I knew I'd never get married.

My mother divorced my father when I was nine. I got accustomed to her cries at night. Although she, to this day, doesn't know I heard her. She's married now, but not without the many horrors of dating again. The baggage of two young children made this hard. I couldn't see myself ever staying interested in a man. Not one boyfriend in high school. My best friend had enough for the two of us. She didn't take them seriously even though she had two marriage proposals. Even in college they all seemed like boys. I'd "date," but find a good book more intriguing. Or rather be teaching a yoga class. Often times one could find me at the coffee shop writing, instead of out with some guy. My mother and father had no idea the surprise they were in for.

I never saw him coming.

A week before heading back to Oregon for my third year in college I locked eyes with him. I'd seen him around for a week now. His broken straw hat and long skateboard made him standout in the crowd that last week in August 1998.

I'm not the kind to strike up a conversation. I just would look into those blue eyes and feel myself fall. Like dipping into a pool of water up in the Rockies. Not the regular blue eyed boy, very mysterious.

That last night of the New West Fest I sat just a few feet away from him and wrote. Too shy to keep eye contact, just the occasional glance. Just a poem for the man I'd never meet. He drew a crowd of friends around him and looked into me the whole time.

His skateboard was on his lap and although I couldn't see what he was doing, the board was clearly visible. Looks like a child's drawing. Large stick figures in the park with a sun and flowers. What was his story?

After night fell he came up to me, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Flushed face, my hands felt hot and I said, "Sure."

He said he was an art student at CSU and he sketched me. That I was hard to draw, which was a surprise for him. Just a small charcoal of a girl and her journal. I said nothing about the poem.

A door opened inside and I should of known then that this was the man I'd marry.

In the fall/winter of 1998/1999 we had a long distance relationship. As for dating other people we left possibilities open on both sides. I went on a few, but always came home late, with a desire to hear his voice. That was the best way to have him close. That year I had the highest phone bills and often went to class dreamy eyed, still in last nights dream of being in the same town. At least the same state would be better.

We were married July 27, 1999. In the courthouse of Salem Oregon. The brown shoes that went with my pink dress were no where to be found. We had spent the previous night away from each other. I watched "Pretty in Pink" and went to sleep to "Say Anything."My feminist morals were diminished by then.

With no money for a honeymoon we went out for nachos and searched for an apartment to live in. To bring myself back to that time is a challenge. That was over seven years ago. I was just a girl, we were just kids then.

We moved back to Ft. Collins in September 1999. He was born and raised here. My father has lived here for the last ten years, my brother and I would spend summers and occasionally holidays in this town.

We've been here since then. I still teach yoga and he teaches art. He's been offered other places but loves the kids at Cache La Poudre Junior High.

We didn't have the standard "talk" of children and religion. Got married with only knowing each other (face to face) a month and a half. I love kids and he truly beamed around his younger cousins.

There was a day we watched the sun sink down the skyline of the Oregon coast. He smiled, "One day you and I will have our own children." I am embedded with the color of that sky,crimson and violet. The sand in my toes and his hand around my hip. I made a silent wish.

We have now been married for 7 years and 7 months. On May 6 2006 you, our sweet Willow Claire, came into the world. You didn't cry out in shock but looked around curious and attentive. 7lbs 2 oz. 19 " at 3:16 pm. on a Saturday. You have your grandma's chin, dad's eyes and mother's hands. The love we had, just the two of us, is just a patch on the quilt for you. No wonder you inspire me so.

You pull up now to stand, nine months old and a little firecracker. Dad's in graduate school and I spend time loving on you. Hard to see past the moment. You taught me that. Your centered enough to not dwell on the past and fret of the days to come. You teach me new lessons every day.

I'd always thought Valentine's was a day for lover's. Little did I know the love we have for you is stronger than the wind. That each day I want to give to you the moon. That there was a time without you is past my comprehension. You, our little one, how days pass by. I try to catch the moment. When you creak happily, an old door. Or when you look into your daddies eyes when I hold you near. I sometimes crawl with you, down the hall as you squeal and look over your shoulder to make sure I still follow. These times are precious to me and uncountable. Yet years are funny that way and I might wake tomorrow and you'll be gone. All I have is this. I'll draw you near to my chest and sing you a lullaby. One day you'll hear the story of how an artist came up to a poet and showed her that fountains are alive in the dead of winter. There is a forest of a world outside our window and I'll be here for you. You've taught your mommy and daddy that leaves descend in the fall and snow melts away to bring room for budding flowers to grow. As spring showers into the summer the moon draws into the sun.

Curious of what fall will bring.