six years

Dear Justin,

Happy birthday. Six years ago we were meeting in person for the very first time. A month and a half of emails, IM's, and laggy video chats all led up to this moment. When I asked you what you wanted for your birthday, all you said was, "To see you."

(And to think that now we've graduated from the grand gesture birthday gifts to signed copies of your favorite author's new book and funny t-shirts.)

But I still remember that week like it was yesterday. It started off like any other Monday... I got up and went to work as usual, but I kept pacing around Adrian's once the clock struck two because I knew you were in town. You were in your hotel room three blocks away, waiting for me to get done with work at four. I remember you sent me an email asking me if I had seen your mom's green Honda Civic drive by and I was mad that I didn't because I was pacing in excitement.

I'll never forget the butterflies in my stomach as I knocked on the door for the first time. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. All my nerves melted away when you opened the door. Seeing you for the first time was like my heart came out and said, "Oh, here you are. This is where I'm always meant to be."

I've always more or less considered this week to be our second anniversary. It's always going to be special to me.

Now, the real question is: are we watching Naruto tonight or not?

Happy birthday, baby.
xo, Anna

the love of my life

Dear coffee,

I know National Coffee Day was Saturday, but you must forgive my lateness. You are my favorite morning ritual. You are all about familiarity: the same Folgers coffee grounds, the same Anthropologie mug, the same International Delight Caramel Macchiato creamer. You never fail to provide me with a sense of comfort and an essence of home that exists now only in my memories.

It's the mornings when my grandma would get me up for school and already have a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal and a glass of milk waiting at my seat at the kitchen counter. She would say good morning to me as she poured herself her second cup of coffee. The first was always consumed as she read the paper every morning. There was usually a 50/50 chance she was going to explode the egg she was trying to poach in the microwave, and we'd have a laugh about it as I read the comics and she tried to salvage her breakfast.

It's Saturday mornings on the weekends I spent with my dad. Puttering around in his apartment, still sleepy-eyed and seeing him drinking coffee out of one of his mismatched coffee mugs. I always coveted his Circus World mug for my hot chocolate during the winter. He had approximately 3,000 cups of coffee during the day when he took planes cars, trains, and buses to get to his jobs sites in Downtown Chicago, and I always got to help him haul his thermoses out of his car on Friday nights.

It's the mornings when my mom started working third shift and she would always bring me a cappuccino from Kwik Trip on her way home from work. English Toffee was my favorite, and if I was lucky she'd throw a little hot cocoa into the mix. It was our little before school ritual when I was in middle school and she was working as a CNA. Nothing like being hyped up on caffeine and sugar to give you the energy to put out so much teenage angst with your friends at lunch.

It's the mornings before I left for college when I bought a container of International Delight French Vanilla creamer from Gooseberries, determined to become a coffee drinker like a ~real adult.~ The cups were mostly cream and very little coffee, but it was a comforting ritual to have something warm to drink before starting my days that were about to be turned upside down by art school and my ever-so-slightly-soul-crushing entrance into adulthood 1500 miles away from home.

It's in the mornings spent curled up on the couch in our old apartment, knitting my first blanket and watching Gilmore Girls reruns on ABC Family back when it was still called ABC Family. That hour I gave to myself each morning made me feel like me again when pretty much everything else in my life had exploded into a giant flaming mess. That morning ritual gave me hope that if I could establish some sort of routine, maybe everything else would be okay too.

All of those mornings have evolved into my now, where I start every morning with a fresh cup. Pull up my dancing playlist on my phone and go take a walk around the yard while I drink my coffee. Feeling the quiet in the air and the warmth from my coffee cup makes me feel alive on the days that it's hard to pull myself out of bed at all.

I love you, coffee. Never change.

dear january

I always consider you a "30-day free trial" of the new year. We got off to a bit of a rocky start, you and me, but now I realize why you were so melancholy and gray on the inside, and sky blue and sunny on the outside.

