I picked you. You picked me. Good choice.

Five years of marriage. Plus five years before that. Thank you, hun, for one helluva decade.

Friday, we both had the exact same idea for each other: s'mores with a fire in the backyard bowl. Since the traditional gift for a 5-year anniversary is silver and the contemporary gift for a 5-year anniversary is wood, firewood counts. Or a duraflame log, right? And the cooking forks have silver-colored tips. So there. Coupled with two baby monitors, our wedding unity candle, and s'mores supplies, it was the perfect evening together.

Today, Josie watched both the kids all day long, and Jeff and I spent the day together. Doing pretty much nothing. We roamed around the mall. Had drive thru In-N-Out. Got the car washed. Went to two, maybe three, bike shops. Talked with each other. Uninterrupted. And our evening was topped off with a delicious dinner at Dukes on the beach.

Funny story: When making our dinner reservations on opentable.com, in "special instructions" I said something like "Celebrating our anniversary. No kids. Please seat at the most romantic table you have with no kids, crayons or sippy cups in sight." We valet the car, step inside and are greated with exhuberance at the utterance of our last name. It was like, "Helllloooooo Mr. and Mrs. Luna. Weeeeelcome to Dukes." Hostess #1, #2, and the manager. They're whispering to each other, "Table 95. Table 95." Then, "right this way." I'm thinking we are sooo ballers. We weave in and out of all the tables of regular folk, on our way to the best table in the house. We approach the sunroom, with tables directly above the strand and a crystal clear view of the ocean. Then trouble. "Oops. Someone is already at table 95." Back we go to the front. "Thanks for coming," says manager #2 and #3. "Have a good evening." What? We just freakin got here, and some poser is at our table. MY table. Table 95!! "Right this way." We head to the opposite side of the restaurant. To a booth. Four rows of seating from us and the runroom. Next to a table of parents and kids. No kidding. I swear. Crayons and sippy cups.