My husband and I just celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary a few days ago.
Ten. whole. years.
It's kind of amazing when you think about it.
When I was a young girl, I pictured myself finding the "man of my dreams", getting married, being madly in love, and spending every day in wedded bliss for the rest of my life.
What a found was a somewhat scrawny teenage boy who made my heart race when he looked in my eyes, who made me laugh until my belly hurt with his ridiculous antics, and who was so completely opposite in many ways from that "dream" I had in my mind.
Love is a crazy thing. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I thought my husband was really cute and really funny, but marriage material? That wasn't on my mind. It wasn't because I was 17. I could have sworn to you at 15 that I was going to marry the guy I was dating. He was nice, and smart, and safe. But Robert was spontaneous, and incautious, and a whole lot of fun. Picturing a serious future with him wasn't my initial thought. He just really made me happy.
Turns out, I fell in love. And day after day, we grew closer together until it became so clear that we wanted to spend every day together. For a month, for a year, for a decade and beyond.
On March 1st, 2008 I married that man that was but a boy when we met a few years before, and really, at 19 and 20, we still weren't nearly as adult as we thought we were at the time.
Choosing to walk side by side with someone for the remainder of your days is a pretty incredible decision. And when you're barely adults, the remainder of your days is going to be a very long time.
When we stood there in a little church on the west side of town, we said our vows, and I believe we meant them. But I don't believe we truly understood them, not the way we do now.
As you grow older and you experience life as a married couple, the meaning behind those words spoken becomes much more clear. You start to understand that "for richer or poorer" isn't just speaking about money. It means that you choose each other, even when that possibly means letting go of some other things. It means that there are sacrifices to be made and you make them for the greater good of each other. You realize that "in sickness and in health" isn't always concerning physical things or referring to when you grow old and frail. It means embracing your spouse during a bout of depression, learning to cope with their anxiety, and fighting their demons and addictions alongside them. You realize that "until death do us part" doesn't just mean for a very long time. It means that every day that you are waking and breathing, you are choosing to love your spouse the way they need to be loved. It means cherishing a past, working hard in the present, and creating a future together.
We all say the same things when talking about our spouses. We know we love them tremendously, and we say things like "I couldn't live with you." or "You're everything to me."
In all honesty, we repeat those cliche phrases because it's just too hard to put what we really feel into words.
I know I could live without Robert and he could live without me. Neither of our existences would cease if the other was gone. What I really feel is this: I know that either us living our lives without the other is an option. And I know that I truly do not want that. I know that, while my life without him would go on, it would be a struggle. It would be heartbreaking. And it would be a lot more boring.
I know that there are other things in my life that mean a great deal to me: my boys, my friends, my family, my interests, my desires. Robert isn't *everything* in my life. But the truth is: He is intertwined into everything. He is part of all those things I mentioned and more. And without him as part of those things, a huge piece of the puzzle would be missing.
So many things have happened in ten years--I couldn't begin to describe them or list them. We have changed quite a bit but there are parts of those 17 year old kids with stars in their eyes that linger on.
There are many ways that I can express my love for my husband, my appreciation for our marriage and partnership, and my admiration for all we've accomplished and created together. But none of it would be adequate. So I will spend the next ten years, and the ten after that, and the ten after that...and so on..showing him in all the ways I know how.
Showing posts with label growth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growth. Show all posts
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Monday, March 7, 2016
Something as simple as a scrambled egg...
I think, as adults, we all kind of realize at different points how quickly time is passing by. And it seems so cliche to comment on it, but we still do, because it never ceases to take us by surprise.
I was talking with some of my mommy friends the other night about how sometimes, looking back on my kids' baby years makes me slightly sad. It's a bittersweet feeling. I love everything about watching them grow and become who they are today, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss them being small. Those babies they were--they meant the world to me. And the kids they are now do as well. It's just such a indescribable feeling because I'm excited for the future and longing for the past at the same time. I wish I had the ability to scoop those babies up and kiss them one more time. I wish I had the ability to go back in time and savor the moments even more than I already did. I wish I could sit up another night with one of them and instead of thinking about how little sleep I was getting, be thinking about how little time I was going to have with them that small and making the most of it.
But I can't. I can only try to savor each moment now--but is that truly possible?
We hear "live in the moment" as moms, as adults, all the time. It's not simply a parenting thing. We're reminded every day about how quickly the time is passing by us, and how "these are the best days of our lives". We're told that these moments won't ever be relived, so we should embrace them or else we'll find ourselves looking back regretfully at how much we took for granted.
But here's the thing--it's not possible to love every single second of the day. It truly isn't. We are human and we're going to get upset, frustrated, and tired. It's not possible to sit with a sleeping baby in your arms, every night, completely exhausted and not think at all about how much you'd just love to go to sleep for 18 hours straight. It's not possible to never get overwhelmed or upset with the tantrums, with the yelling, with the constant questions.
As a whole, we appreciate the puzzle that is our lives. But that doesn't mean every single piece fills us with joy. And that's okay.
