On this day twelve years ago (egad), in the company of family and dear chosen family on a spectacular autumn day, I married my best friend.
Twelve years later, we own our own house, which was a lovely little dollhouse to begin with but is on the verge of being upgraded to wonderful what with the new attic (so close to being done, so close), and have not one but two beautiful children, who are joys and delights.
Today also marks the thirteenth anniversary of HRH and I doing our first road trip together, one of the joys I have continued to experience with him throughout our marriage. I’ve been told that the true test of a couple is if they can paint a room together without killing one another, but I suspect the ability to survive a road trip better attests to their ability to co-exist harmoniously. (Going through house renovations together may be the ultimate test of a relationship, however. On that front, I am pleased to inform you that both HRH and I are still alive, still unmaimed, and still married.)
We’re not doing anything to mark the event, really. We rarely do, but this time round we’re so wiped from renos and keeping up with a baby that our celebration will consist solely of sushi for dinner and an early bedtime.
I love you, HRH. We’ve put up with a lot of ups and downs, challenges, and obstacles, but you always give more than you’ve got to make sure our lives are stable and as good as they can be. We still have a way to go, but travelling the road ahead with you, our son, and our daughter is a joyful prospect.