Monday, August 5, 2013

Seven

He lay next to me. Silent. Not yet awake. His arm curled around me, and then he started to stir. A normal Monday morning. And yet not normal at all.

I knew that he was going to forget, so I wasn't expecting him to say anything. This week ahead was exciting enough that I didn't need him to make a big deal of it, and yet the words would be nice to hear.

When his groggy voice still half asleep piped up with a "Happy Anniversary. Can you believe it's been 7 years?" from his side of the rumpled white sheets, I was pleasantly surprised. Clearly he had been reminded by my mother posting about it last night on Facebook...and tagging him. (Saved by social media.)

I let him draw me close, and then I whispered "Happy Anniversary." I paused and then said thoughtfully "You know, if I could go back to Deanna 7 years ago this morning and give her one piece of marriage advice, you know what it would be?"

"What?" He asked curiously, stroking my hair.

"RUN!"

and as his laughter shook his body and the bed and his hold on me, I added "RUN FASTER!"

We laughed together, truly enjoying the comfortableness of our craziness (we've had seven years to really settle into it well).

I don't post a lot about my hubs here on my blog (mostly to keep us out of counseling), but today I am thankful for the one man crazy enough to put up with me. The one man who worked his butt off to put us both through grad school debt free and then moved us across the country to run his own landscaping business where he grew up. The one man who continued to work harder than I have ever seen anyone work to get this business off the ground and then to sustain it to the point where I could stay home with our babies. The one man who cried once about his daughter's unexpected diagnosis, shook it off, and then proceeded to love her more fiercely than anyone. The one man who lets me do my own thing, reigns me in when necessary, and never complains about what I choose to cook or when the cleaning doesn't get done or when the laundering falls behind.

It's been seven years of marriage. And even though we joke about my "RUN" comment (because they don't tell you in those shiny brochures about how stinking hard marriage is!), today I am thankful.

Happy Anniversary, babe. For your gift this year, I give you another child. A son. (What? Of course that totally counts.)

Looking at this picture, I now feel really old. And fat. Happy seven years to me.

Like peanut butter on the fingers of a curious toddler, this post is begging to be shared.

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