Twelve

You are a layer of my skin, the lines on my face, the shape of my hands—a natural, easy part of myself. You are great, big bear hugs, squeezing extra tightly right before letting go. You are long drives, singing into air microphones. You are lazy Thursday nights, lounging on the couch, rewinding the funniest parts of The Office. You are late college nights filled with fresh love. You are the one to have around: when the dishwasher breaks, the DVR screws up or when the world spins too quickly, and I need a hand to hold. You are breakfast on Saturday mornings. You are peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and the one Molly loves best. You are the boy in the bar, the man in the suit, the friend of a friend with the red hair and the cool car. You are my tight grip, my voice of reason.

You are long, drawn-out fights in the early days over exes and bumpy futures and uncertainties. And you are the man who swore he couldn't commit, wouldn't settle down, but would then muster the gumption to sort it out with me at three in the morning. And you are the one—against all better judgment and against everyone's expectations—who would slowly, but certainly surely, form a relationship with the girl who was supposed to be a fling. Although I don't believe in fate—we work too hard for this to all be part of some grander, out-of-our-hands plan—I find it almost funny how little control we seemed to have in the beginning. We both didn't want it to evolve, we had other plans in mind, and, yet, we couldn't jump off the ride. Wouldn't even if we could.

You are stubborn, stamping your feet and refusing sometimes for the simple act of refusing. You are a Budweiser-drinking, poker-playing, eye-rolling-during-The-Hills man who owns almost every Disney movie ever made.

You are nine pillows and deep sleep and late mornings and late nights. You are comfortable in your own skin. You are the positive thinker, the steady hand to my madly spinning thoughts and anxious ways. You are strong, heavy laughs.

You are already a father, without a child. You are waiting, eager to give piggyback rides and coach soccer and smother him/her with kisses and tickles and promises. Promises you will keep and that makes you, already, a better father than I could have ever imagined giving my child.

You are strong arms wrapped around me while I do the dishes. You are the best mashed potatoes I've ever tasted. You are particular and just-so and this-way-not-that-way and, yet, never judgmental, never overly opinionated, never pretentious.

You are not mine alone—you are part of everyone who came before me, everyone you have met and touched along the way. You are a fingerprint on thousands of lives, thousands of hearts. You are not mine to claim, to own, to stamp my name on. You are simply a rich, beating heart I get to share a bed, a life, a laugh with.

You are sweet love songs and crude jokes and old Family Guy episodes. You are movie kisses and Journey best-of records and game nights and the stretched-out Texas A&M campus and QT hot dogs and Wideawake concerts and salty tears over lost dreams and big mistakes and broken hearts and then pushing on, relentlessly, to find beauty on the other side of the pain. You are laughing until we cry over nothing and everything just because it feels good to do it together.

You are hole-in-the-wall bars, greasy hamburgers, cheap but fun living, nonplussed by labels and brand names and who has what. You are about nothing out there and everything inside of you—loyalty and kindness and generosity and good times and great friends. You don't care what someone makes, you care what someone is.

You are at your best on the back of a motorcycle, underneath the hood of a car, on top of a wake board, in worn-out jeans and a faded, holey t-shirt and anywhere your mother is. You are stubborn, hardheaded, difficult, frustrating, never wrong and always beautiful.

You are a million things, a million memories, a million laughs and gestures and movements that stun me with their ease and their magnitude. You are my home, my friend, my favorite.

There are some days you infuriate me, you don't think things through, you don't remember something I told you mere minutes before. And you watch the most horrible television shows imaginable. (Junkwars? WHAT IS THAT?) But on other days—on most days—you are too good to be true. You make me feel as if I won the grand prize, beat out far better women than myself, picked the winning numbers or just got ridiculously lucky to wear this ring, to use this name, to introduce myself as your wife to anyone who will listen. Most days when I sit down and think of who you are and then who I am, I can't figure out how it fell into place this way. I don't know what I did before you to warrant you. I don't understand how life worked out so perfectly, so magically. I don't know why you chose me, and, honestly, why I was smart enough to choose you. But choose we did. Yes, we said, one year ago, with ridiculously big grins and full hearts and joy spilling right out of us.

