Twenty Years Married

Twenty years.

Twenty-freakin’-years.

Twenty years since I said, “I do” to this man...and he said, “I do, too” to me.

Wowza.


We started dating in November...were engaged by December...and married by March. March 26, 1999.

It was a second marriage for both of us, and not wanting the big, fancy wedding (been there, done that), we both opted for something smaller - more intimate - and so we tied the knot in a small wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

I think we had both learned at this point that “marriage” isn’t about the wedding ceremony - or all of the trappings - but it’s the day—to-day...the nitty-gritty...the tiny, microscopic things that arise each day that must be dealt with.


We had six kids between us at this point, with another one on the way...and we privately vowed to each other that we would always put each other first, and NOT let the kids come between us (we’d seen the scary statistics of second marriages that end in divorce - especially those with children - gah.) We stuck to this vow, as hard as it was sometimes - keeping the parental unit strong above everything else - and it’s worked.

Twenty years.


He gets me. He makes me laugh. He spoils me. He gives me the freedom to spread my wings and soar, and he’s there when I sometimes crash and burn from trying to soar to high. He gives me the independence that I so desperately needed when I met him, and yet he is there when I need that companionship, that support, that love, that quiet voice that keeps me calm in crazy storms.


He brings me chocolate milk and cookies every night before bed. He runs my bathwater. He warms my towel in the dryer so it’s nice and toasty on a cold, winter morning. He indulges my passion for Disney and handbags. He pushes me to eat better, exercise better, just DO better, period.


Twenty years.

Happy anniversary to the love of my life, my husband.

Looks like we made it.

And here’s to twenty more, and then twenty more after that.

Peace.