Jonathan: https://freemandayinthelife.blogspot.com/2019/05/not-exactly-day-in-life-spring-2012.html
William: https://freemandayinthelife.blogspot.com/2017/07/not-exactly-day-in-life-summer-2017.html
And now, our 15th wedding anniversary is on the horizon. I've been reminiscing about our marriage a lot lately and have decided a written walk down memory lane will be a grand way to celebrate this special milestone. So get ready, people! In honor of 15 years of marriage, here comes a detail-overload of how Brian and I met <3
Setting of the scene
Date: January 2003
Cast of Characters: Prince Charming, Brian (age 23)
Lovely Princess, Laura (age 23)
General background: At the ripe old age of 23, I was horridly discouraged I had not met The One. I had not dated too much as a teenager. A few short-lived boyfriends in high school and college. I knew were not The One but dated them anyway just for the sake of not being the only girl without a boyfriend. How romantic. But my heart ached for The One. I watched other people date and fall in love. I watched them do googly eyes at each other and sail off into sunsets after weddings, ready to live happily ever after. Would I ever have that? I wanted that. I wanted it desperately. But it seemed so out of reach. Who could I ever love like that? Him? Nope. That guy? Eww. What about him? Never. Was I too picky? Probably. But I couldn't give up my high standards. And of course, I was only half the issue. What about the other half? Was there someone out there who could love me like that? Someone who could see me for who I am? And love me? Want me? Forever?
For years (starting in 6th grade to be exact) I prayed for The One. I prayed God would bring The One into my life. I begged and pleaded that God would have someone for me. I prayed my little heart out that I wouldn't be destined to be single. That there would be someone out there for me. I prayed God would help me become the type of woman who would be a good wife. Help me change for the better. For The One. I desperately hoped and prayed. And feared. Feared there wouldn't be The One. What if God said no? What if that was my destiny? To go through life alone. Watch everyone else fall in love. And never have it myself. Fear. Hope. Fear. Hope. Year after year.
August 2002: I trekked across the country to start graduate school. Eager with anticipation and confident about starting a new chapter in life. California was my new home. New everything. New school. New career plans. New roommates. New friends. New scenery. I was giddy with excitement. Young, fresh, and fearless. Ready to take on the world, in all my idealistic 23 year-old glory. And best of all, this move across the country brought hope of finally meeting The One.
My mom had helped me move across the country and into my new (oh so glorious <cue: eye roll>) graduate housing apartment. It was gross. Like make your skin crawl type of disgusting. So many things about it were nasty, but that's a blog post for another time. Let's just say the nastiness of this apartment evoked repulsion in all five senses: sight, sound, touch, taste, and most of all, smell. Mmmmm. Memories. I think it was hard for my mom to leave her baby in such a slum-like dump on the other side of the country. And I was horrified by it too. But I was ready. Ready for this new chapter of excitement. And ready for the ultimate hope to come true. Perhaps living in this dump would bring me one step closer to meeting The One. Maybe he was out here somewhere. Maybe our paths were about to cross.
September 2002: Nope. After attending the graduate program for a month, the answer was an emphatic nope. A few guys were enrolled in the program. Nice guys. Great guys. Quality guys. But nope. Discouragement started creeping in. I remained enthusiastic about school and the choice to move out to California. I loved my new friends. I was eating up my coursework like a starving baby. I felt alive. And loved life. But the hope of meeting The One was slipping away. Quite obviously, The One was not part of this graduate program. Fear was creeping in. Fear that The One did not exist for me. I watched other girls flirt and bat their eyelashes at guys. They looked so happy. Like they were having so much fun with the dating life. Some of them fell in love. It was sweet to watch. But how? How did that happen so easily for people? They made it look effortless, like their match made in heaven just plopped into their life from a Hollywood romcom. Was there anyone for me? As Freddy Mercury said, "Can anybody find me ... somebody to love?"