Nostalgia just works to prove to us that these troubling times will soon pass, as well. When we look back on those baby days, we don't remember the feeling of desperation during the sleepless nights and the feelings of complete helplessness during the meltdowns quite like we remember the sweet smell of their baby skin and the gorgeous cooing sound of their laughter. We're not wishing that we could exchange these times for those, we're reminding ourselves that there is no time like the present. We're proving to ourselves that the days are long and the years are so short, and that every moment is a piece of a much bigger, precious, invaluable picture.
So when we stop to think about the "little things" today, we realize that they aren't that little after all.
Just in the last few days, my four year old surprised me by doing a load of laundry all on his own. He asked if he could, I told him yes, and he proceeded to load the washer, place the detergent and fabric softener in, and start the washing cycle all on his own. He was incredibly proud and so was I.
Just a couple of days later, my 6 year old scrambled two eggs for himself and his brother. My husband supervised, of course. But, from start to finish, Goob cracked the eggs, scrambled them, and cooked them all on his own. I bet they were the best tasting eggs he's ever had because he knew that he'd made them with his own hands.
Those are the things that take me completely by surprise and stop me in my tracks. I think about how impossible it is to believe that my two little ones are so independent, so helpful, so grown up. And I realize that, although there are difficult times, when I look back on these days, those are the moments I will remember and bask in. The scrambled eggs and the loads of laundry are this season's baby laughs and unstable toddles. They are the precious moments of seeing them grow and change and shape into the people they are and who they will become.
And it's a gift to be able to realize, in this moment, how groundbreaking those experiences are. It's a gift that only the experiences so far could prepare me for.
I am always living in this moment. And I will do my best to appreciate all that these moments hold, whether it be good, bad, or ugly--it's real. While I hold the past dear to my heart, I will remember that the present is the past in the making and that these days are short and these moments are fleeting. I will go forth, giving myself permission to miss the past, to revel in the present, and to look forward to the future all at once. Because that--something that seems so impossible to feel all together--is what makes this experience so uniquely human.
I was talking with some of my mommy friends the other night about how sometimes, looking back on my kids' baby years makes me slightly sad. It's a bittersweet feeling. I love everything about watching them grow and become who they are today, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss them being small. Those babies they were--they meant the world to me. And the kids they are now do as well. It's just such a indescribable feeling because I'm excited for the future and longing for the past at the same time. I wish I had the ability to scoop those babies up and kiss them one more time. I wish I had the ability to go back in time and savor the moments even more than I already did. I wish I could sit up another night with one of them and instead of thinking about how little sleep I was getting, be thinking about how little time I was going to have with them that small and making the most of it.
But I can't. I can only try to savor each moment now--but is that truly possible?
We hear "live in the moment" as moms, as adults, all the time. It's not simply a parenting thing. We're reminded every day about how quickly the time is passing by us, and how "these are the best days of our lives". We're told that these moments won't ever be relived, so we should embrace them or else we'll find ourselves looking back regretfully at how much we took for granted.
But here's the thing--it's not possible to love every single second of the day. It truly isn't. We are human and we're going to get upset, frustrated, and tired. It's not possible to sit with a sleeping baby in your arms, every night, completely exhausted and not think at all about how much you'd just love to go to sleep for 18 hours straight. It's not possible to never get overwhelmed or upset with the tantrums, with the yelling, with the constant questions.
As a whole, we appreciate the puzzle that is our lives. But that doesn't mean every single piece fills us with joy. And that's okay.
Nostalgia just works to prove to us that these troubling times will soon pass, as well. When we look back on those baby days, we don't remember the feeling of desperation during the sleepless nights and the feelings of complete helplessness during the meltdowns quite like we remember the sweet smell of their baby skin and the gorgeous cooing sound of their laughter. We're not wishing that we could exchange these times for those, we're reminding ourselves that there is no time like the present. We're proving to ourselves that the days are long and the years are so short, and that every moment is a piece of a much bigger, precious, invaluable picture.
So when we stop to think about the "little things" today, we realize that they aren't that little after all.
Just in the last few days, my four year old surprised me by doing a load of laundry all on his own. He asked if he could, I told him yes, and he proceeded to load the washer, place the detergent and fabric softener in, and start the washing cycle all on his own. He was incredibly proud and so was I.
Just a couple of days later, my 6 year old scrambled two eggs for himself and his brother. My husband supervised, of course. But, from start to finish, Goob cracked the eggs, scrambled them, and cooked them all on his own. I bet they were the best tasting eggs he's ever had because he knew that he'd made them with his own hands.
Those are the things that take me completely by surprise and stop me in my tracks. I think about how impossible it is to believe that my two little ones are so independent, so helpful, so grown up. And I realize that, although there are difficult times, when I look back on these days, those are the moments I will remember and bask in. The scrambled eggs and the loads of laundry are this season's baby laughs and unstable toddles. They are the precious moments of seeing them grow and change and shape into the people they are and who they will become.
And it's a gift to be able to realize, in this moment, how groundbreaking those experiences are. It's a gift that only the experiences so far could prepare me for.
I am always living in this moment. And I will do my best to appreciate all that these moments hold, whether it be good, bad, or ugly--it's real. While I hold the past dear to my heart, I will remember that the present is the past in the making and that these days are short and these moments are fleeting. I will go forth, giving myself permission to miss the past, to revel in the present, and to look forward to the future all at once. Because that--something that seems so impossible to feel all together--is what makes this experience so uniquely human.
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