The red book.

Three years ago today, Mr. Wonderful and I had our first date. Two weeks later, I invited him to join some friends and I to celebrate my 32nd birthday. Admittedly, I was a little bummed when he told me he'd be out of town during the festivities because I was eager to show off the "Hot Neighbor" I'd told my friends about. (That was our behind-his-back nickname for a solid two months.) But it was so early into our relationship that I kept my expectations for Hot Neighbor in check - and chalked up his apologetic decline to bad timing.

When Celebration Sunday came around, I spent the entire day in the company of good friends. A lovely brunch. Sangria. Late-night pizza. We even capped off the night with a little dancing on a school night. All my people were there and my heart was gorged with gratitude.

My best friend dropped me off at home around 11 p.m. and I walked the three flights of stairs up to my apartment - still smiling on the day's events. That's when I saw a brightly colored gift bag on my doorstep next to an enormous bag of M&Ms tied with a gold bow. I read the card attached:

"Happy birthday, beautiful. I'm positive I missed a good time."

I clutched my chest like I was having a heart attack. No. Surely not. It can't be from him.

But it WAS from him. And inside that bag was a red leather journal. That's when I knew this was a man after my own heart - presenting me with all those gorgeous blank pages after having known me a mere two weeks! I couldn't believe it.

I turned to that journal regularly after that, and in it I wrote about our experiences together. I recounted our travels. I shared fears. I crafted a poem! I told him about all the ways I was grateful for him. I expressed insecurities about being a bonus mama. I made a list of things I loved about him. I thanked him for pursuing me at my most skeptical. I documented every detail of his Christmas Day proposal and I admitted that I could hardly wait to marry him. In blue and black ink, I poured my heart onto those pages for nearly three years.

Love can sure bring out the 16-year-old girl in you.

Last month, I took that red leather journal to Mexico with me. On the morning of our wedding day, I wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and hid it in our Cabo San Lucas hotel room for my groom to find after I'd gone to get ready.

That old birthday present had become a leather-bound record of our romance. And that record of our romance became my wedding present to Hot Neighbor, Mr. Wonderful, my husband.

The story behind the confetti.

This moment stands out the most about my wedding day. Surrounded inside that tunnel of family and friends, I stood utterly amazed at the sheets of confetti that rained down on me and my groom. It was as though time slowed down for just five seconds. And I knew she was there with us.

This confetti, you see, came from dozens of cascarones made by my late grandmother. Making confetti-filled eggs was her most precious pastime. The woman didn't knit or do crosswords. Her lifetime hobby was making the brightly colored cascarones to sell at Easter time. When she passed away two years ago at 91 on the night before Easter Sunday, there were cartons upon cartons of the little gems left over. (I like to think she made it home just in time to celebrate with her creator. Perhaps she cracked one of her favorite "watermelon red" cascarones over some other angel's halo.)

Last winter, Mr. Wonderful asked me to marry him and I imagined our wedding. More specifically, I imagined the send-off celebration. I knew we had to break out those hand-painted eggs full of her hand-cut confetti. I wasn't quite sure how we were going to pull it off, but Mom promised she'd get five dozen cascarones to our destination wedding in Mexico.

I crossed my fingers the delicate shells would go unscathed as airport baggage handlers tossed luggage onto a plane from Austin to Cabo San Lucas. I held my breath knowing Mom would have to get them through Mexican customs. As "animal products," would they be considered agriculture and therefore prohibited and confiscated? This very important tribute to my grandmother rested on a game of red light, green light.

And then, GREEN.

We did it. SHE did it. And it was positively magical.

Note to self: Worry about yourself, dear.

A couple years ago, Mr. Wonderful gave me a Q&A book for Christmas. It's basically a one-sentence-a-day journal for couples filled with 365 questions to answer over the course of three years - starting over again each January. The idea is that, with a little bit of effort, you'll have a pretty sweet snapshot of your relationship. (What I'm saying is that if you put a daily reminder on your calendar and leave the book in places you think your partner will notice, and also cross your fingers, you should net out with enough answers for a respectable comparison.)

