Eight years and counting

Today is our eighth anniversary. I gave him chocolate, he made me a bracelet and a "pioneer's engagement ring." We had a pizza dinner on the deck with his parents and cake afterwards. The kids played on the slide, I watered the gardens, Selah pooped on the grass. We saw each other for a total of 3 hours that we shared with other people. Pretty ordinary day. Except it's not.

Eight years ago I was 17 and eight months pregnant, newly graduated, and moving out of my parents house for the first time. Alex had just turned twenty, was terrified at the prospect of being a father, and being financially responsible for a family. Many of the people at our wedding had spent the months before repeatedly asking if we were sure. Asking if we were being hasty because of the baby. Asking if we knew the chances of our being able to stick it out and stay married. Despite all that, our wedding was beautiful and full of hope. Everything made or tended with love. Still, people wondered.

Even now the occasional high school chum asks if I am still with "that guy." I love explaining that I have been Mrs. Alex Marriott since two weeks after we graduated and we have four children now. Eight years. Still married. Still happily, affectionately, electrically married.

In two years, we have decided, we will renew our vows and have a party. Not because our vows are dull or tainted. Not because any hint of their strength has faded. Because we want to. Because we are excited that we are still married and still want to be married. Because we aren't bored. Because not only are we still in-love, but we still really like each other. In fact we like each other more than we did eight years ago. So happy anniversary to us.