Way back in 1994.

Three days ago, on the 10th, Sam and I celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary.

15!

It seems like it has been longer in some respects.
And in other ways, it feels like just yesterday.

I love him more now than I did on our wedding day.
Life will do that to you.



I loved him as my newlywed husband.
Like the time it was his turn to do the dishes, and I went to bed.
The next morning the dishes were still in the sink.
I was so fuming mad!
I would SHOW HIM a thing or two!
I gathered up all those dishes, and put them on the seat of his Jeep as I left for work.
He never said anything.
The dishes were done when I got home, and the apartment was vacuumed.

I was so stupid!
We fought about petty things in the beginning.
And admittedly, I have been stupid many, many times since.

I fell in love with him again as a new father.
How instantly comfortable he was with newborns.

He took care of all of our babies the first few nights they were home, as I recovered from my c-sections.
I am ashamed to say, that he changed all of those first really gross newborn diapers.
Never complained.
How safe my babies looked, curled up on his broad shoulders.

He even volunteered to spent the night in the hospital with Mikayla when she had meningitis, because he knew I would never get sleep in a hospital room.

I came in the next morning, sunlight streaming through the metal blinds, both of them laughing, and eating red jello together.

He is a good dad.

He likes to play.
He doesn't mind dragging the kids along on a golf day or to Moab for Jeep Safari.
He took Brendan in diapers to Moab.
Without me.
He just flipped him up on the hood of the Jeep to change him while they were on the trail.
I bet you see that a lot in Moab, guys driving big ol' knobby tire trail-runnin' rigs and changing poopy pants...

You never know what kind of a dad your husband will be, and I for sure lucked right out in that department.



I can't believe Sam has put up with me for fifteen years.
Here is what he has had to endure:

Constant vomiting and the crankiness that comes with that FOR FOUR WHOLE MONTHS with each one of my pregnancies.

If my feet are cold at night, they are going on his side of the bed, tucked under his legs.

If I am upstairs and need something from downstairs, I will call him on his cell phone to bring it to me. I am lazy like that. And funny thing is...he always brings it to me.


Sam frequently gets calls on his way home from work to stop at a store and pick things up for me. Photos from Costco or milk or bread, or feminine products...

Once we had a mouse in the house, and baited it with some crap that made the mouse crawl halfway up the stairs and try to die.
I found it, still barely alive.
I called him in full panic mode:
"There is a mouse dying on the stairs!"
"Well, go get some pliers, grab it by the tail, and take it out to the garbage can."
**silence**
(as I have passed out just thinking about getting that close to a mouse)

So Sam came home from work, to dispose of that mouse for me.
I love him.

I am quite sure that we have had other "incidents" of rodents.
He just never tells me anymore. That is his gift to me.

He also knows that bad tickers run in my family...and I am about a mouse away from heart failure.

He eats what I cook. Even when it is a new (barfy)weight watchers concoction with brussel sprouts and garbanzo beans.

He thinks I am sexy at any weight, and make-up optional.
He might need lasik.

He has made me a better person for knowing him, and I am really, super lucky.

We celebrated by going to the new Star Trek movie, and eating fajitas at Chili's.
WOOT! WOOT!
Don't judge.
We know we are KRAZY! With a capital "K."

Thanks for putting up with me, babe.
Here's to another fifteen!