Yesterday my husband and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. Kinda. Actually, he's in California right now, so our celebration was limited to what we could do on the phone. (No, nothing dirty.) We'll be extra celebratory when he comes back, because he comes back the day after his birthday.
This is an older picture, of course, but it's one of my favorites. And I realized, too, one of the few pictures I have of the two of us together. Something I need to rectify.
We were dating about two and a half years when he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I told him a ring. After he turned about 10 shades of green, and didn't talk to me the entire car ride home from work, he finally agreed. The sweetheart sold his dirtbike to get my engagement ring. He makes fun of what he did, but to me it was precious.
We eloped to Tennessee to get married, which was one of the best things we ever did. No family hassle, trying to juggle exes, in-laws and out-laws. It worked out perfectly.
Alot of people didn't expect us to survive. But I've come to realize that that was their dissatisfaction with their own lives coming through.
I love my husband dearly, and he loves me. We balance each other out to perfection. He is the whimsy to my practicality, and I appreciate him more than I can ever tell him.
I love you honey.
My joy is tempered by sorrow though. My step-mother just lost a very dear friend to lung cancer, and Magdalena is dealing with her own heartbreaking trial. My heart goes out to them.