Happy Tuesday, Dear Readers!

Today marks the 13th year of my marriage to DH.  We met in 1994, started dating in 1996 and were married in 1999.  Who’d have thunk it?

DH was the guy who was always there after my dates, good or bad, who sat and listened to me drone on about what was good or bad about those dates.  DH was the guy who came to my rescue when everyone wanted to go to a movie and I was penniless (I was bad about saving my money for a rainy day back then).  DH was the guy I could count on to drive or be passenger when the desire to go on a drive or road trip hit.

Then DH was the guy that my friends were telling me “liked” me.  Then he was the guy I almost kissed the first day back to college.  Then he was the guy that I spent an entire week of emailing back and forth (we call it the ‘Geneva Conventions’) finding out what exactly was happening between us.  Then… he was the guy I said, “What the hell?  Why not?” and started dating.

Then he was the guy I worried about when I moved back home and into the real world and he would drive up and visit on weekends.  And then, one day he said, “I guess you should start looking for a ring.”

That was it – the proposal.  Wasn’t he supposed to be down on one knee, gazing deeply into my eyes and hoping I didn’t reject him?  Nope… it wasn’t his way.  He’d patiently sat by for years, listening to me talk about the guys I dated, jotting mental notes.  At the time, I complimented him about what a great friend he was… later he joked that he was just doing reconnaissance.  So, there we were, watching something on TV (probably Food Porn… Emeril most likely) when he turned to me and said I should probably start looking for a ring.  No knee.  No ring.  No gazing deeply into my eyes… It worked.  I think I would have laughed had he gotten on one knee.  My response?  Obviously I said yes in some way, shape or form… I just looked over at him and said, “Okay… I can do that.”

No pomp.  No circumstance.

The wedding lacked as much affectation as the proposal.   I bought my dress from a clearance rack.  The invitations we made ourselves on the printer.  The cake (chocolate, vanilla and lemon poppy seed) was made by a local woman who still baked with butter (“…because that’s the proper way to make a cake”) and covered in fondant – it looked fake, but tasted very real.  The bouquets I made on my own.

We were married in a park, the ceremony still holds the family record at a few seconds over 7 minutes total.  I wore tennis shoes under my dress.  DH and I got the last two pieces of cake – because my mom saved them for us.  Guests were told to show up in shorts and bring the kids, and we had a buffet-line with ham, rolls, potato salad, etc.  This was a summer wedding in earnest.  A boom box played music.  Family and friends visited.  DH and I got a ton of pictures taken, and we even had an extra visitor – a stray black lab that came splashing through the creek toward us, that just happened to belong to someone my brother knew.

DH and I have moved a bunch of times, have traveled across the globe now, and have been together through thick ‘n thin.  Our goals change as times goes on, and we too, change as time passes, but he still makes me laugh, and he still loves me in spite of my faults.

He makes a damn tasty chocolate chip cookie, too.