Last weekend we finally got a Wii Fit and I was very eager to compare my Wii Fit Age to Rob's because I knew mine would be better. I mean, I don't think there is any doubt about which of us is more fit. I work out in multiple ways multiple times a week, and Rob's fitness plan consists of "biking to work." I put that in quotations because he DOESN'T bike to work - he just tells his doctor that he does.

Considering that Rob has been lamenting his actual age, I was looking especially forward to mocking his Wii Fit Age. "Oh! Thirty going on FIFTY!" I would taunt while reveling in the fact that I've got the strong hard body of a 21 year-old.

Except that's not exactly how it happened. I took the Body Test first, and after taking my measurements, it gave me a balance test to do. No big deal. I do yoga, people. You should see my Tree Pose. Balance is not a problem.

But. I didn't understand the instructions of the balance test. At all. The interface was SO not clear. Rob seemed to understand it right away, and was trying to tell me what to do, but I was not getting it. I was supposed to lean left and then right on the balance board to get the red bars near the blue bars...or something like that. I was completely confused as Rob continued trying to coach me. I shifted left and right and the bars moved up and down erratically and I grew more frustrated and Rob became more exasperated and then suddenly it stopped.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Time's up," Rob said.

"It was TIMED?!"

"Oh my god, how do you NOT understand this?"

I expected there to be additional tests to comprehensively assess my fitness level, but that was it. One stupid, impossible-to-understand balance test! Which I totally failed. Seriously, I didn't even get through all the levels because I took so much time not understanding what the hell to do.

So then my Wii Fit Age appeared. Forty-freaking-six. 46, people! Humiliating. But I would argue this is less a reflection of my physical prowess than it is of my mental acuity. Which is no less embarrassing, since apparently I have a middle-aged mind that cannot comprehend these darn new-fangled video games.

Rob's Wii Fit Age? 27. Such bullshit, I'm just saying. Although I'm sure it was nice for him, for just a moment, to be under 30 again.

Rob turned 30 on Sunday, while we were spending a 3-day weekend out of state visiting his sister who had delivered her second daughter one week earlier. Rob's parents were there, too, and it was nice to celebrate Rob's birthday, and that of his newest niece, with his whole family.

We arrived home late on Monday to find our deck decked out in black balloons and a Happy Birthday banner. Courtesy of JLD & HFD. Inside the door, they'd left a basket of items he will most certainly need in his newfound old age: Centrum Silver, Ensure, a book of large print word searches, dried prunes, FiberOne, baby aspirin. (There's more, but I feel bad rattling these off, knowing the list surely matches the contents of Nilbo's nightstand.) It was brilliant. When the occasion calls for rubbing salt in the wound, they are totally the friends who will come through. (Love you guys!)

So now he's 30 and I'm hoping the depressing John Mayer singalongs will stop. At least until it's my turn to turn 30...which, as I'm only 28, is SO FAR AWAY. Just saying.

A few weeks ago I was teasing Rob about a bump on the back of his head, asking him what he thought a phrenologist would say about him. And he responded, without hesitation and in all seriousness, "Probably that I'm smart and easy to get along with." I laughed out loud, and said something about the phrenologist also surely noting a lack of humility.

But the thing is, it's an accurate self-assessment. And now for the serious/sappy part of this birthday tribute. Spending time with a newborn makes me consider how amazingly far a person comes in 30 years. Even when we're just 1 week old, our parents have big dreams and high hopes for us. And I just want to say to you, Rob, that you make people proud. Your family, your friends, your co-workers - people are proud to know you. You are a way better person than I am, frankly. You're one of those people whose talents and character stand out to others. This is why I fell in love with you. Because, indeed, you are smart and easy to get along with. Because you're honorable and hilarious. Because you're the person I most respect. You make me better, and make my life so much better. Happy birthday, darling.

K: Oh my god, you're playing the John Mayer song about getting old again.
R: Yup.
K: Dude, seriously.
R: What? He understands what it's like.
K: He's, like, 26.
R: Actually, he's 31. So he's been there. He gets it.
K: Um, okay. But you do realize he's fucked Jennifer Aniston, and so he's already accomplished everything a man might want out of life.
R: [sighs]

As Rob and I sit on the beach, I begin pointing out beautiful women. "She's gorgeous," I say, nodding my head toward a woman walking past us.

As Rob follows my gaze, I notice another woman walking through the water in a dark bikini. "There's a woman who definitely belongs in a bikini," I say. "Look at her."

"I can't believe I'm checking out women on the beach with my wife," Rob says.

"I love checking out women," I say, shrugging. Of course, he knows this. Usually I'm pointing out a woman's shoes or cute top, but sometimes I'll remark on a particularly nice butt or, like today, the whole package. The female figure is a beautiful thing to behold, and being a heterosexual woman doesn't make me unaware of that. In a similar way I appreciate the sleek strut of a cat, moving its perfect proportions with a touch of prissiness.

We're still staring at the woman in the dark bikini.

"That's an hourglass figure," Rob says, in a way that suggests he's never before seen a more definitive example. Neither have I.

