(photo courtesy Sara Weihn)
Today is July 23. If I was a good wife I would have written this post five days ago. Ergo. I spent the morning in Tulsa with my girlfriends and I came home in the afternoon to a husband with a raging migraine, poor thing. It was very romantic. We aren't really that kind of couple. But we are really happy.
We quibble over movies and we search for new hole-in-the-wall restaurants. We watch the Office and French steam-punk movies on Netflix. He bikes, I run. He talks through his tax transactions with me, I tell him all about playgroup gossip and sewing techniques. We get the same jokes and can finish one another's sentences. We married when we were barely more than babies and we grew up the rest the way together.
We waited seven years to have children because we really liked being with each other. We wanted to be selfish. We went to Denny's at 3 in the morning and we slept until noon on the weekends. We never had much money but we had a really lot of fun. We lived abroad and moved a lot. We found out that we were really good at some of the things we loved. We worked multiple jobs and went to school and came home to heaven, because that's where the other was.
We had a beautiful a baby boy and bought a grown-up house. He learned his profession and I learned to stand on my own two feet. We leaned on each other. We had another beautiful boy and started again in a new city. I learned how to fix and make things, he learned to believe in himself. Our boys are delightful and one of the great joys of our lives, but we miss each other lately. There is always so much to do. I admit to missing the freedom that came with being penniless nomads, the gobs of time to be together. Just together.
We have been together for 14 years, married for 13 and it feels like a lifetime. It is in a way. My lifetime, so far. All of the best parts have included him, they wouldn't be the best without him. And the best parts keep getting better.