I measure my life by baby feet: There's the time before they came, and there's the sled ride of life after they came. But there wouldn't be any baby feet across my heart if there wasn't a much bigger pair that walked into my life first.

I was standing on the dock by a river when he walked by. "Flip!" went my heart. Even though he knew how to dance, he said he didn't like to. But we did anyway – all the way into the next day. In 24 hours we were the flavor of the day. In 48 hours we were couple of the month. In 72 hours we were over the moon. Over the moon turned into "Just Married."

"Just Married" was heaven – a heaven of his arms around me while we slept and bare skin warm on bare skin, like spilled sunlight on a beach. A simple hammock gave us ideas – ideas that turned into children.

Our Irish twins were darling, demanding and reasons to save the planet. All of this took energy. We grew tired. You know how it is. There are days when he will be absolutely fabulous to me, and there are days when he can pass right by me without giving me so much as a kiss.

Our conversations turn into specifics: "Do you want regular coffee or unleaded coffee?" "Do we want a van or an SUV?" "You let the dog out." "No, YOU let the dog out." "I did it LAST TIME!"

At any moment a small person might leap out at us from behind a doorway – cherry tomato poised between two fingers – yelling, "Aim, squirt!"

I can tell you where our hammock got lost: Somewhere in between "Just Married" and "Married With Children."

When I'm standing in line, waiting to pay for my groceries, those magazine headlines can make me think, "When was my last romantic kiss?"

But none of that seems important when I remember last summer in San Luis Obispo. We did 27 events from "The Unofficial Guide To California With Kids" in an 11-hour time span. Of course, this just meant that we were tired like usual. As the sun set over the ocean, we discovered the downtown square. The streets were roped off, and a band was playing music from our college days.

My husband told the kids to stay put and watch my purse. He reached for my hand. "Really?" I asked. "Flip!" went my heart.

"What are you doing?" my daughter asked.

"Mom and I are going to dance," my husband said.

"In front of all these people?" my daughter asked. "This is embarrassing!"

My son crooked his eyebrow at me. "You go, Girl!" he said.

And there by the sea, in front of all those people, my husband and I danced to the music of the Mighty Croon Dogs. And I realized that even though we're tired, our hearts haven't stopped. There's no swing or sway about it: I can always find my way back over the moon when my feet are next to his.