You brought the addition of my first successful cowl to my handmade scarf collection and got me caught up on Coffee With Chrachel and Dear Sugars. I cast on another blanket made from the same yarn that made a cowl filled with tenderness in 2015. Miniscule callouses litter my fingers, tiny scars of using my hands every single day to make something I will love and keep in my eventual home/craft museum. I'm learning that this blanket is going to take me forever—the smaller the yarn, the more stitches, the more hard emotions I can knit away and call it some form of therapy.

I scribbled down, "Hold fast to your pockets of joy" on a Monday morning. Simple pep talks to celebrate a day when I dragged myself out of bed and went for a walk in the backyard. The sun was out, and it was 30 degrees—a heat wave compared to the negative temperatures we had been dealing with for weeks before. I danced in the backyard to Tegan and Sara and felt gratitude for quiet January mornings.

Later on that night, at work, I dropped a giant roll of Saran wrap on my big toe and could only laugh at my happy thought from hours before. That was the beginning of my melancholia. Days of the week blended together, and I stopped showering or making any efforts to do above the absolute bare minimum. Depression made its way into my every day again. Slowly at first until there were days when I was laying in bed for hours, whispering, "I need to go to the store" over and over until the sun sunk down below the horizon. Admitting defeat, I muttered, "I'll try again tomorrow."

On the days that I did manage to make it out of the house, I greeted opportunities that felt like Grace congratulating me for making it out into the world. One of my childhood theatre friends reached out to me about wedding photography. A former co-worker of mine asked me to collaborate with a small business downtown for a portrait event. I felt the tiny inklings of community around me—a network of dreamers and doers that encourages me never to give up and follow my dreams.

Emily Jeffords, one of my favorite artists that I follow on Instagram, posted "Progress is always quiet and slow" on her story one day, and it stuck with me, whispering in my ear whenever I felt stuck. I stared at a lot of blank documents, willing words to come whenever I tried to write. I typed a few lines, backspace, delete, rewrite, scrap the whole thing and eventually just save it as a draft and vow to return to it in a few days or months or years. (The artistic process, in a nutshell, everyone.)

The words did come back though, on a Monday night in the mundane routine of closing at Hardee's. It's always the little things that simultaneously break your heart and bring you comfort all at once that bring whatever you've lost back to you. Finding peace and closure in moments that would have put butterflies in your stomach in a previous season of life reminds me of how much growth I have established in only a few years time. The power of choice is a potent weapon if wielded correctly. Love is fickle in her passing moments of desire, but you cannot build a relationship on a foundation of threadbare moments of passion and hidden smiles around tiled corners, concealed away from the rest of the world.

Mourn the passing of what could have been. Propose a toast to lost opportunity and new beginnings, to the next chapter of this life. Maybe in your next lifetime, or the one after that, your paths will cross, and you will get to try again. It will feel like bumping into an old friend. A simple, "Hello. Where have you been all my life?" in the midst of the chaos of the next world when you need someone to shelter you from the storm of your own creation.

In the darkest parts of my life, I will always come back to the sky. Pastel and cotton candy skies, slightly obscured by winter's silhouetted trees marked January's beginning, middle, and end. Every night at work, even if it's only for a few seconds, I lean out the drive-thru window and breathe for a second. Take in the magic that always comes with the sun saying goodnight and the moon greeting us for an extended stretch of darkness ahead. We're at that point now where every day I petulantly ask, "How many more days until Spring?"

Winter is hard. December through March always seem like the longest part of the year solely for the darkness alone. My mantra the last few weeks, when things have suddenly become more stressful and overwhelming has been, "This too shall pass. The light will come back." I have been struggling with the sharp upward and downward slopes of the precarious roller coaster I call my mental health journey. I had to write pep talk after pep talk after pep talk to pull myself out of my darkness.

"You are kind. You are important. You are worthy. Don't listen to the lies that your darkness feeds you. The only way to live a long, happy life is to get back up again when it seems like everything is doing its best to kick you while you're down. If you need a little encouragement, this is it. You can do this. I believe in you."