Clearly, I enjoy this ritual much more than he does. I'm lucky if Mr. W documents more than three words at a time. On the flip side, I have trouble stopping myself at one sentence. This should surprise no one.

The thing is, the data is SO telling! I've harvested this information after just a year's worth of entries, and there's already so much evidence staring back at me to reinforce my investment in this relationship. Most poignant are the recurring themes of family, faith, finances, career and goals for the future. It's fascinating to see where our answers match up and where they don't. And when I ask myself why these insights are so meaningful, I know it's because I got it right this time - especially after so much time getting it wrong. And the only proof I need is the way my life looks today with him in it.

Clearly, I get pretty geeked up when it comes to drawing parallels for growth, development and expectations - both personally and professionally.  Some people can play an instrument beautifully. Others are fantastic athletes or chefs. I don't have a green thumb or a knack for writing code, but I do get pumped about the sociology of relationships.

Allow me to elaborate. Recently, the Q&A book asked us to fill in the following blank:

"I wouldn't have really understood (                ) if it wasn't for you."

Now, a number of answers would have fit nicely here.

Texas A&M. Energy drinks. The GOP. (Hey, we don't have to agree on everything to love one another.)

But the word I wrote in that space was "MYSELF."

So much that I know about me has come from who I am when he and I are together. And it reminds me of something I read recently by Glennon Doyle Melton:

Marriage is dogged, determined patience. It’s also one of the only ways we’ll ever truly know ourselves. Because to know ourselves we have to stop flitting and face our demons in the face of another person who serves as our mirror. Who reflects the best and worst of ourselves back to us. 

DING! DING! DING!

Don't major on the minors. And other marriage advice.

Since we got engaged, Mr. Wonderful and I have received a lot of advice. Some solicited and some unsolicited, of course, but it's all welcome - both the sweet and the sarcastic. If you've got insight, I wanna hear it. In fact, I wrote last year about a sweet old woman who shared some very pragmatic advice with me about her marriage of 52 years (make it 53 now). I appreciated her honest wit because this is how we learn, y'all. Ask questions. And then listen. Even if you didn't ask a question. From incredible foresight to a cautionary tale, you've probably seen more than  a few of the pearls of wisdom I've compiled here. (Actually, I'm sure you could find some of them hand-painted on a wooden pallet on Etsy.) These thoughts represent knowledge acquired from friends and family. Some single. Some over the course of decades of marriage. Some after painful divorce. But each statement holds meaning for someone. And all have been passed on to us. I'd love to add yours, too.

- Say "yes" as much as possible.

- Always keep God first in your life and all else will fall into place, including your golf swing.

- Be patient with each other. Never go to bed angry and say I'm sorry when you know you should. Don't let pride get the best of you. Be best friends and laugh together. Be goofy. Be fun!

- Always kiss hello and goodbye.

- Make time for each other. Let God be your guide in all things that you do. Remember: For better or worse!

- Sex.

- Communicate often and don't hold things in.

- Lean on God and each other to get you through hard times. Celebrate the good times and give God all the glory.

- Decide which battles are worth fighting about.

- Always date each other.

- Say I'm sorry first.

- It isn't important to always be right or get your way. It is important to make sure that your spouse knows how much you love and respect them.

- Don't defend yourself.

- Keep God first in your marriage. A chord of three strands will not break.

-  Forgive one another.

- Pick your battles. Don't major on the minors.

- Remember to say, "Darlin, this is the best burnt (           ) I've ever had."

- Always laugh at yourself.

- As the old adage goes, "Happy wife = happy life."

- Learn to do Lou Bega's "Mambo Number 5" dance together and you'll be in good shape.

- Read together.

- A couple that plays together stays together!

- Remember that you always have each other and cherish every moment.

- Laugh. A LOT.

- Keep Christ as the most important person in both of your lives. He will bring you closer together as you draw closer to him.

