This morning, I started writing a post in celebration of my wedding anniversary. Today we’ve been married for 13 years. But instead of the long form post I was going to write about my happiness in this marriage, and maybe some sweet stories, I was derailed as both kids went down to some pukey bug. So I spent the day helping them, waiting for my own misery to begin, and anxiously waiting for Andy to get home to at least see him before I crashed in anticipation of my own illness that could be arriving.
We hugged, and kissed, and then I went to warm up some broth for the kids while he took care of the laundry that I was piling during the day. “Happy Anniversary, I love you, please help me with the puke pile.”
And yet, somehow, this probably couldn’t describe 13 years of marriage with kids any better. We are in a warm, safe house, taking care of the two other people we care most about in our lives. It’s an illness that will pass rather quickly (although this is one of the longest days in recent memory). And we have each other. It seems so fitting.
This is my life. It makes me happy.
