To my love on our 8th anniversary:
You really scared me on our wedding night when we exchanged letters in the limo. Mine was heart felt, and yours was a silly jumble of things your groomsmen wrote in a card. I didn’t think it was funny. I wondered if I married someone who couldn’t be serious when I needed it. I wondered how I missed that in my marriage material evaluation of you. But then you pulled out a second card. One with your own words and writing, and everything was good.
And then this last year happened, and it was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. But you were there every night, and you picked me and my emotions up off the floor. And you made the kids dinner so I could escape. For a run or for coffee; whatever I needed. And you rode bikes around the block with the girls when I was too sick to get off the couch or just needed to be alone to cry. And you gave good advice, even when I didn’t take it Until I heard it from my Mom or pastor. (And you endured pretending it wasn’t your idea first, too).
You carried a lot of weight this last year. The year after my Ironman. The year I was supposed to step up, but fell apart instead.
You make me better. And with you, I feel there’s nothing we can’t get through as long as we continue to put God first, each other second, then kids, then work, then play.
I promise we’ll make it to the “river on a boat” this summer. Eventually. But first, let’s have this baby.
We’ll do it all, and we’ll do it together.
I love you, you’re my favorite,
Autumn used-to-be-Ashurst-until-you-gifted-me-your-name Plourd