- Display a random act of kindness/thoughtfulness at least once a month to keep your partner guessing.

- Remember to date each other. And put your love first above everything else.

- Don't be afraid to get help when you need it. You don't have to work through the rough patches alone.

- Show love in the language you each receive it.

- Marriage is hard work and not something to give up on easily. Fight for your marriage!

-  A marriage is a partnership and partnerships are harder with distance. Whether emotional or physical, strive to be close always.

- Think before you speak. Once something ugly comes flying out of your mouth, saying "sorry" doesn't take away the hurt that the words caused in the first place. Sometimes it's better to just walk away and come back when you can think straight and have a level-headed conversation.

- Choose him. Everyday choose each other. Choose to be his wife. Choose to be his lover. Choose to be with him. Choose to fight with him and for him. Choose to love him. Some days it will be a struggle to choose him and on those days he'll choose you and remind you why you chose each other.

In plain sight: My Good Friday experience.

I stood in line behind him at the dollar store. It was Good Friday and I was waiting to buy some Easter grass when I noticed the man's oily brown hair underneath a black cap. I saw the dirt-stained backpack, twisted at the straps. I saw the unwashed jeans slung low on his waist. In his left arm, he cradled a package of toilet paper and some razors. He turned around and smiled at me. "It might be a little while," he said, holding out his right hand to show me the fist full of nickels and pennies he planned to hand over to the cashier.

"Well, we can just put these all together," I told him, pushing my items forward on the counter.

He looked at me, surprised.

"You don't have to do that."

His dark blue eyes were wet now.

"Oh, I don't mind."

My heart started beating faster - the same way it does every time I see someone in need. I wanted to do more. I wanted to step out of line and fill a basket of canned goods from the aisle behind me. But I didn't. Instead, I swiped my debit card for $5.41 while he stood aside and waited politely.

I watched as he unzipped his backpack and stuffed 4 rolls of toilet paper and a pack of razors inside it - right next to everything else he owned.

"Have a good day," I said.

He nodded.

In those eyes I saw gratitude. I saw someone's father. Perhaps someone's son or brother. Though I might never know his story, I do know that he matters.

I walked to my car and by the time I turned around, he was gone - the image of those dark blue eyes deeply ingrained.

The gal upstairs wins the lottery.

This is kinda like one of those stories you hear about someone who bought a lottery ticket and then misplaced it. And then months later, they found the ticket under a pile of clutter and slowly realized the winning numbers were just out of reach all along. Kinda like that. The Gal Upstairs is what my fiancé called me during the first few months of our courtship in late 2012. "Gal" is one of his adorable East Texas nouns. There are many.

He texted me one September morning while I was at work: "Will you be my gal for the weekend?" I laughed aloud in my cubicle.  It was a Wednesday and he was already thinking about the weekend. I smiled, knowing that was his country way of letting me know he wanted to spend more time together.

My future husband lived just two floors below my apartment for an entire 14 months before I ever laid eyes on him. Our assigned parking spots were marked right next to one another, yet more than a year had passed before so much as a "good morning" was exchanged.  The easy explanation is that he works nights. My schedule is opposite his. Naturally, we missed one another coming and going. But I decided later that Timing was just taking a very long nap - for my own good really.

The truth is that God wasn't done schooling me. There was something very special about 2012. That January, I set very aggressive goals financially, spiritually and relationally. By June, Progress had shown up in curious form. I'd finally managed to close a couple of very heavy doors and take notice of an open window. (This is the part where I say the window had been open the whole time. Of course.)

So when I finally did meet Mr. Wonderful on that sweet summer day at my apartment swimming pool, I asked if he lived nearby. That's when he pointed directly behind us - to my building.

"Been here 'bout a year."

Things I've learned about little boys.

OH, BOY. In the two-plus years that I've had the pleasure of getting to know Mr. Wonderful's twin sons, aka The Little Boys Club, they've taught me a thing or two. Life as a Bonus Mama is no cake walk - although cake would be a nice incentive during their occasional meltdowns. But the good news is that the little dudes already have two terrific parents, so I can take my cues from them. The following is an evolving list of important things to know if you are me.

