Yesterday marked our 12th wedding anniversary. Twelve years of messy boys, twelve years of dirty laundry, twelve years of weeding the garden. Twelve years of love.
The Old Man and I are not the “warm fuzzy” types. We are pragmatists with sarcastic senses of humor. The Old Man once claimed that I was poisoning him, so for his birthday he got a card with this Far Side comic on it. Now that’s love!
I tell him he’s safe as long as there are projects around the house that need to be done. Each time he grumbles about another one of my ideas, I remind him that it’s job security and that he should be thankful. You know, it’s the little ways I show him I care.
When we were first dating I told him I would feed him if he took care of the dishes. He thought that was a fair deal. Little did he know. He describes my cooking methodology as “blowing up the kitchen”. I remind him of that job security thing again, and ask him if he wants anything to drink.
We are a little more gray now than we were twelve years ago. A few more wrinkles. An exciting evening is when we don’t fall asleep on the couch by 8:30. We are also now grandparents of a new baby boy. Life has had its ups and downs, and will continue to do so, but so far it’s been pretty good. Here’s to another twelve years!