Dear daughter-in-law,

I love you dearly. Not just because you love our son so well but because you are worthy and lovable, just the way you are.

You don’t know what you don’t know. And I didn’t know what I put her through.

My mom waited 11 hours to hear from me.

I already raised my kids. I already had the endless days, the sleepless nights, the tantrums, and the training.

Like putting sore, tired feet in front of the fire, homeschooling has brought rejuvenation to our hearts and household. We were running on caffeine and fumes far too long, and this past winter, I saw the light.

They know all your secrets. They can name your old elementary and high school crushes, your most embarrassing moments, your biggest regrets. They know the one you love and the ones that got away. They celebrate your greatest achievements and empathize with your wish-you-could-do-overs.

My worst fear had been realized. When I heard his feet hit the floor and his door open, I knew I didn’t have time to move or hide. I was caught.

“Hey!” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just looking for something I dropped earlier,” I whispered (and lied).

Marriage looks like a desperately needed, intertwined nap on a lazy, rainy afternoon and later chopping vegetables, side by side, for a favorite Soup Sunday recipe.

Marriage looks like pulling boxes of old pictures and albums out of storage and getting teary together, saying, “Remember when they were all so little?”

The stout and stern, dark-haired judge scared the living heck out of us. She fired one question after another and the sweat beaded on Craig’s head. The kind translator had warned us ahead of time not to look at herself, but to look only at the judge, when it was time for the translator to repeat the judge’s questions, changing them from Russian to English.