Yesterday, in a fit of anniversary-eve sentimentality, I thumbed through my wedding photo album. It’s hard to believe that a full decade has passed since D. and I said “I do” on a Saturday morning when I was certain that no one would show up at the church for the ceremony because of the torrential rain pouring from the nearly-black skies.

It wasn’t the weather of a bride’s dreams, really.

But apparently the bad weather didn’t dampen our spirits. Because looking at our wedding album is like looking at photos from some sort of Goofy Smile Extravaganza. It was a great, happy day.

And you know, ten years later, I think that if I could say anything to the girl in my wedding pictures (the girl who is, of course, me), it would be, “Ya done good, sister.”

Also: “What’s going on with your bangs?”

Not to mention: “There’s a little boy coming your way in about six years. He will absolutely melt your heart and take your breath away. You will wonder how you ever lived without him, even though right now you think nothing could possibly make you happier than watching a marathon of Friends episodes.”

And finally: “The next ten years will make you laugh and cry and smile and hurt and laugh some more. The next ten years will stretch your faith and build your character and multiply your joy. There will be days when you love your husband with the force of all nature, and there will be days when you wonder what the two of you ever saw in each other.

And on every single one of those days – good, bad, or somewhere in between – God will be working in ways you can’t even imagine. And ten years from today, you will look back on your life together, and you will be beyond grateful for God’s faithfulness through the mountaintops and the valleys. You will be so glad that you’ve walked through all of it together.

And you will be thankful.”

I am. So thankful.

Happy 10th Anniversary, D.

I love you!

I really don’t think there’s a retail establishment within a two-mile radius of my home that we haven’t patronized over the last three days.

Or at least not a retail establishment with the word “DISCOUNT” in its name.

And I’m not saying that I’ve wanted to blog more than I’ve wanted to visit with family – because that is most definitely not true – but it was quite the tender moment a few hours ago when the computer and I reunited. I gave her a big hug, and later on I’m going to brush and braid her hair. Because I’ve missed her.

We had a great time with Mama and Martha, though. And I thought about EVERY STINKIN’ ONE OF Y’ALL last night during a conversation Martha and I had. We actually ended up talking into the wee hours of the morning, and at one point she started to ask me about This Thing They Call A Blog.

Martha wanted to know how someone would go about finding my blog on the internet, and she asked if there was a special name people needed to know in order to read what I’ve written.

I didn’t understand her question, so to clarify she said, “Well, I mean, I doubt you just have something called [my real name].com! I can’t imagine that you’d have [my real name].com! I know lots of people have the dot coms, but I just can’t imagine that you’d use [my real name].com because of, well, privacy and safety and things. So I thought maybe you, had, you know, a handle or something.”

“A handle?”

“Yes! You know! A handle! You know like the truckers? On the interstate? How they talk on those radios, those CB radios? And they have names like ‘FoXy $eXy Mama’? And I mean, I know your handle for your blog isn’t ‘FoXy $eXy Mama’ or anything like that, I mean OF COURSE NOT, HEAV-ENS NO, but I was just wondering if you had a special handle or something so that people can find the stuff that you’ve written.”

[long pause]

[trying to absorb the fact that I just heard my mother-in-law use the phrase “FoXy $eXy Mama.”]

[TWICE.]

And once I composed myself:

“It’s called ‘BooMama.'”

“B Mama? What Mama? B Mama?

“No ma’am. BOO Mama. You know how we call Alex “Boo”? Well, I’m BooMama.”

“OOOOOH. Okay. Well. That’s catchy! I mean, I guess it’s catchy. Well, I’m sure it’s catchy. It’s adorable. It’s just adorable. Adorable!”

She still hasn’t read the blog, mind you.

And granted, the title is nowhere near as catchy as “FoXy $eXy Mama.”

But I reckon it’ll do.

“Now see? Do you see? Can you see how this jacket does? I know y’all think I have an easy time buying clothes because I’m smaller, but I’m telling you, it’s AWFUL. It’s just awful!”

“Is he not the most precious, sweetest, smartest child you have ever seen in your life? He is so precious. Just precious. OH he’s precious.”

“Mama, I love it when my grandmothers are here.”

“I’m looking for a cute clip earring, something gold, maybe – but nothing too heavy, I mean they can just get so heavy, and oh, here’s a cute pair – I just wish it were a little rounder and a little thinner and a little lighter. But aren’t they adorable?”

