Over the weekend, Aaron and I left Columbus to celebrate our 6th anniversary. It’s still a little odd for me to think that only six years ago, Cordy wasn’t even a concept in our heads yet. Of course, six years ago I never thought any of what I’m doing now – blogging, nursing school – would be in my life.

Six years didn’t have quite the impact that five did, probably because our sixth year of marriage was one of those years we’d like to quietly forget. Job loss, no health insurance, relationship issues and marriage therapy clouded much of the year. But we’re still together, we’re relatively healthy, and we’re doing our best to hold everything together – that’s our silver lining.

The best part of getting out of town was leaving the kids with Camp Grandma. We spent most of the weekend chatting with friends that we rarely get to see due to distance and busy lives. On Saturday evening, after a day of relaxing with friends, the two of us left for dinner at a nice restaurant.

It was during dinner that Aaron told me, “We need to do this more often, get away without the kids.”

I smiled and said, “Well, that would certainly be nice…”

He then said, “I was watching you today while you talked with friends, and you looked five years younger.”

I laughed. “It must have been the light.”

“No, really. You looked so much younger again.”

It seems that a single afternoon with a large group of friends, no children, and no immediate stress somehow subtracted five years from my face. I can’t prove this, of course, but he was certain of it.

I’d like to believe I did look younger. I often miss the “old” me, the me who isn’t spending all her time worrying about doing everything right for her kids, making sure all the bills are paid, and trying to balance the checkbook. I hate the person I am at the end of the day, when my eyes are dull and bloodshot, and the bags under my eyes have bags of their own. When I’m short with Cordy and Mira, grumpy around Aaron, and wishing I could get five minutes – just FIVE minutes – to myself, without someone needing something or a child sitting in my lap.

If the fountain of youth is an escape from what stresses you, I know I will never have eternal youth. Because no matter how much I might want it, my children need me here and not at that fountain. I can’t avoid paying the bills, and the checking account won’t replenish itself.

But I will enjoy those brief moments pausing at that fountain, if only to take a sip and renew my spirit for a little while.