"I don't understand how she can have such a small waist," I say, "and yet still be so voluptuous at top and bottom."

"She's not really voluptuous," Rob disagrees.

"No, you're right. But her ass isn't flat, and she's got good boobs." I'm making an unspoken comparison to myself - my curves are considerably straighter than hers.

We pause in our commentary for a moment, and then Rob adds, "Her butt is tan."

I look at him quizzically, this comment seeming a bit random. "Why do you say that? I mean, it is. But why are you pointing it out?"

"Compared to you, I mean. She's tan all over. And you...you're whiter in some places."

"Well, she's probably been here all week." There is a touch of defensiveness in my voice. "If I'd been here all week, I'd be tan all over, too."

"Oh, I know. I was just making a comparison."

I raise an eyebrow at this. "I didn't realize we were making comparisons."

He is smart enough not to respond.

"In that case," I continue, "she has long hair. There's a comparison. Also? She has a big-muscled man."

And so ends our babe watching. We stick to admiring the view of the ocean for the rest of the day.

R:  So yesterday I was reading People --
K:  Whoa. Slim pickins at the doctor's office, huh?
R:  Yeah, they had Good Housekeeping, something ridiculous like Diabetes Monthly, and one other one just as bad...
K:  Parenting?
R:  No.
K:  Highlights for Children?
R:  No. It was.... Oh yeah, it was Sports Illustrated.
K.  Wait, you're telling me you chose People over Sports Illustrated?
R:  Yes.
K:  Okay.

Rob and I have been gingerly moving through life the past couple days after boxing a few rounds on Sunday. He cannot so much as bend down to get a pot from the cabinet without wincing in pain. My deltoids are so sore I cannot reach around to pull my seatbelt or lift my shirt over my head. We are pathetic, people. Especially considering it was Wii boxing.

But, I completely kicked his ass. Worth it.

While on the trip, we took a tour of Antelope Canyon, a stunning slot canyon in Arizona. Rob stumbled upon online photos of this place by accident a couple months ago, and I'm so glad he did because visiting this canyon was a highlight for all of us.

And that's despite the fact that the guide was a complete loon. She would tell rambling personal stories of absolutely no relevance and then hurry us all around the corner because "I've been here since 6 this morning and I'm tired and want to go home." She actually didn't rush the tour - in fact, it went longer than it was supposed to - but she set an odd pace of hurrying up just to launch into a tangent just to hurry up again.

She also insisted on telling everyone which photos to take. A slot canyon is a very difficult place to photograph, and I think she was trying to be helpful (although she knew diddly-shit about photography and seemed mostly just to enjoy bossing people around). At stop after stop along the way, she would order us to "Stand here and take that photo." And then we would wait until everyone stood there and took that photo. We couldn't not stand there and take that photo - she INSISTED that everyone with a camera stand there and take that photo.

I will admit that I have added this phrase - Stand here and take that photo - to my personal repertoire. Rob tends to carry the camera (and take photos) more than I do on trips. When I see a shot I think would be nice, sometimes I ask for the camera but more often I'm too lazy and just point in the general direction of the shot and say some variation of, "Hey Rob, get that one." But the problem is that Rob doesn't always understand what I want him to take, and by the time I explain what I'm looking at ("I like the way the light hits that rooftop over there") I could have just taken the damn photo myself. Which is why I'm liking this new phrase: Stand HERE and [pointing] take that photo. So clear! No confusion! Plus it makes us chuckle.

So as the tour guide led us through the narrow, winding canyon, alternately pointing out strange rock formations (an eagle, Bill Clinton's nose) and telling us what she bought her husband for Father's Day, Rob stuck to the back of the group so he could shoot his own photos and avoid having people in them.

This did not go over well with the tour guide. She needed us all to be together. Now, I get this. You can't have people wandering around on their own. But Rob was never out of sight; he was just trailing ten feet behind. "Sir!" she would repeatedly shout from the front of the group. "Sir! Stay with the group. I need you up here!" Rob would amble close enough for her to shut up and then immediately lag behind again, getting shots. Honestly, I think what annoyed the guide more than anything was that Rob wasn't standing here taking that photo. (These photos are the result of his rebellion, which was clearly worth it.)

I bounced between Rob and the rest of my family, hanging back with him for awhile and then catching up to walk with them. The guide soon figured out our relationships and offered to take a family photo. Rob was dragging behind, so she took one of me with my parents and brother and then as Rob caught up she said, "In-Law! Stand over there with the rest of the family."

My brother and I nearly lost it, nudging each other while biting our lips to keep from laughing. Soon we couldn't hide our snickering, though, as the guide continued to call Rob "In-Law" for the rest of the tour. "In-Law! Stay with the group!" "Come a little closer, In-Law." "In-Law! Stand here and take that photo."

And I confess that after the tour ended my brother and I took it upon ourselves to continue referring to my poor dear husband as "In-Law." For the duration of the trip. Because we are assholes. And also because it's friggin' funny, I'm just saying.