The Donut Princess

There's a little girl at church
whose frame is not nearly as round as her face
and whose face is not normally as round as that of a walrus.
only on Sundays.
when she drowns in frilly lace dresses,
her face under the powder of bavarian creme donuts.
Back and forth she goes, between her seat and her treasure box,
with no regard for the populace around her.

It's by her influence alone, I'm sure of it, that her family comes back again and again.

The Barber Shop.

 Welcome to the Bilskiy Barber Shop: home of where my husband gets a haircut.

Today has been a photo documented experience: due to our lack of spare mirror situation. 

Were nervous.

"Sweety, please, this is a face you can trust."

So here we begin.

It goes on and on.

And on.

Consultation.

Missed a spot!

We think we like it.

My husband is so handsome.

The Mohican Forest

We hid far away from the world
Built a polyester home in the trees
Fell asleep to the flow of the river
And awoke to french press on the fire.

Morning Rituals

My husband wakes up long before the sun to tend to his Greek lexical studies, his exegetical Scripture meditations, and his discection of the care of souls. Once I eventually wake up, I do as I please, and the following is a typical early morning dialogue.
"Sweetie, really quick, did I tell you I got a great deal on milk at the store?" yes my love
"Sweetie, want to hear something funny I thought of? Little Tima from church calls me 'Meowmeowm'." That's funny my love
"Sweetie, do you think if I wear my pink dress today it will go with the new sandals you got me?" yes my love
"Sweetie do you think I'll look pretty?" Of course my dear
And so it goes on, and on and on, until eventually he leaves for work. And then I wait, and wait and wait, for his return, so I can tell him even more wonderful and interesting things.

A Synopsis on Marriage

I dont think I have any words in which to tell of the life of man and wife: such hours are beautiful to live, yet complicated to describe, so I will leave most to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that my husband is as kind as he is wise, and our home is filled with genuine strife and happiness, for my tender hope has been realized. For once he was just the man at school with the purple pants, who stole my heart with a wink. And now we are one.

Marriage is a walk in the park. Most of the time figuratively, sometimes only literally.

The nearby park is where we go to have some very serious conversations. The other night there was taut discourse.  We sat on a bench and I cried. He eventually wiped my tears. We kept walking.