Yesterday was my husband and my 12th wedding anniversary.

Twelve years ago yesterday afternoon, I stood beside Boo and promised to love him forever.

I did not, however, promise to obey him. Why start out the marriage with a blatant lie? The only thing I obey is traffic laws and that’s iffy at best.

It’s hard to believe the two of us have managed to kill celebrate twelve successful years of married life. Especially when one takes into account I couldn’t stand the man when he was six year old, wearing a brown and orange horizontal striped shirt and begging to take me out for a horse back ride.

Harder still to believe I haven’t killed him yet. Especially since I’ve been known to hurl hammers at his head from time to time. The man has quick reflexes.

This morning, the first morning of our thirteenth year of marriage, I am rather dazzled by the fact the same man has loved me for all of this time. Still loves me and still can make me laugh like no other and make my heart thump in my chest.

I am a lucky gal, yo.

So for today, for just this once, I’m breaking my husband’s rule of not plastering his face on the internet and letting you into our lives together as the Redneck Marital Unit.

I told you, I never was any good at the whole ‘obeying’ thing.

(14 weeks pregnant with Frac. I am KLASSEE.)

I love you for knocking me up with back to back pregnancies. Every woman should know the joys of trying to breastfeed a four month old baby while fighting off morning sickness. Since I have no recollection of ever getting romantic with you after our daughter’s birth I’m totally blaming you for our son’s conception. You may deny it to this day still, but I totally believe you had sex with me while I was sleeping. I would never be dumb enough to get pregnant that quickly. 

Really.

Boo with Bug at the hospital.

I love you for the way you are with our children. The way you chase them around the house while making monster sounds or how you give them whisker rubs until they beg for mercy. I love you for the way you teach them to be independent adults, even if that means making them stand outside in the pouring rain with you as they each change a tire and it’s brake pads. I love you for all the nights you held our crying babies in the crook of your arm and rocked them until they fell asleep so that I wouldn’t loose my mind. I love you for the way you supported and fought with me to expand our family and bring Jumby home.

I especially love the way I just have to threaten to call you and suddenly our children morph from three horned devil children into obedient little angels.

You should know that no matter how many times you tell me you are just resting your eyes, I know you are napping on the job. The snoring gives it away. Sorry dude.

I love you for always having my back and not being scared to beat anyone who looks sideways at me.

Even if that means sitting on them and tickling them until they pee.

You are my pitbull, baby. I like it when you show me your teeth. Rawr.

I love you for all the spiders you have squished and snakes you have held. Because this just means I don’t have to have anything to do with them other than grab my camera.

I am a pansy and you like me that way.

I love you for always busting your butt to make sure things get done around here. Even if that means redoing them twice because I didn’t like how it turned out the first time. Even if it means that I distract you just as you are swinging a rubber mallet and end up completely shattering your middle finger. 

I still feel bad about that. But in my defense, you really should watch what you are doing when swinging tools around.

I love that when I have a problem that I can’t (or more accurately: won’t) fix you always man up and take care of things for me. Even if that means having to crawl underneath our deck to remove a very large wasps nest because I am scared of being stung. 

It warms the cockles of my heart to know you will willingly take a stinger for me. 

I love you for your willingness to chase wildlife around our yard just to get a photo for my blog. You didn’t grumble (much) when a family of geese honked under our bedroom window one Sunday morning and interrupted our marital mattress dancing session. You didn’t even grumble (much) when I pushed you out of bed and tossed you the camera and made you scramble into some pants so that I could get a picture of the goslings to show the kids.

Your willingness to delay personal gratification for your wife’s whims makes me want to get bendy with you.

I love you for all the times you have taken over kitchen duty so I wouldn’t have to. 

And I love you even more for never slapping my hand as I sneak a fresh slice of meat before dinner is served and lecture me about ruining my dinner. Or at least I would if you would stop that shit.

I love you for thinking I’m beautiful even when I look like this. Or when I’m wearing grubby jeans and digging in the garden. And I thank you for all the times you have overlooked my hairy legs.

Nothing says true love like offering to braid your wife’s leg hairs for her.

I love you for loving me even when I drink orange juice straight out of the carton or whipped cream from the can. 

I will love you even more if you would stop putting empty milk jugs back into the fridge though.

Just sayin’.

I love you for putting up with all my twattiness, craziness, quirks and foibles for the past twelve years of marriage and even more time before that. I love you for the strength you have given our family and the love you continually shower us all with.

I love you for always coming back home with a smile, a bag of dirty laundry and a waggle in your eyebrows.

But the reason I really, really love you:

You are a very talented man.

Wink, wink.

Thanks for marrying me. I’m a very lucky lady.

(Waggles eyebrows.)