November 2, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
Happy Anniversary! Hard to believe that it has been that is has been a luck thirteen years since we took the plunge. Lucky for you, I don’t suffer from a fear of triskadekaphobia, a fear of a fear of the number thirteen. In fact, about the only thing I’m afraid of is not having another thirteen years with you. And thirteen times thirteen. And so on.
Where was I?
Oh yes, anniversary. The other night I was feeling all nostalgic-like and decided to pull out an old Halloween costume, my beloved Star Trek Starfleet Red Ensign Uniform. I made it myself, right around the time I first met you (Yeah, I’m a geek, WHAT OF IT?). You remember, right? I was that crazy redheaded bowling alley attendant, dating my high school sweet heart, thinking I was gonna marry the guy (WRONG OH WRONG OH WRONG GLAD THAT DID NOT HAPPEN). I was a vegetarian with a no concrete plans for the future and a propensity for losing things. And breaking things. And forgetting things. And…how’s about that, I still have no concrete plans, a propensity for losing, breaking and forgetting things and…
Anywho, you walked in. I started talking. I didn’t stop talking. I broke up with the high school sweetheart, started dating your best friend, saw you again at the friend’s birthday party, his girlfriend showed up and we…well, we got to know each other REALLY WELL over a couple of chasers. We got to know each other so well, your friend was pretty ticked off. He didn’t come to our wedding. No surprise there.
We’ve had our ups and downs. We broke up, got back together three weeks later and got engaged after that. Then the whole drama with your father started, he made you choose between us, you picked me. You said it was a no brainer, easiest decision of your life. I’ll never forget it.
You supported me through four college majors (no, you really SUPPORTED ME). Even though you told me you thought I was a ghost coming down the aisle to marry you, and I was REALLY LATE because I forgot my train, you still married me. Even though I got pregnant the same freaking day I finally got my college diploma and teacher’s certificate, you still loved me. Even though you thought you’d never be a good Dad, because you didn’t have one to learn from, you ended up being the best Daddy on the planet. Even the neighbors’ kids think you are a great dad and want to hang out with you.
I don’t put caps on condiments and you end up dropping them. You drink out of the orange juice (note to guests: do not drink the orange juice here) carton. I don’t clean the hair out of the shower. You kick your shoes off in the middle of the floor. I talk. A lot. TOO MUCH. And you don’t. Ever.
We’re yin and yang. Total polar opposites. Those dating tests and quizzes would never, ever match us up. In fact, the dating websites would never match us up. But that’s ok, because fate has. We’re perfect for each other. It doesn’t getting better than this.
We may not have the most romantic marriage and the odds may be stacked against us, due to Bugaboo’s issues, but we’re gonna make it, babe. I don’t ever wanna be with anyone else but you.
YOU COMPLETE ME (quick, name that movie).
If I don’t say it enough, I’m sorry. I mean to, really. I just usually remember when I’m up at 3am with the boy and you are sawing logs, or you are taking him for a ride while I try to take a nap. So let this serve as a warning for you. I think of you every single moment of every single day. I still can’t believe that after all of this time, you still think I’m hot and sexy in my Starfleet uniform. Even when I’m struggling to fit into postpartum jeans. And I’m seven years postpartum. I feel like the luckiest girl alive.
Thank you, babe!
And, I promise that perhaps by our next anniversary? I’ll put the cap back on ALL of the condiments, so you don’t drop them and they don’t go all over the floor, appliances, ceiling and cabinets. That’s how much I love you.
Ps – Happy El Dia De Los Muertos. The most romantic day of the year.