: the number of years of marriage we celebrate today
Fifteen years ago, I was excited, not nervous.
Fifteen years ago, my husband drove to Mississippi on his way to the wedding (this was a fairly significant detour).
For fifteen years, we've read together - recommending the best books to each other - and accepting over time that while we both love to read, we love different books.
For fifteen years, J's been the one I call with good news, bad news, scary news. He's listened, advised and laughed.
For fifteen years, we've negotiated household duties. We're not neat freaks and both dislike cleaning. A match made in heaven? Not quite. Someone does have to do it. Housework has been the source of the biggest fights we've had. I figure we're not too bad off if housework is our biggest issue.
For fifteen years, we've slept side by side, switching sides with the seasons. I want to be near the air conditioner. He doesn't like the fan blowing on his face. I don't want to sleep near the bedroom door. Ahhh, the millions of minor negotiations and compromises that go into a good marriage.
For fifteen years, I've studied this man's face, its nooks and crannies, its curves and stubble. His face has changed over time, but not much. He'll always be a baby face and I'll always be glad to see that face as he comes through the door to our home.
In fifteen years, we've watched hundreds of football games, two world cups, dozens of baseball games (can you tell which sport I prefer?) and more ballet performances than either of us could have imagined.
Over fifteen years, we've changed. We've changed homes, jobs, diapers. We've grown up together and stayed remarkably in-sync over a decade and a half.
Truth be told, we've had our ups and downs over the last fifteen years. But a flat line of a marriage sounds like a death toll. I'm thankful to be in a marriage where the peaks more than make up for the valleys.
I wouldn't trade a day of the last fifteen years.