Seven Year Itch-Free

one dragonfly, two dragonfly, three dragonfly
Originally uploaded by annabel rose

We just celebrated our 7th anniversary.
What itch? 
Last week, my wonderful friend called and said "I have a night at the Freestone Inn in Mazama that is paid for and I can't use. And I would love to give it to you." I misted up. Our plan for our anniversary was pizza and a half carafe of wine. Now, granted: pizza at the place where we used to go when we were dating and where the owner comes by our table and gets nostalgic with us, but still. Not the FreeStone Inn. Not the Methow. And what my wonderful friend didn't know is that we toured the place, longingly, several summers ago, after spending a week in a cabin with my folks down the road. What she didn't know is that in the spectrum of YES! yes, no, NO!, the Methow is a YES! for both M and I, and now is for Forest too.

We stopped on the way up and FF played on the restored train at Newhalem. We filled our eyes and our hearts with mountain vistas and tree scenes, while I read my book and Forest slept and occasionally, we talked of life. We arrived. FF went straight into the lake, then ran shrieking with happiness in circles on the grass. We found out what the squirrels were so excited about: that pine tree by the lake was a real pine nut pine, and I showed him how to find them in the cones, and peel them and FF fed them to M and I. Appetizers.

We had dinner. The first nice dinner out with FF for at least a year and he did GREAT! He ate a whole basket of bread by himself and then tried the basket on for a hat, but did not throw it on the floor. They had mac and cheese on the menu for him, amazing pasta for me, sausages for M. We felt rested and cosseted and comforted. We strategized for one more thing to keep FF from jumping out of his high chair. We clicked my glass of red wine against M’s glass of scotch against FF’s sippy. Surrounded by wood and families and butterscotch light, we smiled and said “Happy Anniversary.”

We woke and ate amazing granola and chased more red squirrels. We took a short hike. We walked and smelled the vanilla scent of ponderosa pines. And, can you believe it? I haven’t gotten to the best part yet. The best part is this: after the hike, we went down to the lake. Gave FF his shovel and two, I say two buckets. Oh sweet abundance. And he crouched in the warm sand, for it was a sunny blue day, and he played in blissful focus for forty-five minutes. M and I rested on our elbows in the grass and watched the Jurassic dragonflies zoom and smiled at how beautiful our son is and shared our dreams. Unhurried, unfrazzled, happy.

 Some say that the seven-year itch is unavoidable. But I like what Caroline Casey says about it: every seven years, it’s a good time to evaluate the containers of your life. Make sure that you, as the plant growing inside the containers, aren’t getting root bound.  As I look around this life we’ve made, I might say stretched, challenged. I might say extremely alive. I might say reaching. Yes, that feels right.

But root-bound? Nope. I smashed the pot that was too small for me when I was 35. Which, to give Casey her due, was right on point for the seven-year-cycle.  I am now a convert, an unabashed pot smasher.  I cannot recommend it highly enough. And through all the laughter and tears and smiles and shouting too,  M has been with me. And now this beautiful boy we call Fox.

Happy Seventh Anniversary, Sweetheart.

What itch?