Eleven

I watch our six-year-old son eating a bowl of Special K before he goes to a piano lesson, and I see Blythe, four months pregnant, sipping coffee (decaf) in her pajamas.  My lanyard with company and airport ID lay on the dining room table.  All of these are discreet reminders of how much we've conquered as a family.

I met her in 1995 at Baylor while working on accounting homework.  It was a purely chance encounter.  I was acquainted with her only through a mutual friend - her roommate.  She is as beautiful today as she was then.  She was unaware that I stared at her so long, but I found it difficult to look away for very long.  She wore a cute little hat, like the ones Meg Ryan wore in When Harry Met Sally.  Her name was Blythe.

I was fortunate enough to convince her to go to dinner and movie one night.  I managed to avoid making a lump of myself, because we dated for the next four years.  This gave us time to identify each other's personal preferences and idiosyncrasies and how ours can differ.  She likes blue cheese on her burgers, whereas I am a mushroom-Swiss man.  I must have a tidy house, whereas she is less motivated by this.  She likes listening to ABBA, whereas I would extricate myself from a moving vehicle if I were exposed to prolonged periods of any disco music.  But most importantly, we've naturally seen eye-to-eye on the most crucial aspects of our marriage.  We both wanted children.  We know our priorities for our lives together.  We want the same things for our family.  We want each other to be happy.

The challenges we've faced along the way were, at the time, daunting, but never out of reach.  We lifted each other up and encouraged each other to move ahead and persevere.

On January 22, 2000, eleven years ago today, she slid onto my finger the ring that I will wear until my dying breath. And I did the same for her.  We said our vows.  And off we we went into the world as a team of two.  The things we've accomplished we've done as a united front.  Cars were purchased, homes were purchased, bouts with unemployment overcome, expensive flight training completed, children were born.  I find it difficult to imagine we could have done these things individually.  I cannot see how.  I can tell you with certainty I have no interest in trying either.

Thank you, Blythe, for putting up with all of my stuff.  Truth is, nothing else elevates me like knowing we have what we have.  It makes it much easier to overlook a slightly messy house or a load of laundry needing folding.  I look around and don't see what we have very often with others.  It's genuinely special.  You are special.  I love you, Blythe - forever.

Happy Anniversary.