Things You do When You're Dating

Thirteen years ago today, I was running around like a chicken with her head cut off, weeks before the biggest day of my life (up to that point), checking off my to-do list to become Mrs. James William Kirk III. I'm sure Mimi (back then just Mom) and I were wrapping gifts, stuffing boxes, and licking envelopes on the floor of her much-used living room. Coach (still just Billy back then) was probably at the gym, wedding details the LAST thing on his mind. We would have still been in that cute stage, before cell phones hung on belt loops, and I would have been waiting for Mom's house phone to ring so I could hear his sweet voice checking in with me for the night. Coach was a good courter, always taking me to dinner, movies, heck he used to even walk with me back in the day, round and round the lake, acting as if walking was the next best thing to a 420 pound bench press. Ahh, the good old days, when we went to midnight movies, shared a dessert, and held hands ALL. THE. TIME: the things you do when you're dating:-) And just so the young neighbor couples in the cul-de-sac don't despair when they see their future flashing before their eyes in the form of the Kirk family, I'd like to share the details of my evening, thirteen years after the invitations were stamped and sent out. Once the boys were securely dropped off at the local FBC VBS, I envisioned a quiet evening, or at least a quiet two hours until the noise returned, screechy voices echoing the events of the night. Fold a little laundry, channel surf, wipe down some kitchen counters, maybe. I envisioned wrong. Coach disrupted my bath towel fold to tell me to get in the car, tennis rackets in his hand and athletic clothes adorning his body. Great, right? Well, it was raining, had been raining all day, and is still raining as I write this. "Are you an athlete or not?" he taunted, and y'all know I can't back down from a challenge. So as we loaded up and the rain pounded a little harder on our windshield as we drove to the courts, we laughed, knowing that after thirteen years of wedded bliss (bliss being moving vans, surgeries, preemie clothes, pediatric endocrinologists, mean principals and all the other good stuff), a little rain was NOTHING we couldn't handle. So we served it up, Wimbledon style, only we didn't stop when the balls splashed and died, didn't give second chances because of a slick spot (because life surely doesn't), but finished strong as we always do and walked off the court hand in hand, just like we did almost thirteen years ago.