We work so hard at this, every day. And, yet, it's the easiest, rightest thing we've ever done. You are my husband, and I still have to repeat that in my head over and over and over to believe it myself, to believe my dumb luck. In so many ways it is just too spectacular to fully swallow, but in even more ways, in a million trillion little ways—such as the way you say my name, the way your hand finds mine in parking lots and in bed each night, the way we finish each other's thoughts, find each other hilarious (although I'm totally funnier), travel so effortlessly together—life is just as it should be, with you and me on this big, wild ride together.

In so many ways I still have to pinch myself, but in even more ways I feel as if being your wife is like breathing. In so many ways this is unbelievably hard—the debt, the infertility, the commuting, the obligations, the lack of naps and disposable incomes. But in every way, Michael, loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done.

Life is tough. Marriage is tough. Even sharing a DVR is tough.

But loving you is anything but.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

Comments

[Wickedly Scarlett]

So sweet!!! Happy anniversary :)

[Janssen]

Every month when you write these posts I wonder what you can say that will be new and different, but you always find some new and beautiful way to frame your and Mike's life. I hope you keep doing these.

Happy Anniversary!

[jodifur]

Happy Anniversary!

[Jen]

Happy Anniversary lovebirds!

[Mom]

Happy Anniversary and my love to you both.

[Heather B.]

Well then, Happy Anniversary, you two. That was really sweet, Jen.

[Raven]

Lovely words as always hon!

Happy Anniversary!

[Rachel]

That is beautiful! Happy Anniversary!

[Jess]

This is so sweet and you guys are so adorable and perfect together. Happy anniversary.

[Sarah]

So beautiful!
Congratulations you two!

[Bug's mama]

Soooo beautiful and full of love. Happy Anniversary!

[Danielle-Lee]

I totally have the goosebumps. You are such a beautiful writer! And to have what you have with him, and to be able to actually articulate it into words......beautiful!

[Katie]

Not sure if this is what you were going for, but more than anything, this made me laugh. And I think that's a good thing because you truly highlighted how happy you two make each other and how much you all enjoy being husband and wife. Happy first anniversary to Jennie and Mike!
P.S. I really do think Mike and Jon would get along great. Along with Junk Wars, I'm also subjected to all of those crazy Japanese game shows. Every night. Lord help me.

[Kristen]

That was beautiful. Happy anniversary!

[Nicole]

Lovely. So lovely. Happy Anniversary.

[slynnro]

Perfectly sweet. I would expect nothing less, of course.

[Sierra]

Congratulations and Happy Anniversary! This is a wonderful entry--your writing is always amazing.

[Stephanie]

My inspirations in love.. Happy Anniversary!

[Julie]

this is beautiful! Happy Anniversary!!!

[Angella]

Beautiful.

Happy Anniversary!

[watersign]

Happy Anniversary!

[Kate]

Happy Anniversary to us both! (Today is 7 years for hubby and I.) I hope your next 60 years are just as happy as the first.

[lissa]

That was beautiful. Happy Anniversary!

[Amanda Brown]

Oh, Happy Anniversary. You should write a post like this every year and bind it in a scrapbook. Or something. It's lovely and I wish you many more years just like this one.

[Sharon]

That was beautiful! Happy Anniversary!

[natalie]

Happy Anniversary!

your words are powerful, I can't wait to see what you decide to do with them.

[Elizabeth]

Congratulations!
I have been waiting for the one year post and you did not disappoint, it was beautiful.
But I don't think you should be SO surprised to have found such a great guy because you are a pretty great lady yourself.

[Roz]

omg, omg, omg, omg, omg

it's perfect. i love it.

happy anniversary!!

[Kristie]

Happy (a day late) anniversary!

[Kristabella]

A very sweet tribute!

Happy anniversary and here is to many, many more that you two will celebrate together!