The first movie of the day was Moonlight Mile, a film about a family coping with a tragic death. Normally this type of weepy drama doesn't appeal to me, but it has Jake Gyllenhaal in it and I've been hot for teacher over him since seeing Donnie Darko earlier this year. Plus, it also boasted Dustin Hoffman and Susan Sarandon in lead roles, so I figured even if the material was weak, the acting would be worth while. I was right. And, as it turns out, the material wasn't nearly as schmarmy as I imagined it would be.

There's a scene toward the end of the movie where Sarandon's character explains to Gyllenhall's why she's stayed with the same man for the past 31 years. She delivers this really great monologue about how she knows every night when she goes to bed that no matter what's happened during the day, there will always be that warm body next to her under the covers who will sidle up behind her and hold on to her no matter what her condition. She explains that sometimes you don't pick where your home is, but that you always know what and where it is when you find it. This reminded me that in the 9 years that I've known hubbyman, without exception, every night he has always tucked me into bed, hugged me and said good night. Doesn't matter how tired we are or if we've had a fight. Doesn't matter if he's right in the middle of something or feeling grumpy. There's always a hug and always a kiss on my forehead. And it all goes back to the thing he told me the very first night we met and he tucked me in on his downstairs sofa before he went up to sleep in his own bed, "I can't sleep unless I know you're ok." This is the man I married. He is my home.

There's another section of the film where the family deals with the awkward way in which their friends express their condolences and how none of it makes them feel any better regardless of their friends' good intentions. This reminded me of a time in college when a boy I knew in middle school died in a car accident. I called hubbyman (who was then boyfriendman)when I found out and explained that because I was already in my home town when the accident occurred I was going to take a few days away from school to go to the funeral. We talked for a few minutes and he asked me if I wanted him to come be with me at home for those few days. I insisted that such an inconvenience wasn't necessary and that I didn't want him to miss any school because of me. He said "I can't sit here if you're crying and not be able to hug you." He arrived by bus the next afternoon and I realized then, just a few months after we'd met, that I would love him for the rest of my life.

After Moonlight Mile I took a short bathroom break and headed over to movie number two: My Big Fat Greek Wedding, a film I'd heard nothing but fantastic things about. It's all about a rather dowdy Greek girl who bucks convention by going to college, meets a handsome English professor and falls in love. Eventually he asks her to marry him (hence the title) and the rest of the movie centers around the hilarious, touching, and Greek things that transpire as her family comes to accept that their daughter is marrying a non-Greek.

Many parts of this film reminded me of the kinds of families hubbyman and I come from and the adjustments we had to make when we realized that regardless of our families, we wanted to be together. I come from a very loud, open, affectionate, sometimes crazy family who laugh, cry, scream and celebrate with abandon. Growing up I was always a little nervous about bringing friends over since I never knew if dinner with the fam that night would end in people laughing so hard milk shot out of their nose or with people making grand declarations of displeasure before storming away from the table dramatically. Either outcome tended to scare away newcomers so I knew hubbyman would have to have a strong constitution to survive meeting everyone. To this day it still amazes me that not only did hubbyman immediately acclimate to the insanity that is my family, he also goes out of his way to help my dad with house projects, computer repairs and camera questions, he happily tolerates my sister's inability to accept any sort of defeat when we play board games, has figured out how to tease my mother without being disrespectful, has happily joined us in ganging up on my dad to make him spew his food at dinner and completely understands why it is that when my sister and I are watching the Oscars we will yell at him if he talks. Nothing phases him. And every day I'm grateful that he understands that I am nothing without the people who raised me and that to love me is to love them too.

Feeling perfectly happy after such a great and entertaining film, I smoked a much needed cigarette, grabbed a small bag of popcorn and handed my third ticket of the afternoon over the an usher who by now seemed very confused that I'd walked through his line three times in one day.

Movie number three was Punch Drunk Love, a movie I was curious about for a number of reasons. #1 was that it's a PT Anderson film and I've been intrigued by his work in Boogie Nights and Magnolia, movies that he both wrote and directed. #2 was because Adam Sandler, a man I have made no secret of adoring, is cast in an unconventional role and asked to do some actual acting. The possibility for greatness was too much so I happily forked over the dough to see it. Punch Drunk Love is a weird, tense, funny, romantic, very dark comedy/drama that I utterly and absolutely adored. I honestly can't say enough good things about it. And Adam Sandler, on more than one occasion, was so good it made me proud to have stuck with him all these years. I felt vindicated. Especially in a scene during a dinner he has with his love interest played by Emily Watson (who was also marvelous). In one 20 second close up shot, Sandler goes through 5 or 6 different emotions without ever saying a word and every bit of what he's thinking can be read on his face. It was brilliant and proof enough to me that Sandler naysayers just haven't been paying close enough attention.

Toward the end of the film, Barry (Sandler) and Lena (Watson) are broadsided by a car full of brothers who are out to blackmail Barry in a plot line that I won't give away here. Once the car comes to a stop, Barry asks Lena if she's ok and as she says that she's not sure, a trickle of blood comes down her face. Barry, unable to accept that she's been hurt, launches out of the car in a blind rage and dispatches with all three brothers, their truck and their belongings with a ferocity that's so focused it stunned me.

This reminded me of the time a few years ago when hubbyman and I were walking home from dinner one night. As I was happily bantering on about some silly thing that had happened that day, we approached an intersection that a bunch of people were waiting to cross. I was toward the front of the crowd and when it was our turn to go, I stepped out into the crosswalk. Two strong hands grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back onto the walk as a car barreled around the corner toward me in an erratic rush. I stood, dazed, as the car spun out, overcorrected and crashed head long into the side of a bus stop. As I looked around I realized that hubbyman had pulled me to safety and was already across the street yelling at the people inside the fast food restaurant on the corner to call 911. Within 5 seconds he was back on my side of the street at the driver's side window of the car, holding onto the collar of the drunk man behind the wheel with one hand and showing the man his clenched fist with the other, screaming, red-faced, advising that if any part of the man's car had caused injury to any part of me he was going to drag the man out of the car and beat him senseless. Even after the police arrived and I had come over to convince hubbyman that I was uninjured, he paced up and down the side walk for several minutes, chain smoking and insisting that the police charge the drunk man with something. I don't normally condone any sort of thick-necked muscle man behavior, but I saw quite plainly that he took any threat to my well being very seriously and was deeply upset by even the notion that anything bad could happen to me. It made me understand that for however much I knew I loved him I wouldn't ever fully understand exactly how much he loved me back.

As I drove home from the theater in the rain after Punch Drunk Love, I thought about all the movies I'd seen that day and realized how much all of them reminded me of the man who was waiting for me at home. When I got there, he was sitting at the computer, right where I'd left him, but the entire house had been cleaned, the cats had been fed and the dishes from the night before had been done and put away. I sat down on his lap, hugged him for several minutes and told him that sometimes all I needed to remember how lucky I was to have him was a day away at the movies. I make no apologies for knowing how lucky I have it nor do I feel like I should keep my gratitude and love for him to myself. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I want to shout it from the roof tops. Movies are great. My husband is better.