traditional anniversary gift: wool or copper - i'd opt for a lamb or new wiring

Were big Blake still alive, we'd be celebrating our seventh anniversary today. And as a side note, I wish I had a different way to differentiate between big and little B. "Big" and "little" are just so bland, and there's no "junior" involved because I don't like it, and "Daddy" just feels childish to type, though that's what me and Blakester call him: Daddy Blake. Any ideas?

Seven years seems so weird to me. I've only ever been a newlywed, and seven is so BIG. Seven years ago, I weighed twenty-five pounds less, was still five feet, seven inches tall, was smart but unendingly silly, and didn't have a digital camera. I've now gained weight (thanks, little B - also to blame: my terrible eating habits), have lost none of the silliness or smartness but have been touched by deep grief, which tends to color such things, and have the means to post my image everywhere online.

I wish I had more digital images of Blake. I could put them up in posts like this, to show how happy and handsome we were, especially for folks who've never met him. That boggles my mind: I have close and meaningful relationships with people who never met him. In fact, the two closest, most meaningful people in my life do not know the man whose life and death so profoundly shaped me and how I approach things.

I have learned these past five years not to anticipate the anniversaries or holidays (which, for me, are essentially one and the same). Dreading a day made me almost physically ill, and I would wake up to realize that it was just another day. It could be as hard or as easy as I made it. Of course, no dreading means that flashes of grief have hit me at random all month long. I think it's also got something to do with how much Rob is at work (and YES, I am grateful for his job, but sixty-five hours a week is a lot, and it's okay that it's hard on me), me having to work at home with a tow-headed distraction bent on preventing said work, and my general concern about finances - so grief might be a misnomer, but it certainly affects my Decembers.

Today has been good because it's not been overshadowed by being an anniversary. Tomorrow might be another story, but I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Until then, here's my beautiful family that alternately blesses me and makes me a little crazier:

I'm working on getting Rob to at least lift his eyebrows in photos - if he smiles his eyes disappear - because he perpetually looks pissed off. I learned the eyebrow trick in choir - you physically cannot smile - and Rob learned the no smile trick from his dad - who has the same eyes. Blake has not yet learned either trick, but has the art of being squirrely down pat. In a series of twelve, this is the best of all three of us (I, naturally, looked RAVISHING in each shot). Rob gets more and more angry-looking (with wilder hair), while Blake can't time the flash to coincide with "Cheese!" I have named their looks:

"You make me want to pull out my hair" and "Ch-"

"I loathe you" and "Squinty."

And Blake insisted I include a photo of this rascal. Note the five o'clock shadow and rascally expression? Even better: He has a light saber. This guy is up to NO GOOD.