January, thanks for the sunsets and the pep talks and the small blips of encouragement and goodness amongst all the heaviness of life. See you next year.

a love letter to my one little word

CARE, you now join the ranks of UNAFRAID, UP, and CHOOSE. Since I started doing the One Little Word exercise in 2014, I've always viewed my word as more of a guide throughout the year. Unafraid was about looking fear in the face and owning up to all of my wrongdoings. Up was my desperate attempt to keep my head above water in the wake of my world dropping out from underneath me in early 2015. Up transformed into looking for little, happy things all around me: something that saved me when my grandma died in October of that year. 2016 was all about making an effort to shift where my attitude was going. Choose taught me how to love my people better, and also gave me a lesson in asking for help when grief came knocking on the door.

This year, I picked Care as an attempt to wrangle the anxiety beast that lives in my head. Self-care was at the forefront of making Care my word for the year. Learning and living with grief and how to manage it is something I'm still struggling with after losing my dad and my grandma less than a year apart from each other. Care always popped into my head when grief lowered my guard.

"Take a shower," it whispered. "The hot water will make you feel better."

"Get the feelings out," it urged. "Write. Take pictures. Knit. Go for a walk. Make something just for fun. Don't keep all those feelings bottled up inside."

I learned how to trust my gut this year.

I asked for help when I needed it.

I looked scary, downright terrifying things in the face this year and survived.

The best part about 2017, though, is that I finally learned how to say "No" and mean it. Care has been all about me rediscovering my voice this year—and putting it to good use.

I spoke up when someone or something made me uncomfortable. I voiced my opinion on things when I would have normally just stayed silent and on the sidelines. Some of my favorite essays this year have been the product of asking questions and getting to the bottom of the How and Why in the way certain things happen. 

Care, you have been so good to me this year. I will carry you into 2018 with all of the habits and little victories you have taught me along the way. 

In 2018, I want to live with INTENT. Trying to be present in the moment. Being mindful of how much time I'm spending mindlessly scrolling vs. actually being productive. Go on more adventures and do more things just for fun. Intent, you and I are in for quite the ride.

Care, you have been so good to me. Farewell, my friend.

farewell, september

You were the push I needed to start putting myself first again. I have dealt with a lot of hard things head on this month, recognizing that you cannot go around them. The only way to make them go away is to go through them and come out on the other side stronger and more resilient than before. 

I have been practicing self care. Knitting Christmas presents & listening to podcasts, actually picking up a book instead of scrolling on my phone all night, challenging myself with a book of soduko puzzles. All of these things lift me up instead of dragging me down.

Taking care of my mental health also involves recognizing that every day I go into work hating my job. I think 5 years is my job limit. Anything longer than that, I get comfortable and I get bored and then I grow to resent everything about working there. So I’ve been applying for jobs. And I put my blog on my resume because it’s basically a record of everything I’ve done after my sham of a college experience. I have an interview for seriously a DREAM JOB next week. I am over the moon pumped for this interview. 

I have also been taking the steps to figure out how to restart my own business, Anna Gutermuth Photography. I bought an eCourse from A Beautiful Mess and I am slowly working my way through the lessons, taking the time to plan everything out before making the plunge into the scary world of working for myself again and all the unknowns that come with it. I hired one of my childhood theatre friends to design a logo for me. Taking the steps to do what I love has inspired me to help my friends do the same. 

September, THANK YOU for lighting a fire under my ass and giving all sorts of get shit done energy. 

Tomorrow is my last day of work for a whole week. Tuesday is Justin’s birthday & Thursday we go in for teeth extraction part 2! October is going to be an interesting month for sure. 

See you next year, September. 

oh august

You were the month I wasn't sure I could handle. We got off to kind of a rocky beginning, but I cannot thank you enough for the burst of creative inspiration the last few weeks. Two more skiens of yarn and I will have another knit blanket for my collection. Today the mailman brought me some pretty paper I ordered and I'm excited to play with it and share soon. I'm rewatching Grey's again because I forgot how good the first seasons were. 

