My entire life I heard “don’t get married in July, it’s so hot.” So, in my ONLY rebellion against my parents, I got married in July. In their defense, on their wedding day it was nearly a hundred degrees, there was no air conditioning, and times were different then.
Times were fifty years ago.
Today my parents are celebrating 50 years of marriage. Think about that. Half a century of
putting up with loving the same person, through thick and through thin. Five decades of love and laughter and fart jokes (what, just my family?). Spinning around the sun fifty times in a row, teaching their kids through example how to love and how to live and how to be married.
FIFTY YEARS, PEOPLE!
Yeah, I just hit the big 20 year mark, but that’s piffle compared to FIFTY YEARS OF MARRIAGE. They’re so cute together. Dad is tall, mom is a squirt. Dad is quiet, mom is vivacious. I adore them both, and see the best parts of them in me, and now also in my boys.
When I think of how many times in the last 20 years I’ve wanted to wring my husband’s neck, or how many times I’m sure he’s wanted to wring mine, 50 years is huge. HUUUUUUUUGE.
And yet, he and I are the children of two sets of parents who made it to 50 years, dropped the mic, and kept on going.
Happy Anniversary, dear parents. Fifty is a big deal. Love you guys.