30 and 7
Birth-i-ver-sa-ry. noun. 1. The annual recurrence of the date on which a charming, generous and handsome young man celebrates his birthday with a slice of his own wedding cake.
Today we celebrate the accumulation of seven birthiversaries. I think we deserve medals. Allegedly copper and wool are the traditional gifts, but we are getting each other a mutual gift of drywall. It's for our master suite though, so it's... romantic, sort of?
At the risk of venturing into Duck Dynasty territory and making everyone and myself cry (darn you, Miss Kay and your heartwarming wedding vows!), I will just keep it simple and say how truly, truly thankful I am for my husband. With seven years under our belts we've definitely had some rough patches here and there, but there's absolutely no one I'd rather be doing life with. I am one blessed lady.
For you new readers, here's a fun story about how I saw a "sign" a couple weeks before our wedding and retroactively knew Ez and I were meant to be all along.
Labels: just for fun