August, thank you for the magic. See you next year. 

dear justin,

Babe. Can you believe we've been together for FIVE WHOLE YEARS?! I have spent 1/5 of my life with you. Through some of our rougher patches, you have said in anger that you wished you hadn't set the age bar so low on your eHarmony profile. When we met, I was 20 and you were 25. I was an all caps MESS when we met. I was chasing after people that weren't mine to chase. I was being reckless and stupid in the name of "being young" and "trying to have some fun." Every bad, reckless decision in my life has led me to you. You rescued me from those demons that popped up while we were busy falling in love. I cannot thank you enough for that, Justin. 

Thank you for seeing me, really seeing me, and recognizing that I was worth something in a time when I felt so broken and defenseless.

Thank you for choosing me. There were a few days when we first started talking when I would go radio silent and stop responding to your emails. I was tying up loose ends. Kissing boys that I wasn't meant to kiss. Making absolutely sure you were the right choice. (Obviously, here we are now and DUH—you're so The One, babe.) But I questioned every single decision I made back then, so much so that I usually deferred the actual decision making process to someone else entirely. The butterflies you put in my stomach, though, every time I saw an email from you in my inbox, every time I saw your name in my online Skype contacts, every time you messaged me with a simple "hi"—they were everything.

You have lay witness to my transformation from "broken, fresh off an abusive relationship and a half fragile girl" to the person I am today. You have taught me so many lessons along the way about being a mature, responsible adult. About being a good person. About having compassion for other people, empathy, and the importance of honesty. You have taught me important life lessons about commitment. There have been times when I wanted to throw in the towel and you have always grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes, and begged me to believe in us again. Believe in our love and how strong we can be together.

You have helped me to believe in the soft parts of me again. You have helped me see the strength in vulnerability. Not only in recognizing it and naming it, but also in sharing it with other people. Nothing makes me feel closer to you than when we talk about what's bugging us. The crazy dreams turned into nightmares. The grief on both of our ends in the last two years. All of the bad shit that has happened in the last five years has only brought us closer together. 

A few weeks ago, before I went to bed, I looked at you and said, "Thank you for being my family."

You smiled at me and said, "You're welcome" and went back to getting ready for bed yourself.

You are my family. I have one parent left. My only "siblings" are my best friends. You are the one I talk to every day. You are the one I kiss goodnight before bed. You are the shoulder I cry on and the one who makes me laugh the hardest when I am trying to be mad at you. You are the one who has heard all my ugly, seen all of my darkness, and for some reason unknown to me, you choose to love me anyway.

You're the one, babe. You're kinda stuck with me at this point. I have been thinking more and more lately about our wedding. About marriage in general. About how much I can't wait to literally and legally become your family. After about a million setbacks—I lost my ring and your teeth have to come out and we need to get our finances in order before we can get married—after ALL THAT, I am still so excited for our future together. The light at the end of this very long tunnel is small, but I can see it. I can't wait to tackle all the hard, scary things that forever brings with you.

And all of the big, scary things we have already conquered? They have made us stronger together than we could ever be apart.

I am the detail person in our relationship. I make sure all the I's are dotted and all the T's are crossed. You are the big picture. You pull dreams down for us to achieve together, side by side. Without you, I would have a harder time coming up with those big lofty goals disguised as dreams to work towards. 

Let's keep chasing our dreams together forever, okay?

I love you, babe.

xo, Anna

my first father-less father's day

Padre,

Navigating this world without you is still hard for me sometimes. Each day has its own set of challenges, and there are still more times than not when I wish I could just pick up the phone to hear you say "Hello" back to me on the other end.

It's my first Father's Day without you. My heart feels so heavy with grief and I don't know where to put it down. All of the Father's Day tributes on Facebook and Instagram today are making me teary-eyed and a little bit jealous because all I want more than anything in this world is more time with you.

I'm learning how to sit with my emotions. I'm learning how to mange my grief and all the ups and downs every single day. I'm trying to rely on all of our good memories to buoy me through the day.

