this post is brought to you by the number ten

I've got some deep thoughts and revelations from the marathon that I'd like to share, but I'll save that for my next post (coming soon!). Today, I'd like to talk about Mr. Bump. Warning--it's about to get all schmaltzy up in here.

 It's been ten years since I married this guy.

We've been to a lot of places. Seen a lot of things. Eaten a lot of ice cream.  I'm a lucky girl.

 

I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I'm not always the easiest person to be with. I'm grouchy when my blood sugar is low. I'm argumentative. I'm emotional and dramatic. I spend too much money at Target and I've been known to eat the fun size Butterfinger Mr. Bump was saving for himself. I always want to talk, I'm overly fond of asking my husband what he is doing, which I happen to know annoys him greatly, but I can't seem to help. It's like a reflex. But Mr. Bump is very patient. He knows when to hand me a snack, when to listen to me rant, and when to shut the rant down before I spiral out of control. He is superb at not rolling his eyes when I'm channeling Crazy Lady.

Of course my husband presents his own set of challenges. But marriage is signing up for each other's crazy, and hoping it doesn't show up every day.

We've spent all but a handful of nights together in that 10 years. He's been there for me, every day, literally through thick and thin. We fight sometimes, but not that often. But even if you don't fight, it can be hard sometimes in the day to day slog of dirty dishes and shoes not put away (always mine) to remember to cherish each other. Every day is a choice. Every compliment you give, every hand held, every kiss is a choice.  That's what I've learned after 10 years. That's my marriage advice. Cherish each other, even when it isn't easy. Choose each other, over the argument you're having, over being "right," over all the things that will slowly, silently push you apart. I know you've heard it, I know it's cheesy (I warned you!), but love is a verb. It's work.

No matter what's going on in our lives or our marriage, our deal is always kiss me goodnight. And it works for us.

I'd be lost without him. Every day I'm grateful that he chose me, that he continues to choose me.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Bump. It seems like just yesterday I was breaking into the church with my bridesmaids because I couldn't wait to marry you.

freaky friday

**Because I'm going to be in the snowy Rocky Mountains this weekend, cuddled up with a good book and a couple of dogs with my parents and mother-in-law, I'm posting this from the past (woooo).  But I'm still going to call it for Freaky Friday and cross my fingers that nothing noteworthy happens between now and when this posts tomorrow. I mean today.  Whatever. This post will be riddled with verb tense problems.  Just go with it.

Friday the 13th everyone!  I hope yours was a good one.  It's one of my favorites really.  Thirteen is my lucky number.  I met Mr. Bump on March 13, 1999.  We got married on October 13, 2001.  Even after being together for 10.5 years, we're still actually ridiculous enough to celebrate our monthiversary on the months we remember what day it is.  (Yeah, I know, we're disgusting.  Just throw up in your mouth a little bit and move on.)

Nothing really weird happened yesterday except a smallish work computer weirdness which I have attributed to the day just because.  But as a day I enjoy it.  Since we headed up to the Bumpalot together last night, I am sure my father took the opportunity some time today to share his story about my 6th grade science fair project about superstition (lame-ish, I know, but it was on a list of topics and much more interesting than the previous year's Mt. St. Helen's debacle or the year before that's sponge lung project) and the way in which he used the opportunity to mess with my head.  I can't really convey the hilarity he attributes to the story (mostly because I don't find it so much funny at this point) so I'll skip it here.  Let's just say it involved a black cat, a ladder, and a sharp u-turn.  See, even the cryptic details are boring. 

Anyway, Thursday was my father's birthday, so he and my mother came up with us this weekend to celebrate with a little trip to Bumpalot.  I'll have to set aside some books for him because he's a pretty voracious reader when there is no way to watch sports.  He'll read anything.  Last time we were up there he picked up a book of Wodehouse stories.  If you know my father you know he's just about as far from a British comedy of manners kind of guy as exists in the spectrum. He's turning 75 this year, I believe, which is crazy.  I can't believe it's even remotely possibly he's that old.  In part, because he doesn't act his age.  He still works construction, often out of doors, in both the broiling of summer and the freezing wet windy winter.  He's as butch as butch gets, my dad.

I just went in search of a prior post about him, but I haven't tagged most of them so I couldn't find it.  Look through the archives.  It's probably somewhere in 2006.  I also went in search of a picture of my dad, but apparently those are all trapped away on my laptop, which I am not near.  Oh, wait, here he is hiding behind my mother last Easter!  Joy!  Here is my family.  My dad is the Santa in the back.

Happy birthday, Dad!  Incidentally, doesn't my mama look so cute in her pink suit?  She's so smoochable.

Anyway, yesterday is almost over so I need to skedaddle.  Hope you are having a lovely weekend!