December 2002: I'm done. Done hoping. Done praying. I couldn't be more pleased with my first semester of grad school, but I am discouraged with dating. I prepare to end the semester go back to Chicago for Christmas. And in preparation, I pray my last prayer for The One. It goes something like this. Dear God. I'm done asking for The One. I've prayed for many years. I've worked on myself for many years. I'm not finished becoming a better person. But I'm finished asking you for this person. You must be sick of hearing it anyway. And I am ready. I am ready for The One. I am ready for marriage. I am ready. And now I will wait. If you disagree that I'm ready, then you'll have to do something about that. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm ready. I will not waste my energy or bother you with these pleas any more. This is the end of my asking. Thank you. The end.
January 2003: I return to California after a lovely Christmas break back home. I reunite with new graduate school friends. One of them, Jeff, mentions several times that I might like his friend, who was his undergraduate roommate. Sure thing, Jeff! Sign me up! But nothing comes of it, and I never meet this old roommate friend. Whatever. My girlfriends and I get serious about this whole boyfriend situation, or lack thereof. About 5 of us girls decide we need to take action and do something about meeting new men. We hem and haw about where to meet new guys. Bars? Too trashy. Beaches? Too hard to talk with strangers. Church? Total meat market! Yes! We research local church singles groups and settle on one. We will attend their next singles group and treat it for exactly what it is: a meat market.
A few days later, the 5 of us get all gussied up in our most appropriate meat market attire and head toward the place. We walk into a conference room type of setting. A worship band set up front. Dim lights. Round tables scattered throughout the room. People mingling everywhere. The 5 of us stay tight, which kind of defeats the whole meat market intention but keeps us more comfortable. I start eying the place. Hmmm. Interesting. People everywhere. Mmm hmm. Ok. 20-somethings scattered around everywhere. Flirty conversa <schreeeeeeeech! cue: record player needle scratches the life out of a disc> Who ... is ... THAT?!?!
Over the crowd, I see a tall and slender young man with blonde spiky hair. My heart begins fluttering. Hormones and pheromones begin flooding in ways that only desperate single folk in their 20s understand. Wowzers! Him. I must meet him. I must ... wait a minute. Who is he standing with? Dadgummit. A blonde beachy looking young gal. Of course. They're probably a couple. Yep. Great, thanks universe. Awesome.
I try my darndest to not eye-stalk him. I look around and feign interest in the horridly repetitive worship music. Spiritual antennae are surrounding me, but all I can think about is this guy. He's with a Barbie doll, but I can't help myself. I sneak more looks. Maintain total inconspicuous stalking. He is so dreamy and handsome. He turns to the side. Wait a minute. What ... what's going on there? Hmmm. His profile is a challenging one. What exactly? What is happening on his face? I try not to glare, but I need to see his face up close. Something is going on there.
There is finally a break in the program and time for mingling. Meat market is open for business! I leave my girls and do a casual walk to the beverage station, cool and confident as if I have no other care in the world except to get a styrofoam cup of water. Don't mind me, people. I'm interested in water. Waltz waltz. Get the water and do an incognito examination of this guy's profile. Ok. Data collected. Head back to girlfriends. Begin processing the data. Arrive at conclusion: this amazingly handsome young man's face has interesting additions to his cheeks. Decorative sideburns? Yes, I believe that's what's happening. They go from his hairline straight down his cheek (like normal burns), then very thin lines of hair extend from the traditional burns across his cheeks, ending at the corners of his mouth. Like pinball machine handles of some sort. Hmmmm. What the? I've never seen that. I don't get it. Is that some new California style? Or an established style this old-fashioned girl has never noticed? I'm not sure. And I'm not sure about this guy. I mean, to wear hair on your face like that must be significant. It says something about his style. And style is related to personality. He must be edgy. Yes, that's it. I see this person from across a crowded meat market, and I have him pegged with complete accuracy. Damn it. I'm not into edgy. My girls and I leave the meat market, disappointed in the lack of prospects.