Like the Father's Day we went to Jellystone with the Dixon's and they had a dress up contest where all the dad's had to dress in drag and put lipstick on. Whoever did it the fastest won. There is no photographic evidence of this (sadly), but the memory always instantly makes me smile.

Or when you lived in Zion after you and mom split up and we used to go to late night movies on Friday nights. Then on Saturday we'd do laundry and either go bowling at the bowling alley up the street from the laundromat, or if it was nice out, you'd make me pack my swimsuit so we could go to the water park with the water slide that I refused to go on because I was paralyzed by fear.

Laundromats always remind me of you, Dad. The one in Zion I remember because it had the pinball machine. You were constantly digging around for quarters so I could keep myself occupied. After you moved back to Wisconsin, you used to take me to the one on 36 in Waterford. I always ran to you with the other edge of the your giant comforter, excited more than anything that you just needed me to help you.

I miss you, Dad. Every single day. The ache in my heart never truly goes away. Happy Father's Day.

mom is just another word for love.

Momma,

Happy Mother's Day. You've been having Mother's Days for a quarter of a century. (Sorry, did that make you feel old? :P) Thank you for everything you have done for me, ma. You have shaped me into the woman I am today and I would be absolutely nowhere without the strength and bravery and truly unconditional LOVE you have shown me throughout the years. 

Do you remember your first Mother's Day, 26 days after I was born? I was still in the hospital fighting for my life and you drove almost an hour every day to visit me. To make sure I was okay. To make sure I wasn't alone. Even in my infancy when I'm sure your world was rocked upside down and everything felt more backwards than ever, you showed me what it means to be strong. To have a purpose. To fight for something bigger than yourself. 

Do you remember when I was in high school, and we were fighting our demons side by side? I think we taught each other the lessons we needed to learn on bravery. Me speaking up about mine may have influenced you to do the same about yours (I'll never know for sure), but then your actions after—the fighting back, the take charge war cry of happiness vs. fear—they inspired me to speak up even louder. 

Do you remember the day I came home crying after newspaper, part paralyzed by fear and anxiety and part furious because Cody was still participating in a high school club after he graduated? Do you remember going into Mama Bear mode? You turned to me and said, "I need you to go look up the number to the high school. I'm making a few phone calls." 

I cannot thank you enough for those phone calls, mom. Even though we were ultimately let down (and I'M STILL BITTER about it 8 years later), you showed me the importance of having passion and standing up for the things you believe in. 

I have taken all of these lessons, the big ones as well as the little ones, and created a life that I am proud of living. I hope one day I will be able to express how much I love you and just how much you mean to me. I hope one day I will be able to give you the world. But until that day comes, I will write you letters on Mother's Day. You done good, momma. 

I love you. xo

(PS—MOM, what the hell are these glasses?!)

 

dear justin,

I said, "Let's go outside. I wanna go for a walk."

You said, "Let me finish what I'm doing and we'll go check on Booky's tree."

You inspected your deer proof fence while I took pictures of the sky and the neighbor's pretty trees. 

 

 

I cherish the moments that I capture you unaware. I have so many candids of you stored in my archives, maybe eventually I will make a book of them all. Just for you and me. So then maybe you can see how I see you: lovely, brilliant, and magnificent as you are. 

 

Your mouth was dry so we headed back inside after like 15 minutes. I love you so much. 

xo, Anna

 

dear spring (a love letter)

 

 

Oh, Spring, every year I wait so longingly for you and each year you never fail to make me blissfully happy. The pink trees are enough to instantly make my day better. 

 

 

 

Yesterday, after the "first Saturday of coupons" breakfast from hell, you were my solace found in pink petals and 2pm sunlight. My happy place, familiar like my morning cup of coffee, or kissing Justin on the forehead every night before bed. 

 

 

Today you were my quiet time. Taking half an hour to run around beneath a spanse of four different blooming trees with my phone attached to my hand taking picture after picture after picture. To illustrate just how much I love you. 

I cherish these first weeks of May, because I know soon all of the magic will be replaced by healthy green leaves as summer swings in. But, Spring, please let me be selfish and ask you to stay. Keep your pink petals around for as long as you can. 

