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I Did- 15 years ago today.

Holy bajeezus, today is my 15 year wedding anniversary!

I remember this vividly!

McSweetie and I have been married 15 years!! How did this happen? I mean, it FEELS like 15 years sometimes. But most of the time it feels shorter. Like just a few years. Although we are parents to a 12 and 9 year old so I guess I should expect this.

Like any marriage, there’s compromise and sacrifice. He compromises his Saturday nights to watch the Lifetime network with me and I sacrifice a clean bathroom so that he can shave his virile, hairy face.

I admit in the beginning of our relationship, I was a little bossy. I’m sure friends and family of his, were like, are you sure about this girl? She’s a little high strung! I get kinda snippy when I’m hungry, okay?? Lots of people do! And I get a little grumpy once a month. Yeah, sure it lasts, like, two weeks, but hey- I can’t help it!

But there are some things I’ve taught him. For instance- Olive Garden is not the end-all in Italian dining. This, he did not know to be true in 1995 when we first met. He hadn’t really been to fancy restaurants downtown, or ‘foodie’ places. I have definitely expanded his horizons when it comes to his dining palette. He thought dressing up for a date was wearing his favorite fishing sweatshirt. I know, I know. A guy with such good looks can’t be wasted on logo wear and outfits bought at Dick’s Sporting Goods. I’ve expanded his wardrobe now too. He looks like any red-carpet walking, downtown strutting guy, when he wants to.

And even though he can drive me to crazy town sometimes, I’m still bananas for him. He gives me a lot of freedom. A lot of expression. He humors my ‘whims’ often. Sometimes, though, he does stupid stuff like take me out on date night with the gas gauge on ’empty’, he must know by now that it totally irks me. Funny story- when we were driving up to the florist for our wedding, we had bunches and bunches of flowers and ivy to bring her for the displays, he ran out of gas. On the freeway. On a Thursday night at 7 o’clock. Friends of ours lived in the city and we called them (yes, we had cell phones in 1997) and they came and brought us gas, THANK GOD! See? That jerk! He knows it still makes me bonkers driving on empty, but he does it anyway.

But here is what makes me love him and even fold his socks for him- He’s an AWESOME DAD. He works hard for his family. He is Owen’s den leader for Cub Scouts and helps coach soccer. He obsesses over events like Pinewood Derby races, Raingutter Regata boats and cake decorating contests. He’s very thorough, analytical and calculating. Yes- this can drive me nuts since he’s not a spontaneous, throw me on the counter make all sorts of sweet love to me, kind of guy. But that’s okay, the counters are pretty cluttered these days. He attends Emma’s performances and school events. Helps her with projects, teaches the kids strategy and games. Takes them to soccer and football games. Best Dad Ever!

He doesn’t mind when I go out with my girlfriends. He understands my volunteer efforts (doesn’t always like them, but understands and supports them.) He pretends my obsession with cosmetics, handbags, and cardigans isn’t unhealthy. I love the enabler in him!

Here’s what I do for him. I manage our daughter’s pre-teen mood swings. I figure all the stuff he does for Owen, just me being there for Emma when she goes into sobs for no good reason, means plenty to him that he doesn’t deal with that emotional powder keg!

Yes, I do a lot more for him. But honestly- while he was snoozing on the couch (after taking Owen to both Cub Scouts AND soccer practice tonight), I was soothing Emma in a crying fit of ‘I don’t know why I’m crying, but please stroke my hair mommy and don’t leave the room yet’. You know. The ‘I want you when I want you, unless I’m busy with my friends, then I’ll want you later’ whims of an adolescent girl! Yeah, that.

So in the end, I think what describes us best, is we are a TEAM. He and I. Me and Him. We go good together. He’s the peanut butter in my chocolate. The snap in my crackle, pop. The yin to my yang. We are pretty damn good for each other. I thank God for him every day. I pray we have 15 more years of wedded bliss. Then 15 more. Then 15 more…. You get the idea.

Love you babe!

We sealed that deal in a big Catholic ceremony in front of many friends and family. Our song was Etta James’, At Last. The best.

He told me on our honeymoon I was “Pot Pie Hot”. It’s stuck ever since.

Dear McSweetie

Oh, that is the cute name I call my dear husband. He’s like McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy, but he’s mine and even cuter than Patrick Dempsey. Which is hard to be, cuz that Patrick is FINE.

When I get the urge to write something like this, I pretty much drop everything and do it. Not always do I feel like a warm and devoted housewife. Often I feel like a cold-hearted bitch with a bone to pick. And by bone, I mean big ol’ fish to fry, burr in my craw, chip on my shoulder the size of Lisa Rinna’s top lip. SOO, I am in a good mood and was thinking fondly of the ol’ ball and chain. So I thought I would dedicate this little ditty to him.

Dear McSweetie-

It’s been 15 years that we have been married come this August. I can’t believe how time flies. And although you are not perfect by any means. And by ‘not perfect’, I mean, have no clue how to empty the dishwasher or load it.  You pretend you still don’t know where stuff goes in the cupboards even though we’ve lived here ten years, and things haven’t changed really- at all. You don’t know how to put your dirty socks IN the clothes hamper. You can’t seem to get your beard and neck hairs out of the sink or away from MY toothbrush. You seem to miss the garbage can while clipping your toenails. BUT- even with ALL those little flaws, I thank you for putting up with MY flaws.

Yes- shocker. I have them. You know this, but THEY might not know this. (THEY, are my blog readers honey, pretend we have an audience.) Okay- so here goes. Thank you for not picking on me for the following:

Wearing socks to bed every night of the year (even in summer except when it’s reallllly hot, like 85 degrees or something). Remember my orange socks of our early wedded years? I should’ve kept those. They were so thick and cozy. And orange.

Wearing the rattiest, saggiest pajamas to bed every night. I can’t sleep in the nude OR one of the various Victoria Secret nighties you’ve bought for me over the years. Sorry those only see day light when I bring them with us if you and I go away for an outing overnight that involves a hotel. Hotel nooky = sassy night gowns. Wearing that at home would mean that I would have to go through the trouble of changing out of them before morning came. Because getting the kids ready for school in satin and lace is just gross and weird. And itchy. So I’m not going to even bother. PJs it is. Sorry.

Wearing the same pair of lounge pants three days in a row  and not wearing any makeup despite the Sephora store that is practically our bathroom. Geesh, I’m lazy.

Never mentioning that my legs feel like a cactus since I haven’t shaved since September.

Not complaining over the bajillion products and lotion bottles that cover our bathroom counter top.

Having to see my lady bits when I birthed our children. I know you asked not to be down there. Cuz being ‘down there’ when they’re conceived is really different than when those watermelons are coming down the pike. There’s poop, there’s goo, there’s tearing.  Oh lawd, even I didn’t look when they offered the mirror. So I’m sorry. That must’ve been real hard for you. I’m also sorry I didn’t let you play with my milk jugs after the babies were born. I know I must’ve resembled someone out of Hustler magazine, but considering my boobs felt like flesh that had been twisted in a vice that was so sensitive even air hurt when it touched them- you didn’t have a chance.

Thank you for letting me complain how messy the garage is, but not saying anything to me about how ransacked the pantry looks.

Not complaining when I’ve been home all day, didn’t make dinner, and then ask you to pick something up.

You give me the remote.

Pretending that you don’t realize how many shoes and purses I actually have.

And who would have thought, the kids call you the 'goofy one'!

That’s all I can think of for now.  I’m sure I will add to this list soon. Despite the fact my flaws are so few and far between

xoxo

Love,

Hot babe

(okay, that isn’t what he calls me, I just think it’s what he thinks of me)