1. If you see a stray stone or loose leaf, let it be. Do not even consider throwing away that rock, seed or twig. The wind did not accidentally blow it inside the house. It is there on purpose. That special treasure is exactly that. Trust me. Spare yourself the guilt of having just taken out the trash when a little voice asks what happened to the ____ that was right there a minute ago.

2. Instead of participating in the Saturday morning YMCA basketball/football/baseball game you're playing, it's often more fun to lie flat on the floor, hop on one leg or twirl around in circles. Sometimes you just gotta do your thing and it can't wait for half time.

3. The competition is fierce. Truly. You must be faster, smarter, stronger and a better reader of sight words than your brother. It is the law of brotherhood.

4. Why use a fork when you can lick the plate clean? Literally. Face down. Get it done.

5. Don't ask silly questions about safety. When you ask a boy if he knows what to do if his clothes catch on fire, be prepared for matter-of-fact solutions, like "Take my shirt off." And if you ask a boy if he knows what he should do if we come across an animal on our cub scout hike, try not to showcase a look of horror when his answer is "Kill it."

6. You might, at some point, find a rogue science experiment in the freezer. Do not mistake a Styrofoam cup full of acorns and flowers frozen into a block of ice for the latest juice cleanse - even if you do live in Austin, Texas.

7. Always carry Band-Aids.

8. In order to fall asleep, a little boy might need anywhere from two to six stuffed animals by his side. Sometimes it will be a tiny ninja or a Lego knight. Make room for them.

9. The two funniest words in the English language are "butt," and "fart." Do not try to understand this. They just are.

10. Repeating the words "SHOES" or "TEETH" multiple times does not ensure that either will be addressed.

11. Let them sit on your lap, hold your hand or squeeze in next to you under the covers at 6 a.m. because they might not be down for that much longer.

12. Reassure the boy that he is NOT "dumb," like the kid in the cafeteria line told him at school. And then resist the urge to march into his first-grade classroom and find the little shit who said it.

... If only we could ensure that "dumb" is the worst thing they'll ever be called.

Get out of your head and let the light in.

Sometimes I get way too far inside my own head and take myself a little too seriously. This morning, Mr. Wonderful walked me to my car like he does every day, carrying my laptop bag over his shoulder and handing it off with a kiss. I adore this ritual. "I'm gonna be an old bride," I told him, feeling sorry for myself. "That's OK. I'll still love you," he said.

"But I'm gonna be an old mom," I insisted. "That's OK. I'll take care of the kids when you're gone."

And just like that, I dissolved in laughter.

That's what he does to me - lifts the fog and lets the light back in. And sometimes that's all we need.

Family traditions founded on food: Kid-friendly sushi and glow-in-the-dark Jello

So they're not the prettiest things you've ever seen, but I made these PB&J sushi rolls last month for The Little Boys Club in an effort to uphold what has become a new tradition in our house. Pizza Fridays are a custom that Mr. W started with his twins a few years ago, and I thought it might be fun to incorporate a post-pizza movie night that includes a nod to some kind of snack featured in the flick itself. On a recent night, we chose "The (original) Karate Kid" accompanied by these easy "sushi" roll-ups made with flattened wheat bread and smothered with PB&J. The little dudes tried to convince us they'd already seen the movie -- and we had to inform them that the Jaden Smith version does not actually count. Same goes for the Hilary Swank adaptation -- although I do appreciate the female athlete in a leading role. Nice work, Hollywood.

The whole movie idea started on a whim last December with "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" -- the Jim Carrey version. I whipped up a bright green batch of Grinch Punch. It was a hit. (The request for seconds tipped me off.) Then, when "Frozen" was released on DVD, we opted for a few snowman snacks: Olaf noses (baby carrots), Olaf arms (pretzel sticks) and a melty Olaf himself: vanilla ice cream dotted with a couple of Raisinets for eyes. It was a home run. They don't say much, but the awkward attempt to actually "build" a snowman inside the glass says something, right?