 

dear justin,

I never wrote about the Booky cat dying. It broke my heart too much. (It breaks my heart even now.) I still can't even think about that night, January 24, without tearing up. How I came home at 5 pm to check on him, moved him in front of the heater so he would be comfortable and I told him I loved him before I went back to work. You came home from work two hours later and he was gone. The pain in your voice when you called me, the heartbreak and all the anguish was palpable. It's one of those things I know I am always going to remember. 

Right now, you are outside in the backyard of your parent's house, digging his final resting place. I am sitting inside, watching Cops, and thinking about the last four years. 

Four years ago I packed all of my belongings into my car and drove three hours away from the only place that ever really felt like home to me, to start a new life with you. And that was the best decision I ever made. 

You're The One, babe. You're the one who made me feel seen for the first time in a long time. You listened to me. You believed in me and helped me face my fears. You still do all these things for me every day. 

Because of you, Justin, I know that I didn't deserve how I let people from my past treat me. You comfort me and let me know that everything will be okay during my meltdowns where people that have come before you have told me to "suck it up" and stop being so "god dammed sensitive." You have stuck by my side faithfully through all of the crap—the lying and the cheating and the bullshit when you absolutely didn't have to. I believe you stayed because you truly believed in the power of our love and what we can accomplish as a team. I cannot thank you enough for the courage it must have taken to forgive me. 

I love you, y'know? You have taught me how to be a better person. You have helped me to grow into the person I was always meant to become. You have helped me to overcome my insecurities and tame my anxiety. You have been there for me in the impossibly tough times—when my dad died, the first thing you did was go into crisis mode and made the phone calls that needed to be made while I was overwhelmed with heart wrenching sobs of grief. You have been my anchor, my rock, my support when my depression threatens to drown me. 

You always know how much power a back rub holds when I am upset. How much a little scratch under my chin makes me grin like an idiot any time of the day. You know all my ticklish spots that are guaranteed to make me laugh. 

I love you. 

I love doing this life with you, together. Let's keep doing it forever, okay?

xo,

Anna

a love letter to Saturday

 

 

 

Oh Saturday. 

You were the unexpected surprises that I didn't even know I needed. I woke up at 7 AM today all on my own. Whenever I tried to fall back asleep, the Mew cat started crawling on me and nudging me, saying, "Mama! It's time for you to get up!"

But, let's be real—as much as I love my Mew girl, if I'm getting up at 7 AM the only thing I can coherently think about is coffee above all else. I thoroughly enjoyed my cup of coffee this morning, nice and warm in the remnants of my blanket cocoon. 

After I woke up, I was on a mission: go to the bank before they close, and then brave the grocery store on a Saturday morning. I took pictures at the grocery store because, as my mom would put it, I'm a dork. But I think there's a lot to be said for the power of grids and color and displays. (And tbh, I was so on board when Justin asked me to pick up some donuts with sprinkles for breakfast.) 

Honestly, the best part of my day was seeing the oh-so familiar Girl Scout cookie display set up in front of Pick N Save. I couldn't resist picking up my favs—Thin Mints, Caramel deLites, and Peanut Butter Patties. Sometimes I actually forget that I was a Girl Scout and I sold these same exact cookies. I made sure to thank the girls who were selling them for all the work they do. Being a Girl Scout is no joke. 

When I was in first grade, I was the top seller in my troop because my mom took my cookie sheets to the bar with her on nights she bartended. Turns out, slightly inebriated people really love Girl Scout cookies. (Who knew? ;) )

I didn't have to work until 5 tonight. I hate going in so late in the day to close because it throws off my whole schedule. But the sunset tonight after a day of almost nothing but clouds made me so happy. One of the perks of working at Hardee's is honestly the view of sunsets we get from the parking lot. Beautiful. 

