Our Space

I Love My Husband.

We recently celebrated our sixth anniversary. And that word "celebrated" should be whispered, because we celebrated very, very quietly with a deep-dish pizza dinner shared with my mother and aunt (who were in town for the week). I was desperately sick, laying on the couch racked with coughing fits...too sick to fully enjoy my box of chocolates he bought me from our local chocolate shop.

We'll really take a breath and celebrate in a month or so, when we travel to North Carolina. But for the actual date, our anniversary was a hushed affair.

Like marriage, our celebrations were manifested in small gestures. He let me watch about 32 chick-flicks this week ( P.S. I Love You, the Notebook, and Valentine's Day...now I'm so sick of sappy romances we're watching nothing but action movies and Pawn Stars for the rest of the month). And I picked up all his piles and folded his laundry. I smelled his t-shirts and made our bed.

While my mom and auntie were here they painted our bedroom. I think that is one of the nicest anniversary gifts we've ever gotten. So much better to wake up to the morning sun glowing off the sea-blue walls than the shocking goldenrod yellow that had been there.

And now it feels like our space. I read somewhere that a married woman should only put pictures of her husband in her bedroom and save the family and friend pictures for other area of the house. So I did. Filled my dresser with my absolute favorite pictures of the two of us.

Pictures from a photo booth on the Ocean City board walk.
Picture from our fifth anniversary at the Indianapolis Museum of Art.
And my favorite pictures of us laughing at our wedding.

So now it feels like our space. To be filled with small momentos and delicate gestures. To celebrate six years and to hope for many more.

Because I love my husband.