Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. It's been eight years! That's like two presidential administrations. That's like all of high school and college combined. That's like going from a newborn to a third-grader. It doesn't seem like that long at all.
We didn't do anything special to celebrate yesterday, but Jay's mom is coming into town later in the week, so we might actually be able to leave the house without WCB. I have a dim memory of something called a "movie theater" and something else called "a restaurant that does not hand out crayons" but I'm not sure if these are actual things or just stuff I might have dreamed about once. It'll be weird to go out without WCB. Remember when Mike and Carol Brady left for their honeymoon, and they couldn't stop talking about the kids, and so they finally broke down and went back home and got the kids and Tiger and Alice and brought them on the honeymoon with them? It's going to be like that.
In other news: Yesterday I took WCB to see Mr. Stinky Feet live in concert at the public library. If you've never heard of Mr. Stinky Feet, obviously you do not have a child under the age of five in the Kansas City metro area. He is a pleasant-looking, 40-ish man in a Hawaiian-print shirt and a baseball cap who plays the guitar and sings. KIDS. LOVE. HIM. Even though Mr. Stinky Feet does try to emphasize the importance of sitting on your bottom and quietly raising your hand, it was still a little bit like watching The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Those kids went nuts. We left a little bit early, just before babies started flinging their diapers on stage and the preschoolers formed a mosh pit. Craziness.