Three times is the charm.

 "In your world of noise

or in your quiet place

whatever you say

whatever you do

just do it for love."

~ The Singing Guy, Jamaica 2011

________________________________________

This weekend I cried. Three times, actually.

For some people this is a lot of crying. For others, it is no big deal at all. I guess I'd say for me that three times in one weekend is certainly no record, but it is a respectable amount of crying. Or not-so-respectable depending upon who you ask.

None of them were ugly cries. In fact, all three were the kind that remind me of sun showers. Light. Fleeting. Mostly pleasant.

The first cry was on Friday evening. The BHE and I had had a very dumb spat the night before. Nothing earth shattering, but we weren't agreeing so eventually just went to bed agreeing to disagree. We don't fight dirty. We decided very early in our relationship to not carry arguments and brooding into new days, especially if they weren't extremely important issues. This wasn't. But I am human and my feelings were a little hurt. Because we have now had nearly ten years of practice with not holding grudges and keeping things moving, I was on to other things the following day and not the least bit upset any more.

But then I received this text from Harry on Friday evening:

"About yesterday: I'm sorry and I love you."

And that was it. He had broken the rule of not unearthing spats with this simple apology. Reading and re-reading that text message made me cry. My husband is a tough guy. He is the antithesis of touchy-feely but regardless of that he cares about how I feel enough to make love a verb. For me, that means a lot.

My reply:

"Me too."


I cried again on Saturday morning. Zachary is officially five and a half and tells me this often. "Mama! I am five and a half!!"  And I laugh and say, "Yes, sir, you sure are."

Sometimes it's a reading-a-magazine-uh-huh-okay laugh. Other days it's a wistful laugh because Zachary is the caboose on our baby train. Yesterday morning when he made this announcement for the umpteenth time, it was definitely the latter.

This time he showed me his loose tooth when he said it.

And then this:

Something about that made me cry. I was happy for him, yes. But it put a pang in my heart to know that he was really moving further and further away from being my baby.

Not enough for me to allow my husband to impregnate me or anything. (Relax, Mom.)

But still. It choked me up. All of it. Him. It. That.

Saturday evening I cried once more. Harry and I attended the wedding of one my favorite former Grady doctor-girlfriends. She married another former Grady doctor on a beautiful spring evening. It had rained all week but yesterday for her wedding? It was perfect.

She looked perfect, too. So happy. So content. So beautiful. He did, too.

And interestingly, I didn't cry when I saw her walk out with her dad. Instead I cried randomly at the reception while glancing at her from across the room. Because she was happy and whole and full and complete. I was so glad for her. So glad for them.

I love it when I attend weddings and get that feeling. That feeling that isn't there at all weddings but that lets you know that it's right. Very, very right. You feel it. You know it. It has nothing to do with flowers or food or cake or expense. It is this feature that can't be purchased but is the main ingredient for a wedding to be right. No matter how modest or swanky the celebration.

And you know it when you feel it.

So I felt it at this wedding. Which made me cry.

Those kinds of weddings also feel like a bit of vow renewal for my own marriage. So that part was nice, too.

Oh yeah--and a bunch of my favorite people sat together at one table. Including my friend Stacy H. and the two infectious disease doctors with the infectious love that I wrote about over a year ago. Seeing them made me go back to my post on their wedding to relive it all. I smiled and laughed out loud all over again.

Perfect.

So yeah. We were all together at one very special table.

Table 'G' for Grady.

At Table G with my fellow Grady doctor, Stacy H.

So this weekend, I cried three times. All for love. You know? I'm thinking that old saying might be right. Three times was indeed the charm.

"Me, too."

But four is okay, too.

***
Happy Sunday.

P.S. I tried to post my video of The Singing Guy singing that song but it wouldn't work. Grrr! I'll work on it and get it on here somehow (because that's what's playing on my mental iPod!)