We before us.
We were a we before us. Every time it’s just the two of us, I am able to remember. To take my fist and rub it over the screen to clear off the smudge over the reflection. To wipe the slate clean. To remind myself.
April 9, 2005. It happened before February 9, 2009. And June 13, 2011. And December 10, 2013.
Our wedding anniversary happened prior to our three sons.
In fact, our dating anniversary happened years before. On December 13, 2001.
We lived in Lincoln, separately. And then, I lived in Wilber. He lived in Austin. And then we lived in Austin. And then Omaha. And we lived in Omaha at 3033 S 179th Plz. Number three one five.
And then, we lived at 613 S. 180th Ave. Technically, in Elkhorn. And then. Then. We. Became Us. The three of us. And then, the four. And then, almost five. But it didn’t happen. And then, five for sure.
And then, we were us.
And it’s easy to forget. We were a we.
Have you forgotten, mama? Really. Stop. Ask yourself.
You were a we who had drinks. And sex whenever. And conversations under the moonlight. You were a we who had snuggle time on the couch. And law and order marathons on Saturdays. You were a we who talked daily about your jobs and career goals. You were a we who splurged on a last minute we getaway. Who held your husband’s hand during takeoff instead of soothing an upset child or flapping your wings to make the plane fly. You were a woman who would drink because there was no one to wake you up in the night. And who never thought about a kid’s menu.
But now you’re an us. With a seven. A five. And a two. Or a sixteen. A twelve. And a ten. Or an eleven. A seven. And a three.
You’re an us.
So you might forget ever being a we.
But then every once and awhile, you remember. When you’re out to dinner just the two of you. When you’re flirting and waxing poetic. When you’re on the road in a car on your own and you stop somewhere and see someone blowing zerberts on their babes’ tums and you miss them… Your us. When your feet are buried under the sand as you sip on Rye out of Solo cups and talk life and death and parenting and jobs. When you look at the moon, while holding hands and know that this is the very best place on the earth to be. You remember, you were a we. Before we was ever an us.
And it’s somehow confusing. Like we existed in an alternate universe. In some wormhole. But you catch glimpses of it. Like de ja vue. When it’s just you two. When it’s just we.
And you’re beyond thankful that you took this time to get away. To love the we. To be the you that was half of the we that existed before you became us and ever for a minute, started as we. To nurture the we to make sure the US continues.
And you get a taste. A glimpse. A love. For the we phase. A huge appreciation for that time where you only had each other and you couldn’t imagine your heart stretching further.
At the end of a season. Or maybe just at a normal. To get it in your soul. To make your heart beat like it did without. You are reminded that just we existed. Before us. And both were/arebeautiful. And both deserve being remembered. And cherished. Loved. Lived. And reinvented.
As time goes on.
