Eighteen years

Eighteen years ago today, Eric and I got married. At 11 a.m. because we really just wanted to get it over with. And at the ripe ol' ages of (barely) 23 and 24. We felt kind of old at the time. Now it makes me laugh.

That's not even the point. The point is that although I was a baby, I chose very, very well. Eric is the best. He takes good care of me (and yes, I know, grrrl power and all that, whatever, it's nice to be taken care of sometimes), he's a wonderful father, he has a great sense of humor, he is such a kind, generous soul, and for some reason he likes me even though he's seen me at my best AND (more times than I'd like to admit) my worst.

1995. I won't lie, I edited to make us look old-timey.

This morning he and Abby are doing volunteer work for a local Chamber event, and later he's going to help his dad with a rock project. Tonight he's taking me out to dinner. This may seem kind of whack, but what you don't know is that yesterday we had Eric's cousin's family over for dinner, and he helped clean and cook all day even though there were a million other things he needed to do, or would have rather been doing.

That's love, people.

2013. Selfie at Bryce Canyon.

P.S. Lately I've been asked why we decided to get married on Labor Day weekend. Easy: A) September Second is an alliteration; 2) Eric wanted to get married before hunting season (well, he did); and C) We thought that, with the holiday, maybe people would be too busy to come. I know, that seems counterproductive, but we're both introverts with extrovert mothers who know the entire world. As it was, it didn't really work. Our little church was packed. I find that rather touching now.