Milkshakes and basil

I went on a date with my husband on Sunday. For us, a date happens pretty much any time we manage to convince someone else to watch the kids.

Week before last, we went on a date at the cafeteria in the building where I work. Not so romantic, but thrilling just the same to have uninterrupted adult conversation.

But on Sunday, we had a real date. My wonderful sparkly little sister is visiting from Germany, and she and my mother volunteered to play with Cheeks and Bee while dear husband and I went to the garden center.

Not the movies. Not to a fancy restaurant. We went to the garden center.

It sounds awfully boring, I know, but I can't tell you how excited I was at the prospect of browsing the aisles without worrying about a pair of little hands decapitating a prize peony.

On the way there, my husband turned to me and said, how about we grab a milkshake? Now, I can't remember the last time I even drank a milkshake, but before you could say banana split we were walking into the little burger place near our house.

I ordered vanilla with crushed oreos. Dear husband decided on a root beer float.

Back in the car, we slurped our milkshakes in companionable silence. Just being at ease together is probably one of the nicest things about being married for almost nine years.

On Saturday, I went wedding dress shopping with my little sister. We went to the same small store where I had bought my wedding dress at the tender age of 21. I proudly told the owner of the shop that I had brought her a new customer and related my warm memories of picking out a dress nearly a decade ago. She laughed, and then asked, "So, how's it going, the marriage?"

"Very well," I replied.

I reflected on this as we walked through the nursery and picked out herbs to grow on our back patio. Two kinds of basil for homemade pizza margherita. Mint for my husbands' mint juleps. Sage for roast chicken. Two strawberry plants, just because. Dear husband also bought me new clay pots and big bags of potting soil. What I know, after nine years, is that love doesn't have to be flashy. Sometimes its as simple as fresh basil and sweet as cold vanilla ice cream.

When we returned home, we found the girls happily playing in the front yard with my Mom and sister. I set to work filling the new pots. Cheeks McGoo loved digging with a child sized spade. Miss Bee took wearing her garden gloves very seriously.

Dear husband watched my gardening with great bemusement, knowing that my black thumb will no doubt inflict calamity on our purchases. I will surely forget to water one plant and accidentally another. I checked on my green charges after work today, and, surprisingly, all seemed to have recovered from being transported and transplanted. Perhaps this will be my lucky year in the garden.