Twenty-one years ago, I married my husband. I’d be lying if I said I remember every detail or that everything was perfect. I remember that for some, strange unknown reason, my sister and I both got our haircut that morning at the salon. I remember posing for the most god-awful photos ever while the guys staged theirs in a mock JCPenney’s catalog pose. I remember being a little nervous, but that is to be expected when you are 21 and getting married. That evening, I remember kissing the girls good-bye and piling into our old Honda Civic hatchback and driving I-70 to Indianapolis, Indiana, for a quick three nights away. We packed some clothes, the bottle of champagne and the new flutes that our friend, Prescott, had given us for a wedding present as well as the phone number for a dinner train that he recommended in Indianapolis. Along the way, we stopped for dinner at a McDonald’s and celebrated our first married dinner surrounded by families and eating chicken McNuggets and a Happy Meal.

There have been more Happy Meals than I can shake a stick at in the past 21 years, more trips in a Honda than most. And while I don’t remember every detail of the 7,671 days between the beginning of this trip, I remember having someone good and honest and pretty amazing by my side. Perfect? No . . . but then again, he didn’t marry perfect either. He married someone flawed but who moves forward with intention. Someone who tries new things because they look promising but is willing to admit that they won’t work. Someone who supports whatever choice is made because that choice is made together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Here’s to many, many more Happy Meals and trips in a Honda!

And, yes, we have taken a lot of “self-portraits” through the years. Thankfully, like a good marriage, they have gotten better as well. In order from the top: Germany (May 2012), the Bahamas (August 2011), our backyard (November 2008), London (July 2007), London (November 2006), Philadelphia (October 2005), and Oxford, Ohio (March 1992 . . . the first one).

 

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