graduating from Notre Dame!
(Which probably made it also a good day for my parents
and my ND-crazy grandparents.)
It may be hard to believe, but there actually was an objector to me and Mr. McGee getting married (not at the actual ceremony, fortunately!). A friend of Mr. McGee's thought I was out to domesticate and suburbanize him and deprive him of the fascinatingly cultural urban life he was meant to live, which was funny, because I would have been happy living in a downtown loft and going out dancing until dawn on a nightly basis, whereas Mr. McGee really wanted a lawn to mow and a garden to putter around in and a little space between us and the neighbors. In other words, he domesticated and suburbanized me.
But his friend was convinced that marrying me was the worst mistake Mr. McGee could ever make, and that it would ruin his life. The friend was extremely vocal about this massive error Mr. McGee was about to make. Now and then, when one of us is having a rough week, I wonder if his friend was right, even though I know that's only even remotely true in an alternate universe several universes over from this one. But I don't think we every really grow out of being 16 and having these insecurities that we know are crazy, but still can't help having.
We had nothing to do today. We woke up early, lazed in bed, and poked around the house. We went to a local art fair around noon, where we chatted with some friends, looked at the art, and bought a small piece of pottery I really liked. Restaurant leftovers from last night for lunch while we watched The Producers and hurt ourselves laughing. After all that exercise, we had to go outside for a rest in the hammock.
Lying there rocking gently in the hammock with my husband, a man whom I'm crazy about (mostly in the crazy-in-love way but occasionally in the driving-me-crazy way), sharing an iPod while he read a book and I dozed in the warm spring sun, I thought, "This is a good day. A really good day."
I glanced over at my husband, shading his eyes with his book, so deep into the plot he didn't even notice me sneaking a look at him from under my hat. Surrounded by the garden he loves and which we built by hand together, a work-in-progress meant to keep us busy for many summers to come, he looked so serious, so handsome. So husbandy. So mine.
"No," I amended to myself. "This is a good life."