Emily and I celebrated 9 years of wedded bliss on Tuesday, which makes us now an official married couple for 9 years and almost two days. We’re on our way to 10 years — if everything works out. And I think it will. They say that a marriage takes work. They are right.
We are blessed to have in our home three beautiful children named Lexi, Mac and Zach. When you say their names really fast together, it sounds like a high-priced New York Lawyer’s name, as in “I’m Lexi Macinzach and I will fight for YOU.” And oh, do these kids fight. I think this tendency to fight comes from their mother. By me saying that, I am actually pointing the finger squarely at myself as the source of the fight gene, since what I’ve just said can indeed be classified as fightin’ words. It’s okay. I’m kidding. I love you, Emily.
These three children are, as some romance novels might say, the fruit of our loins. Lexi, Mac and Zach are the result of a union, close and abiding, in which a man and woman leave their respective parents and become one, which is how the kids came about. If you have more questions about this, the school nurse can provide pamphlets. What I’m trying to say is this: our kids are a testimony to God’s plan for a family that all started with a beautiful woman in a majestic white dress and a fellow in a rented tux who both said loud and strong that “I do.”
Emily and I celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary in the best of ways: we put the kids to bed and then watched a rerun of Frasier while eating Taco Bell on the couch. I fell asleep before the end credits in a puddle of burrito. She carried me to bed. Or I got up and walked; I can’t remember.
Not as exciting as our 1st, 2nd or even 3rd wedding anniversary. But contentment is defined differently in this era of life, where happiness is a sink full of dirty dishes and toys strewn everywhere. We are as we had hoped: a family.
Thanks be to God.