One week later: We return to the meat market. We likely all have some pushy single girl hormones nudging us back to the meat market. But we take the cognitive route and justify our return by acknowledging how important second chances are. It wouldn't be right to dismiss this place based on one visit, right? We re-enter the dimly lit conference room with creepy worship music. And within seconds, I see him. Gasp! I skip a breath. My heart flutters. He's here again. Breathe. Breathe. Eye stalking. He turns. Oomph. They're here again too. Those burns. Hmmm. Curious. I don't really get them. Dang, why does he have to be an edgy type? He is so unbelievably handsome. Throughout the meat market, I try not to look. But I can't help myself. I sneak looks off and on. I want to meet this edgy handsome guy. I look for an opportunity during the mingling time, but there is no natural opening for that. Ugh I despise dating. My girls and I exit the meat market, disappointed in the lack of interactions.
One week later: I feel gross. I had weighed myself at home during Christmas and was shocked and astounded by the scale. Ewwww! That fall semester of graduate school had caught up to me. Living off Eagle's Nest Pizza Hut and free refill Coke somehow resulted in weight gain. Who would have guessed? I feel bloated and sluggish. Just gross. Time to burn some calories and get back to normal. I throw on some rags and head to the university gym. The eliptical is not very difficult. But I sweat my face off due to the excess pounds. Ahhh, it feels kind of good to move again. I become determined to keep up the exercise habit and get my food back on track. Ok. First workout is in the books. I check the time and realize it's getting close to the time for my friends' birthday party that evening. Hem and haw about the time and what to do. Go home and spend an hour getting myself all gussied up? Be late to the gathering and miss out on conversation due to showering and blow drying? Nah. I feel like these people are my siblings after spending all-day every-day together for a semester. I don't want to miss out. And they won't care if I'm not gussied up. I decide to go straight to the gathering, all sweaty and gross. Throw on clean clothes and head to Kelly's.
Arrive at Kelly's apartment. Enjoy chatting with the girls. Happy birthday Kelly! Some of the guys are there too, and we chit chat. Eat appetizers and sip on something off and on. Super casual and fun. I love these people and feel right at home. It's also Jeff's birthday, and we all thought he'd be here for this dual birthday thing. But he isn't here. I talk with the girls about my new plan for exercise. If I make it public, then I'll have to keep it up, right? About an hour into things, the front door opens. Here's Jeff! Yay! Happy birthday Jeff! And there's .. omg ... omg ... oh ... my ... GOD. Someone is behind him. A tall, handsome, blonde spiky haired young man ... omg I'm going to pee my pants ... gasp ... I cannot believe this is happening ... what ... how ... is it the same church guy ... oh dear lord, the sideburns ... it IS him. God Almighty, it's HIM! How is this happening? How is the world such a small place? Omg ... brain is processing at lightening speed while this handsome fellow walks through the door in slow motion. I remember Jeff mentioning I might like his undergraduate roommate. Is this? Could this be? They are arriving at this party together, so they are clearly friends. Whatever, it doesn't matter. He's here! Damn it to hell, why didn't I shower and make myself decent?! I am disgusting! But it's too late. They enter the room. My heart is pounding out of my chest. Everyone is greeting Jeff with birthday wishes, but I cannot stop staring at his friend. His smile is huge and lighting up the whole room. Jeff makes a few introductions between the psychology folk and this new guy. I am toward the back of the room and get skipped over. Dang it! But I wouldn't be able to speak anyway. My brain is processing at lightening speed, but I couldn't formulate a comprehensible sentence if my life depended on it. It's him. It's the guy. Sideburns guy!
Ok. I will meet him tonight. I will. It didn't happen at the meat market. But there's no excuse tonight. I will meet him. Settle down, brain. Settle down, body. Breathe. Breathe. I quickly mention to a girlfriend I'm chatting with that I recognize this guy from the meat market. A couple single girl giggles ensue. But before any respectable length of time has passed, I notice something. Something disturbing. A semi-circle. Yes. Within seconds of his entry, a semi-circle of desperate 20-something single ladies has formed. This semi-circle has pushed Sideburns Guy into a corner of Kelly's living room. He's in the corner, looking out into the room. And 6-8 single ladies have trapped him. Like animals on the hunt, they have surrounded him like prey. Enclosed him with their semi-circle, with no hope of escape. Shit, they moved fast.
