wait guys, I'll go get my clubs. I think they are down in the basement. Let me go get 'em. Why, I remember when I used to go golfing with my dad ..."

My voice fades as I head down the stairs, while the boys have already started the car and headed for the links. Golf is meant for foursomes. Of course, if we have a girl, she could be the next Anika Sorenstam, and I'll still be stuck looking for my defective clubs in the basement. But either way, our marriage is clearly blessed!