The fact that I am sitting right here writing these words is a testament to the absolutely shit-balls awesome guy I married. I say that because I’m alive to type this.

Ten years later.

He hasn’t killed me yet.

It’s probably weird that we have been married for ten years and it’s still just us. Two dogs. Two cats. Two hundred and twelve shoes. Three Kitchen-Aid mixers (thanks Neena.) But here we are. Still us.

I think there would be no argument from anyone, least of all my dearly beloved, when I say that I’ve put the man through his paces over the past decade. He’s a saint, I know it and I’m damn lucky to have him.

Nothing about our life looks like I thought it would 10 years into our marriage. Granted 10 years ago, I had no idea what I WANTED our life to look like in this far-off, imaginary year where surely to GOD the cars would fly and someone would have figured out a solution to that whole pesky laundry and vacuuming situation, but I’m pretty damn certain that it did not involve living back in Tennessee and working together. For my father. And probably there were kids… and more cats…

But here we are. And guess what? I’m kind of blissed out. And m very, very wise peanut butter filled chocolate afternoon treat just gave me a very valuable piece of information…

Happy 10 years babe. Damn, you’re a lucky bastard.