Jen's Column / Anniversary

My husband and I celebrated our twelfth anniversary last weekend.

It seems impossible that Jay and I have been married for 12 years. But then I do the math — and remember that I'm now closer to 40 than I am to 20 — and it works.

We met in college. Our "how-we-got-together" story changes depending on who tells it, but we agree our first memorable conversation was at the Park Avenue Laundromat just outside campus in Bemidji, Minn. I was studying Shakespeare; he was studying Chinese. We chatted about our classes and then I went home and told my roommate how cute he was.

A few weeks later, Jay put an ad in the college newspaper: "To Shakespeare's Jen: To be? From China's Worst Nightmare." By the time the edition printed, we'd already been on our first date.

I remember the first time he kissed me. It was after watching a movie at the house I shared with my roommate. Jay kissed me goodbye at the door as he was leaving, and as soon as the screen clicked shut behind him I ran to the living room and jumped up and down on the couch, yelling, "He kissed me! He kissed me!"

Until I realized he could see me from his car as he pulled out of the driveway.

I remember the first meal he made me — a ham-and-potato concoction especially for Easter. It was a cold, clear, night — and when he walked me to my car, we leaned against the hood and watched the northern lights dance above us for almost an hour.

I was crazy about that college boy. I thought he was the kindest, funniest, coolest guy I'd ever met.

Yet I never could've imagined then that we'd someday share two sons. That we'd negotiate 10 p.m. runs to the convenience store so there'd be milk for breakfast. That we'd argue about who's doing what around the house. That I'd actually whisper to him over lunch one day, "Honey, I've reached a new pregnancy low. Hemorrhoids."

It's certainly nothing I'd ever said to past boyfriends.

But somehow, in the last 12 years, Jay's become the person I can be dopey and lazy and ugly around — but who I want to be smart and pretty and fun around, too. He's the person who lets me be me, and I like to think I do the same for him.

We're not always successful. But that's OK. The best advice we ever got was from the pastor who did our premarital counseling. "You're not always going to be madly in love with your husband or wife," he said. "In fact, there may be times you think, 'I don't like you at all.' You just have to wait it out."

And, yes, there've been times when we haven't been each others' biggest fans.

As I'm typing this, in fact, Jay just said to me, "There's hot chocolate all over the counter…," which is code for, "You left hot chocolate mix on the counter when you made the boys their snack even though you know I'm trying to keep the counter clean so we don't get ants and even though you made that snide comment earlier about how you're the only one who keeps the counter clean."

But even through our little ups and downs — and even through the big ones — I know what I've landed here. I have a patient, kind, funny, give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back husband who is loyal to his family, who is a good father, and who has bought me a candy bar for every monthly anniversary since our wedding day 12 years ago. That’s 144 candy bars.

I'm not going anywhere. And if I'm lucky, he's not either.

Seriously.

Why isn't Clinton bowing out gracefully?

So frustrated!!

Jen's Column / Shimmy for a Cure

It all started when dinner got boring.

It used to be that when some of my girlfriends and I got together, we'd go out for dinner. We'd talk about the crazy things we did when we were younger. We'd talk about the exciting things we want to do when we're older. And then it struck us that we weren't doing anything crazy or exciting now.

I mean, we were doing things. Important things — like packing lunches and paying bills and planting bulbs. But these things lacked a certain adrenaline factor.
So we became adventurers — going rock climbing and taking clogging lessons, running 5Ks and learning to belly dance.

When it came time to brainstorm my annual fundraiser for the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, I wanted to share the love. I thought, "Hey! Belly dancing was fun — I bet I can get a few adventurous women to do that."

I had no idea.

I e-mailed my "Shimmy for a Cure" invitation to friends. Who passed it on to their friends. Who passed it on to their friends.

By the time I had 25 RSVPs, Shawn and Michelle Fagan of Fagan Studios took pity on me and agreed I could move the event out of my basement and into their super-cool space in the old Gilded Star Art Gallery.

When we hit 39 RSVPs, I emailed the belly-dancing instructor, Laura.

"Should I be panicking?" I wrote. "Can you teach 40 people?"

"Goddesses never panic," she wrote back.

When we hit 53 RSVPs, I started panicking.

A week before the event, I went on vacation and by the time I returned, 77 adventurous women had signed up for my little belly dancing fundraiser.

With two days to go until shimmy time, I had to find a bigger venue. I sat down at my kitchen table and called every available church, business and community space in a 20-mile radius.

My end of the conversation sounded something like this: "Hi, I'm looking for a venue for a fundraiser on Friday… Yes, this Friday… 80 belly dancers…. thanks anyway."
Then, at exactly 10:32 a.m., the sky opened, the angels sang and Karen at St. Luke's

Episcopal Church answered my prayers.

"Sure!" she said. "We have space you can use."

"It's for belly dancing," I said. "Is that a problem?"

"It sounds fun!" she said. I could've kissed her full on the lips.

The rest was cake. On Friday night, 85 of the coolest women you've ever met showed up with open minds and open checkbooks to support the American Cancer Society and shake their money makers.

"I had no idea it was going to get so big!" I told my fellow belly dancer Laurie.

"I knew!" she told me. "We're all bored! We want adventure! We want to be exotic!"

Sue Hruska, the Relay's honorary chair and a brain cancer survivor, addressed the group just before our lesson began. She reminded everyone how important it is do the things you want to do — to embark on your adventures — today. "No one knows what tomorrow brings," she said. "Do it now."

And we did. We shook. We shimmied. We doubled over in laughter. During one move, as Laura had us squeezing our shoulder blades together ("Pop that chest! Pop! Pop!"), I looked around at the women surrounding me and felt so grateful to be sharing this adventure with them.

Now it's your turn. Don't wait until you have a free weekend, or until the kids grow up, or until you retire. Don't wait until someone invites you along on their adventure. Do something just to feel the butterflies in your stomach. Do something just so you have a story to tell. Do something for no reason at all — except that you can.