“LOOK AT THIS SKIRT? WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS SKIRT? ISN’T THAT THE CUTEST SKIRT YOU’VE EVER SEEN?”

“Now this is what I call livin’!”

“Well, you know she’s the only member of that family with a sense of humor.”

“I put four kinds of flavoring in this pound cake: almond, vanilla, butter and lemon.”

“Now tell me: what is this thing on my foot? Touch it. Really! Touch it.”

“I know what you mean about having a hard time figuring out which way the grain goes in meat. And I have STUDIED MEAT EXTENSIVELY.”

I’m on Day Three of the YeeHaw Mamaw Cleaning Spree, and while I would love to be able to tell you that I’m almost finished, the fact of the matter is that I’ve barely hit the tip of the iceberg. I have wiped down my kitchen until it shines and dusted all the baseboards on one end of the house. I’ve mopped all the hardwood floors and vacuumed all of my rugs.

And I might be patting myself on the back if it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t changed the first sheet, cleaned the guest bathroom or caught up on laundry.

(And just FYI: none of those things will be getting done tonight because Dancing With The Stars comes on, and JOEY FATONE NEEDS MY SUPPORT, y’all.)

But tomorrow? I will tackle this house like a linebacker. Oh yes I will.

I know it’s probably hard for some people to understand why a visit from my mama would throw me into a flat-out cleaning frenzy – and I can see how you might think, “Relax, missy – it’s your mother, after all, and she’ll understand that you have a four year old whose toys seem to multiply daily and who doesn’t necessarily, um, aim with accuracy when he goes to the restroom. She’ll understand that you just moved a few months ago and may not have everything perfectly organized.”

And yes, that is true. She totally understands those things.

But she is also the Queen of Clean: the woman who has never left a dish in the sink overnight, never had to re-wash a load of clothes because she forgot that they were in the washer for, oh, a day or four, never gone more than a week without changing the sheets on all the beds.

So somehow, in the days leading up to her visits, I find myself trying to balance my desire for everything to look perfect – because I grew up in a house where everything looked perfect ALL THE TIME – with my complete inability to keep the house clean for more than approximately sixteen seconds at a time.

In retrospect, I have no idea how Mama kept such a clean house. Granted, she didn’t have the internet or Wii or TiFaux to distract her from the tasks at hand, but she did have three children, and she also cooked three hot meals a day.

So I’m starting to think that she had magical powers. Or at least a friend with some magical powers.

Or perhaps a small wizard in the basement.

I mean, even Mama’s laundry room is decorated, and lest you think I’m kidding, I offer you photographic evidence:

In addition, there is a runner and a small stereo system there (IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM) – I guess you never know when you’ll want to Shout! out some pesky grass stains while standing barefooted on an Oriental-style rug and listening to the smooth, soulful sounds of today’s hottest jazz tunes.

So while I don’t think I can get a window treatment with fringe made by tomorrow night – and while I doubt I’ll be accessorizing my laundry room with a lamp, candles, a runner and a STEREO – hopefully I’ll have everything looking clean and pretty within the next twenty-four hours.

But if there’s a small wizard in your basement who could help me out, feel free to send him on over.

Yesterday Alex had to come home early from Mothers’ Day Out because, well, he threw up. In his classroom. During “circle time,” which is normally quite exciting for the pre-schoolers but takes on a decidedly somber bent when, you know, vomit enters the fray. Funny how that works.

By late afternoon the throwing up part of the virus had subsided, and after some Sprite and crackers, the little man decided that he felt like sitting up and doing something besides watching “Little Bear.” So, in the softest voice imaginable, he said, “Mama? Do you want to play the Wii with me?”

I think my response probably goes without saying.

So I pulled out the Wii-motes, put in the Wii Play game, and the two of us started to play. Alex was leaning his head against my shoulder, but his little eyes were lively for the first time all afternoon. I pulled him a little closer.

We started playing our favorite game, Find Mii, which is basically a timed matching game. We were making pretty good progress, but then we got to the part where we had to find look-alike Miis who were swimming underwater in a pool (I recognize that this sounds like a bunch of crazy talk. I do. You can see a demonstration of what I’m talking about here if you need a visual).

The timer was steadily ticking down toward zero, and Alex and I were both trying to figure out where the match was. With about ten seconds left, he looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and in the hoarsest little voice I’ve ever heard, he whispered, “COME ON, NOW, SON.”

I was so busy smiling at him that the timer ran out. We didn’t find the match, and we lost the game.

But make no mistake: I totally got the prize.