Thirteen. A lucky number for some, unlucky for others. An odd number to celebrate. Today that is what I am doing. Rather, my husband and I are celebrating the number thirteen. Today marks thirteen years we have been together. Now, I know what many people think, and have often told me: When you get married, only that counts. You can’t celebrate how long you dated.
I’m gonna go ahead and call bullshit & shenanigans. (Shenanigans??? Yeah, yeah, that’s how wars get started.)
It can be hard to find someone to spend the rest of one’s life with. For some people, it takes years, or maybe even a few tries. 🙂 If you are one of the lucky ones, then why not celebrate? Why not celebrate anything you darn well please? Who cares if a couple chooses to single out one day a year or seventeen? I’ve seen people get almost upset about us choosing to honor a day that matters only to my husband and I. Excuse us for injecting a little ooey-gooeyness into our relationship.
I know, everyday, that I am a lucky person. I have a great family, friends, a job, a home, usually enough money to pay the bills, and a husband who loves me. I have a relationship that has outlasted marriages of couple’s weddings we attended. It’s hard work and worth it. We choose to celebrate being together since we were nineteen, for living together for the past twelve years, and in a few months, five years of marriage.
So thank you Tim. Thank you for bringing me out of my shell and helping me be the person I am now. Thank you for making me laugh every day, and for always pushing the shopping cart at the grocery. Thank you for still caring enough to be bothered about the way I squeeze the toothpaste, and how I put the dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher. Thank you for fighting fair in the rare times we have fights. Thank you for telling me you love me, each day, for the last 4,700-ish days. Most of all, thanks for knowing where I put my house keys, and for yesterday, when you called my cell phone because of the one millionth time I couldn’t find it.