So this is love

Eleven years. As of Friday, that's how long Steve and I have been married. Somehow, eleven finds me in a more reflective mood than ten did. Maybe because last year I was too busy planning and anticipating a trip to Niagara Falls to think much about why. But eleven. Wow. I told Steve I thought for sure he'd have left me by now. I'm not sure if he thought I was kidding or not. I wasn't. I find it a daily miracle that this man continues to put up with my crap. And sometimes he actually acts like he likes it! Yes, he comes with his own unique blend of crap - things like making up bizarre and inappropriate lyrics to songs he can't sing the tune to. But for every "Awesome Pseudical" (that would be "Pour Some Sugar On Me") of his, there seems to be a "Five Hundred Children" (umm...."five hungry children" - that's from that one Kenny Rogers song) of mine. Maybe we fit together pretty well, after all.

And as further proof of that, it seems we've started a tradition for our anniversary. For the last few years, we have each given the other two cards. One a tender, romantic, sappy, wordy one. And then the real one. This year, I think we've finally reached the pinnacle. We gave each other the mushy cards on Friday - the actual anniversary. We didn't plan it that way, but there were two cards and we each picked that one to give. Saturday we had our official night out (a babysitter, dinner AND a movie - we were living on the edge!). Before bed that night (because we forgot to take them with us when we sprinted from the house screaming "FREEDOM!!!"), we exchanged the other cards. I'm actually a little scared. Because the next step is that we're going to start looking like each other, and I don't think he's going to look good with my boobs.

Mine to him:

And his to me:

The best part? We each bought the card that we should have received. Seriously. Have you SEEN his butt? Okay, but back off. He's mine.