The boy from Queens ...

Five years, man! FIVE! Five years. Five YEARS! Five years!!

Who'd have thought when I met you for the very first time, way back in 2001, on St. Patrick's Day Eve, that you were the future Mr. P? I certainly didn't. And I know YOU didn't since you don't even remember meeting me. (Let me add a hair flip and a "hmmphh" in response to that very first display of forgetfulness. It should have been my first clue that you truly are the absent-minded professor.)

Fast forward a few months to that random night when Molloy said, "Hey, Mr. P's in town and we're all going out. You coming?" (Oh goodness, wouldn't that be funny if he actually called you "Mr. P" too?) I still didn't see it coming.

And then ... you did it. You said you'd call me when you got back to Cali — AND YOU DID. You actually called me. Incredible.

But I still didn't know you were the one.

Not until that fateful visit to California, when we both thought, "Hey. I really think we've got something here." And, boy, then it was ON. The next six weeks were a happy blur. I went from yeah-there's-this-guy-in-LA-I-kind-of-like to oh-my-god-I-have-an-all-caps-BOYFRIEND-and-he's-moving-back-to-the-East-Coast-and-wants-to-marry-me all in the short span from Memorial Day to the Fourth of July. I don't know if you realize how momentous that was for me. I don't open my heart easily, and hadn't even peeked through a crack in the door in the five years I'd been in New York. Thank you for keeping your heart on your sleeve, so mine could catch up.

Five years ago today, we celebrated our commitment to each other on a gorgeous Indian summer day in Oklahoma. All the wedding-planning stress was absolutely worth it, as our friends and family gathered around us, supporting us. But as fun and busy and enjoyable as the entire weekend was (and damn, it was a great weekend, wasn't it?), do you know what still stands out the most to me? Our vows. The emotion was almost visceral as we pledged to join our lives. So many little choices, big decisions and happenstance, since the day each of us was born, culminated in that moment. It was intense and electrifying.

And here we are five years, one house, quite a few cars and, most importantly, two fabulous kids later. Thank you for supporting my desire to stay home with those kids. Thank you for continuing to pursue your dreams in a way that still makes me feel safe. Thank you for liking the same TV shows as me — and for agreeably watching the ones that you don't. Thank you for getting along with my family. Thank you for making me laugh and being the funniest guy you know. Thank you for wanting to know, and even listening to, my opinions on your work. That goes a long way toward making me feel like a contributor, although an unpaid one, to our family's fortunes. Thank you for hearing the oh-so-slight difference between my normal voice and my sarcastic voice. Thank you for being my best friend.

I'm still amazed that we found each other — the boy from Queens and the girl from Oklahoma — and that you are so utterly perfect for me. I honestly can't imagine anyone could be better suited to be my husband. I thank my lucky stars every day that you are mine. I can't wait for the next five years, and beyond.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

It ain't easy bein' cheesy.

Dear Bigga Bit,

I'm sorry. I know you're not into dairy products, but that slice of leftover pizza was calling my name this afternoon. I simply had to eat it. I know I said I'd cut out cheese for a few days to see if you napped better, and I really, really tried. But it's HARD. Cheese is so tasty and apparently a more common ingredient in my diet than I ever imagined.

A piece of string cheese for a mid-morning snack. Sprinkled on my favourite salad. A slice of provolone on my turkey sandwich. Melted and gooey in a black bean burrito or a chicken quesadilla. And pizza. Yummy, yummy pizza.

But not yummy for you, it seems. Unless all that wiggling, crying and man-sized tooting this evening was just part of you and your brother's master plan to torture me. Good job, by the way. Tell your brother the plan worked.

I didn't complain (too) much when I had to stop drinking milk and eating ice cream. It was tough to give up ice cream — after all, it was summer and I had already suffered through an ice-cream-free pregnancy thanks to gestational diabetes.

But cheese? You're asking too much, baby. Too much. But a necessary sacrifice, I suppose, to keep you sweet, happy and SLEEPING.

And just so we're clear ... don't get any ideas about chocolate. Capiche?

Love,

Muenster-free Mama

Of course, THIS is where he naps ...

A little background: Bigga has been DRIVING ME CRAZY with his no-more-than-30-minutes-at-a-time naps this week. Three two-hour naps? Great. Five half-hour naps? Not so great.

So when he fell asleep on my lap after nursing this morning, I just sat there. And sat. And sat. Eventually my need for coffee won out and I gently transferred him onto the couch. And he stayed asleep. Miracle of miracles.

Even more miraculous? He's been that way for almost two hours now. Wonderful. Except that you KNOW as soon as I leave him for any amount of time longer than a coffee refill or a trip to the bathroom, he'll splat right off the couch. So I'm trapped in the living room with him.

Great for watching reruns of "Angel." Not so great for my mile-long to-do list.

First Day of School 2009

What I should have done with my first six hours of Kiddle-free time:

• Exercise
• Laundry
• Sort through the horrifying amount of old mail lying around
• Clean up the kitchen
• Weed my flower beds

What I did:

• Go to Target
• Talk on the phone
• Obsessively check Facebook
• Play peek-a-boo with Bigga
• Watch reruns of "Criminal Minds" and "Without a Trace"

There's always tomorrow, right? Fifteen more years of school days, in fact. Plenty of time to get it all done.