After the presumed success of the first few movie nights, Mr. W and I decided to introduce The Littles to some of our own childhood favorites, so we started with E.T. I was prepared with Reese's Pieces, which would have been plenty. Simple enough. But we got a little carried away. I decided to make glow-in-the-dark Jello. (Lime jello + tonic water = voila!) We needed something to stick our index fingers in for the "E.T. phone home" scene. Obviously. But we didn't stop there. Just as The Littles were attaching plastic glow-in-the dark stars to our living room walls, Mr. W. revealed the black lights and blinking LED alien balloons he'd picked up just for the occasion. Have I mentioned how much I love this man? He not only humors me, but actually participates in my movie-themed madness. It's a match.

We don't do this every Friday, y'all. Let's be real. But it sure is entertaining to re-watch some of our favorite flicks from childhood -- and exchange sudden glances with Mr. W upon realization that the movie you chose has just introduced your children to fun language like "penis breath." Heaven help us.

Recently, I overheard the boys tell their uncle all about our E.T. movie night and it made me smile. A moment of validation! So they DO dig it! They DO enjoy our cheesy little tradition! (I take every little victory to heart, guys.) And maybe they're just in it for the snacks -- but hey, I would be, too.

In dreams: A joyful revelation

Wela was beaming. She described all the colorful desserts to me in Spanish, waving her arm across the spread on the table like Vanna White. My grandmother had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I'd ever known. We were celebrating a new baby. I knew this somehow without question. She smiled, serving me a slice of something topped with almonds. (I guess I'm not allergic to nuts in my dreams.) When I was awakened abruptly by that scene last fall, my mind lingered there, refusing to let go of the image of a much younger Manuela, standing tall and thin with a huge grin. She shows up like this every few months, in the wee hours of my sleep, to say hello. That's the only thing I can figure. It was September 12. I wrote it down.

A baby dream, I read, can often symbolize new beginnings. I couldn't imagine what, but I didn't spend too much time trying to analyze it because a few weeks later, it was clear as a bell. You see, my brother told me soon after that he was going to be a father. We shed a few quiet tears together, and I listened as he talked himself through this new life-altering realization.

"It's going to be OK." I told him. "You're going to be a great dad." "I'm here for whatever you need." "I love you."

Earlier this month, my nephew was born. I held him carefully in my arms that first day, staring in awe at that tiny face full of light.

"Welcome," I whispered. "I'm your tia."

I thought of Wela in that dream so many months ago. She knew. And she was getting a head start on the celebration.

It's a crooked path to contentment.

At brunch one morning on a recent cruise to Cozumel, one of our table mates announced that she'd been married to her husband for 52 years.  Naturally, a round of wows and congratulations went up. She may as well have declared magical powers. Of course I wanted to know their secret -- and so did the rest of the women at the table because someone else beat me to the punch. The veteran wife shrugged. "There is no secret," she said matter-of-factly. "I like him MOST of the time." I appreciated her honesty. And I wondered how many times she'd offered that answer to couples (read: women) eager to perfect their relationships. I was taking mental notes as usual. Scraps of relational wisdom have been taking their place in my back pocket for as long as I can remember. I started keeping a journal at age 9, citing childlike observations about classmates in detail. When I was in high school, I used my public library card to check out a book on tape: "Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus." (You may have heard of it.) If my memory serves me right, this audio "research" was an effort on the part of my resourceful 16-year-old self to master the elusive art of inter-gender communication. The fact-finding mission went on like this for over a decade. And I'd be lying if I said it ever really ended. Let's just say I became real good friends with Trial & Error.

Fast forward 17 years to breakfast on a cruise ship with my sweetheart.

"Are you on your honeymoon?" "How long have y'all been married?" "Any kids?"

