The Teenager

It's almost 9 pm right now as my fingers tap away at the keys, and at this time thirteen years ago we were either standing in the reception line shaking the hands of our 400 guests, or in the limo en route to the reception hall after instructing the driver to take us for a drive with the sun roof open so we could get some fresh air, watch the stars come out, and just let it all sink in:  we were married.

Our married life together is officially a teenager now.  Still young, but old enough to hit some major growing pains, and gain an understanding of our independence as pair.

And we no longer have the blissful arrogance and naïvety of young twenty-somethings, but we do have a couple more wisdom marbles in the bag.

We didn't go out for a rollicking dinner date out, but stayed in for a simple frozen-bag-to-crock-pot meal with the boys.  I don't even know what the special flower is for thirteen years, or if we're supposed to give each other traditional clocks or whatever like they have in the books (Google, I just found out, says it's supposed to be "fabric," as in {ah hem} tablecloths or neck ties).   But I like our plan of going out Payday Friday night to see Dark Knight Rises and grabbing some grub on the run much better.

I thank God for you everyday.  You're my best friend, and it's been such a blessing to grow up together, side by side.  I'm so honored to be your wife.  You've made life a beautiful adventure, and I so look forward to all our stories together not yet told.

September 10, 1999.