22 years ago, Michael became my husband and I became his ball and chain, the nagging in his ear, the one who stifles his desire to purchase every roll of 3D filament ever produced and to own the largest TV ever constructed. Fooey.
BUT.
I also feed him and wash his undies.
Man, he's lucky.
Our anniversary fell on Friday this year. Friday! You can't plan this stuff. (Well, I guess the calendar is pretty cyclical so you can) but...I didn't plan this stuff! I had big dreams for our 22nd year of wedded bliss. A weekend away. Chocolate. No diapers to change. No crying baby in my bedroom.
Sounds wonderful.
Instead, we stayed home.
Sissy had a swim meet the night before AND a theater performance the night after. Our weekend away was a weekend here.
It's alright though. It doesn't matter what we do as long as it's special. And there's nothing more special than Phillip's chocolate and love notes.
Well, if you're Michael, there is one thing more special.
Breakfast at Waffle House.
Michael had the day off from work so it actually was wonderful. We leisurely hung around, wandered through our favorite home store to look at all the exciting wares, and then had an early dinner of wings and burgers while Sissy was at dress rehearsal. Baby especially enjoyed it.
That evening was our regularly-scheduled Friday movie night, so popcorn was naturally on the menu.
I guess I really just want to celebrate every special occasion by eating.
22 years of marriage makes me shake my head in wonder. Wonder that I found Michael and love him with remarkable deepness, wonder that I have 2 beautiful and miraculous girls, wonder that age lines have crept onto my face so suddenly, and wonder that the years are increasingly swift.
I try to enjoy the moments but most days it's just a repetitive slog. But I must admit that there is immense comfort in the slog.
It's where my people live.