Saturday, thanks for being awesome. See you next week. 

a love letter

a letter

Padre,

I went through your things today. I opened every door and every drawer in your apartment. It felt invasive almost, but someone has to do it. Hanging in your closets, I found your Army uniform. I found your golden Lion's Club vest with the best enamel pins. I found your jackets you were awarded with for winning the hobbyist division at the races in 1993 and 1994. Even though your name is spelled wrong, I'm still going to wear them every fall and spring. 

I miss you. Everything is starting to feel real now. All I want to do is hang out in the garage with you one last time. I want to hear you pick up the phone and say "Hey Anna" with a smile in your voice. I want to go to a car show with you and do nothing but take pictures and listen to you identify cars just by looking at them. I want to ask you all the questions I never got to ask you. I want to tell you I love you and hear you say you love me back. 

I went to the cemetery tonight to say hi to you and grandma. I didn't stay long. It's hard to be there right now. The dirt is too fresh. But I see you everywhere. You're in the way the light slants perfectly at golden hour. You're in the breeze that blows through the trees and ruffles my hair to say hello. You're in every sunrise and sunset. You're in every moonrise and all of the stars. 

Padre, I miss you. Thank you for keeping watch over me. I love you to the moon and back. 

Love, Your favorite (and only) daughter

miss you, dad

July 16, 1958 - August 17, 2016

The world lost a good man today. A muscle car fanatic. A true race car driver. I lost my father. The best dad ever. The dash still doesn't feel real. 

Padre,

I love you. I'm still trying to process this. I still can't fathom that we won't get anymore garage hangs or days at the laundromat. Folding clothes and the smell of gas and oil will always remind me of you. Every time I see a muscle car now, I'll know you're watching over me. I miss you, dad. 

These words don't feel like enough, but right now they're all I have. I love you.  I wish we had more time. Thank you, dad, for teaching me how to ride a bike. For teaching me how to drive a car in Dyer's parking lot. For always listening to me when I needed someone. And for always giving me the best pep talks. 

I love you, Padre. Forever & ever. 

dear justin

Coming home to you & the cats was the best part of my day today. (And, tbh, it's the best part of my day every day.) I love you. 

dear justin,

I love the way you notice when knitting gets brought up in tv shows because it reminds you of me. 

I love that you usually let me get my way. Like if it's raining and my car windows are down and I'm lazy (which is a lot) you grab my keys and roll my windows up the next time you get up. 

I love when you leave a pile of cigarettes by my work stuff so I don't have to make them when I wake up. 

I love being at work when you're there, because it doesn't feel like work. 

I love that you got me into Deadliest Catch and that now Tuesday nights are tied with Thursday nights in the spring for the best TV. 

I love scrolling through On Demand when we're bored. More often than not we end up watching The Simpsons and I scroll through Instagram while you play Forge of Empires. 

I love how you always know just what to say to calm me down when I have the freak out to end all freak outs. 

I love that you automatically go for the back rub when I'm sick or upset. 

I love how gentle you are with the cats. It makes me excited to see how good of a dad you'll be someday. 

I love that you make fun of my awkwardness and I make fun of your forgetfulness. 

I love belly laughing with you over something stupid. 

I love doing life with you, and I can't wait to spend the rest of forever together.  

3.5 years

Dear Justin, 

You are the cheese to my macaroni, the glue stick to my craft project, and the ugly sweaters in the thrift store of my heart. I love you more than red Gatorade, wireless internet, and all of our tv shows combined. I love that you make mundane things like grocery shopping, and being at work together fun.

Thank you for making me see the good parts of myself even when all I see are the ugly ones. Thank you for letting me steal the covers and put my feet on your half of the bed. Thank you for being my partner in crime and always having my back. 

I can't believe we've been together for 3.5 years. It still feels like just yesterday it was 2012 and we were meeting in person for the first time. You've brought so much light into my life, and I am so so grateful for that. And for you. 

I love you, baby. xoxo 

(photo from the day after we got engaged, april 2015)

dear saturday

You're pretty awesome so far. Justin and I woke up at the same time (which never happens). I made coffee. He fed the cats their breakfast. Now we're snuggled on the couch watching Nightwatch until I have to get ready for work. Slow, easy weekend mornings are my fav.