Skip to main content

Nine Years and Counting

You know him as Adam.  I call him Neil.  He calls me Liz, which is better than Taco.  Trust me.  We've been there.

Our story goes back 20 years.  Two thirds of my life.  I did the math.  It blew my mind.  I was the mother in our 4th grade play of Peter Pan and he was my youngest son, wearing red long john pjs with a butt flap.  The following year, I crossed him out of my year book and wrote "emenies" next to his picture.  He was excellent at spelling.  Me, not so much.  This may have fueled my hatred.

I have no memory of this boy through middle school, but in high school he caught my eye.  Or should I say, someone guessed that I liked him and after a few seconds of consideration I decided to go with it.  Before that moment, the thought had never crossed my mind.  I was 15.  My reasoning skills hadn't exactly matured.



Little did I know that one moment in a chemistry class would impact my life forever.  In the next few years, I would fall in love with a boy and watch him turn into a man.  The one and only man I have ever kissed.

We were married before either of us could buy a bottle of wine.  My mom says that she has never seen me smile as much as I did on that day.  To this day, I can honestly say that no one makes me laugh harder than Neil.

In many ways our relationship has changed and, yet, it is exactly the same.  We have grown up together.  From doing homework together to doing homework with our daughter, our relationship has evolved.  I love that.   


After 9 years of marriage, he is still the one that can make a bad day better.  He still dances to the store's music while I shop.  I still believe him when he answers me with a sarcastic response.  We still fight over the wrinkles in the sheets.  He still thinks flowers the day after a holiday are more thoughtful (but has agreed to table the issue.)  I still can't fold a shirt to his liking.  He would still drop anything to save me.  I still smile the most when he is near.  We are still a team. For better or worse. 

 I am his and he is mine.  
I love you, Neil!  Happy Anniversary!









Comments

  1. That's awesome, I'm so happy for you Erin! Being happy in marriage is the best. Happy Anniversary!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

They Speak

I have a  friend  who does a weekly post of the crazy things her kids say.  While I am not committing to do this on a regular basis, my little's have had quite a few good ones lately.  Maybe this will add a little sunshine to a rainy day. Me: Are you excited to go to the beach next week? Brooklyn: No. Me: Why not? Brooklyn: The crabs. (Leaving the park in a rush after it started raining) Paige: Mom, is it hard to take care of three kids? Me: Why?  Does it look hard? Paige: No. Emerson: Me a boy. Me: What is mommy? Emerson: Mommy a girl. Me: What is Daddy? Emerson: Daddy a monkey! (Brooklyn was watching me clean out the seeds of a cantaloupe) Brooklyn: Ew! That is a gross job!  Will I have to do that when I'm a mom? If she only knew the grossness that lay ahead!

Changed

I suck at prayer.  If you need someone to pray for you, I'm probably not your girl.  Sure, I'll say I'll do it.  I'll even have good intentions to get it done.  But I won't.  The light will turn green, the kids will yell, the phone will ring and I will forget.  Every time.  My personal prayer life isn't much better.  It's embarrassing to say, but I'm too rushed, tired, and distracted.  The thought of prayer seldom crosses my mind. Apparently, God has been noticing.  In the past few months I have found myself on the outskirts of situation after situation that lead me straight to my knees.  Not a passing "Please God work in that situation" way, but a "My words have run dry and still I pray" kind of way.  I have prayed myself to sleep and then awoken with an urgency to pray again.  I have wept as I pleaded with God to work miracles.  I have prayed that God's hand would be seen and I have prayed that Satan's lies would ...

So Many Thoughts....

I'm not sure if I should laugh, cry, call a counselor, or buy another parenting book.