I continue to stay back. I mingle with my guy friends. I likely terrify them with my unshowered presence. But I don't care. I cannot focus on anything but him. Sideburns guy. I try to be nice and track small talk conversations with these friends. Uh huhs. Oh reallys. Chit chat. Snack on apps. Throughout all of this, the single lady semi-circle is cackling. So many laughs. So many eyelash bats. Hormones are practically visible in the air. Sideburns guy is smiling big through all of this. And we keep catching eyes. I am smiling and courtesy chuckling in my chit chat convos, but I am really smiling at Sideburns guy. He is so tall, his head is in plain view over the semi-circle. Nothing blocking my view, which is perfect. We catch eyes off and on for about 30 minutes, which seems like an eternity. I start realizing how much time has elapsed. I absolutely must meet him tonight. Must. Meet. Tonight. There is no excuse. I will not allow this opportunity to slip through my fingers. Will not. A second of panic starts creeping in. This semi-circle has not loosened an inch since the second he set foot through the door. The pack of female hyenas is not letting up any time soon on its catch of the night. Heart rate increases. What if they never let up? What if there's not an opening for me? I must meet him. Must. What if the time keeps passing? What if he leaves? And I never get the chance to meet him? Heart rate getting faster. Breathe. Breathe. Ok. Give it a minute, Laura. The single ladies will eventually disburse. Or the fresh meat will make his own break and escape the semi-circle. Give it a minute.
A minute passes. I can't take this anymore. In a burst of impulsive confidence, I take one last sip of Dr. Pepper. Half-slam it on a table. Rudely leave my guy friend mid-sentence. And make my way to the semi-circle. I literally use my arms to part two hyenas and barge my way into the semi-circle. I boldly interrupt the eyelash bats and single lady cackles. Hi! You're the Sideburns Guy! In 1987, Baby was completely mortified by her "I carried a watermelon" introduction. But I don't give a darn about mine. I sound ridiculous, and I don't even care. I'm meeting him. He pauses briefly and chuckles, a bit confused. We extend hands to shake, and I explain I had seen him at the church group. That he stood out to me with his sideburns. He laughs graciously, and we exchange a proper introduction. His name is Brian. What a great name. Brian. We are both smiling from ear to ear, eyes locked. We begin chatting about things I don't remember. We chat and smile. Laugh. Eyes locked the whole time. There is chemistry exuding. Minutes pass, and he is a delight. An absolute delight. I don't get an edgy vibe at all, despite the burns. More smiles and chats. Throughout all this, the semi-circle slowly dissolves. It is painfully obvious there is something special happening between the two of us. One by one, the hyenas exit the pack. There are no 'goodbyes'. No 'nice to meet yous'. No nothing. Just silent individual exits. Until it is just him and me. Sideburns Guy and me. Brian and me. We continue chatting and smiling for quite a while. And the conversation is so easy. But at some point, I realize I don't want to act like a desperate hyena out for the kill. I don't really want to leave, but I also don't want him to feel trapped. Plus, having grown up in conservative Christianity, including the Purity Movement, this whole thing reeked of being improper. The man is supposed to initiate. The one with a penis is the leader. Duh. I have no regrets about barging into the semi-circle. None whatsoever. I feel no smidge of embarrassment or concern that I acted out of place. I feel bold and empowered. Proud of myself for not letting this opportunity slip through my fingers. And also somewhat proud of myself for breaking the rules of the weird cultural traditions I was raised. Brian is so handsome, and the conversation is so easy. I could stay there forever. But I don't want to be a hyena. So at some point, I excuse myself. Try to allow him space. I mingle with other friends and relish in the relief that I've finally met this amazing person. We both move around the gathering, chatting and laughing. And we continue to catch eyes throughout all of it. He is so ... incredible.