These were the kinds of questions we got from both our wait staff and dining companions alike at mealtime on the ship. And a funny thing happened. I realized that a few years ago, that line of presumptuous questioning would have annoyed me. People are quick to assume this is what every woman wants -- that marriage and children are the pinnacle of achievement.

Hey man, I have a career to nurture! I have personal goals to meet!

Besides, my knack for relationships of the square-peg-round-hole variety had made me very well acquainted with the heavy weight of unrealistic expectations and disappointment. I just wasn't on board for more uncertainty. However, as it turns out, a little lady I'll call Timing was off enjoying a tropical vacation of her own, and I'm pretty sure she looked up from her daiquiri only to shake her head at me.

Wisdom or bust

When Mr. W walked into my life unexpectedly a year and a half ago, I wasn't prepared for his even-tempered, reliable presence. Or the easy conversation. He's a thoughtful listener who humors me when I go on about my social conscience, and challenges me when I take myself too seriously. He likes to celebrate the mundane with champagne. And chivalry is alive and well with him. Lord, have mercy! Everything fell into place so ... bizarrely.

One day at lunch, I relayed these bewildered sentiments to one of my girlfriends. She looked at me hard across the table. "Reyna, that's what it's SUPPOSED to be like."

Oh.

I was thrown. Had I really grown so accustomed to the relationship roller coaster that uncertainty had become my expectation? (All signs point to yes.) Thing is, I took that whole "relationships take work" thing a little too literally in the past because no pain, no gain, right? And that's bullshit, people. If it's just not working, and it makes you nauseous, you have to stop doing that to yourself and leave. My "make it work at all costs" mentality meant that I'd come to expect some serious soul-sucking overtime would be a regular part of the gig. And guess what? That's actually not the same thing as a sincere collaborative effort. Go figure.

It's a good thing I've been stockpiling wisdom like a doomsday prepper. These days, Timing is on my side, and she brought along a sickeningly sweet satisfaction that I'm quick to recognize as rare. Besides, I can't keep making chickenshit assumptions about marriage based on other people's experiences. So this time, when the inevitable questions were posed by strangers around the breakfast table, they made me smile. Contentment is a powerful salve, you know.

I guess I'm doing something right.

It's no secret that I'm an advocate for girls' education and empowerment. Research shows that investing in young women and promoting their education correlates with healthier families, higher family incomes and economic development. I believe wholeheartedly in the transformative effect that a good education can have on a girl struggling to find her place in this world.

Oh, so this is about girl power? Kind of, but that's not what I'm getting at. The point is that opportunity doesn't knock on every girl's door. And that's where my campaign for education came in.

Over the last couple of months, I appealed to friends and family requesting donations for my annual fundraiser for the Young Women's Alliance Foundation. YWAF is a female-focused leadership organization that I believe in and serve with -- and it's our gig to award grants and scholarships to young women and girls in the Austin area. These donations not only help provide local young women the gift of higher education, but they also help fund the character-building organizations that support them. These donations create economic opportunities. They support the next generation of smart, capable women leaders. That's what I'm getting at.

For two months I enlisted donors to answer this call. My call. Not theirs. Most of them don't really know what YWAF is. Heck, many don't even live in the Austin area. They simply cared enough to make a donation to an organization that I told them I invest half my time in. And I guess I'm doing something right.

Since I started my campaign in November, I've been carrying around a little extra weight. That's because I felt my heart grow three sizes every time I saw a name appear on my fundraising page offering someone else's hard-earned money to help fund a stranger's future. Incredibly, that happened 83 times -- totaling $4,500 for education.

Nearly $20,000 was raised by our membership at large, and the benefits are already having an impact. Last week, the YWAF awarded a $5,000 Community Grant to Explore Austin, an awesome local organization that combines the benefits of mentoring and outdoor adventure for under-served youth in 6th-12th grades. Explore Austin will use the grant money to expand their girls’ program to a second middle school campus, enabling them to serve 90 girls by the end of 2014. That’s a significant expansion of the program.

Grateful is just not strong enough a word. I’m so humbled to have friends and family who helped make that possible.