At some point, however, another wave of panic creeps in. Gulp. This party is coming to an end soon. But I must see Brian again. I must! I cannot allow this party to be the last time I see him. Cannot! Think, brain. Think. I frantically try to develop a plan. How can I see him again. Ok. Calm down. Think. I don't want to ask for his phone number. I have never done that before. And I think it would be awkward. No. But something. I don't want to ask him on a date. That's too much. I have also never done that before. And it would be horridly awkward. It needs to be something casual. Something with other people around. Something social. Think think think. A party. Yes. Something like this. Ok what's happening next weekend? Any parties? I could invite him. Yes. That will do. I will invite him to a party. Ok what party? I quickly start flittering around the room, asking people what parties are happening next weekend. Dead ends. There are no parties. But one of the guys says something about Superbowl Sunday being next weekend. I know literally nothing about football. No interest whatsoever. But I don't care. That's my in. Ok friends. Who is having a Superbowl party next weekend? Crickets. No one volunteers. Ok fine, that's it. I am having a Superbowl party. Yep. That's it! I'm having a Superbowl party. I begin moving around, announcing this to everyone. I check in with a few girls, you can be there, right? I need to invite that Sideburns Guy. You can come, right? The hyenas could tell something magical happened between us. It was so obvious. Unmistakable. They knew. Everyone knew. I sense their disappointment that their hunting efforts had yielded nothing but another night of lonely singleness. But I also sense their supportive friendship and excitement for me. They get it. They agree to be at the Superbowl party. I am relieved to have this plan. Knowing it won't be a bust, I am ready to invite Brian.
The energy at the party begins to shift. People begin shuffling things into the kitchen, doing some quick tidying. I realize the end is near, and another quick wave of panic creeps in. Gasp. He can't leave yet! I need to invite him to this Superbowl party! I wrap up a conversation and turn toward the living room. As I turn, I am met by him. Brian! He has come across the room to me this time. I am so happy to talk with him again, I don't even spend time processing how awesome it is that he intentionally approached me. Our smiles are so wide, all our molars are showing. My cheeks hurt. We talk some more about things I don't remember. Other people are buzzing around, winding down this get-together. But all the background noise is muffled to me. They're all moving in slow motion, and I don't care what's happening. Brian is such a delight. I could easily talk with him all night and never feel like a minute has passed. He is so ... wonderful. I eventually bring up the Superbowl party. The chemistry between us is so unbelievable that I don't even worry about him saying no. I have some type of confidence I have never felt before. Just going for it. I know it. I want it. I will get it. And he responds with an enthusiastic "sounds great!" Although I am confident, it is all so surreal. Is this happening? Is it really happening? I am on cloud 9 and have no other care in the world. I am talking with Sideburns Guy, who turns out to be completely amazing and not edgy at all, and he is now coming to a Superbowl party at my apartment next weekend.
Shit. My apartment. Eewww. My sick-ass, nauseatingly disgusting, mold-filled, loaded with roommates' hairballs, non-air-conditioned graduate school apartment. Great. I can barely bring myself to sleep in my apartment. Having a party in that place? Not a great idea. But my cloud 9 daze and frantic attempt to create an invitation for Sideburns left me negligent in fully thinking through the details of this invitation. Dang it. But it's too late. It's happening. Superbowl party at my apartment next weekend. And Brian will be there. Immediately following his "sounds great" response, he reaches into his pocket. And out comes ... wait for it ... this was before the days of social media ... before the days of smart phones ... this was in the days of ... a flip phone. Yes. He pulls a flip phone out of his pocket. And with one hand, he gracefully uses his thumb to flip that phone open like a hot knife through butter. He is so smooth. Like butter smooth. Too smooth, actually. He asks for my number with an adorable grin. I am ecstatic. I give him my number, and he enters my contact into his flip phone one-handed. I am impressed and ecstatic. But this is all so smooth. Too smooth. How is he doing this so easily? Without any hesitation, I develop a grave realization. I know it. He's so smooth with this flip phone thing because he probably has hundreds of girls' numbers in there. He probably enters a new number every night, and I'm just one of many. <head shake> Snap out of it. I do wonder how he has such talented one-handed flip phone skills, but I resume our delightful conversation and thoroughly enjoy our big smiles.
Eventually, folks are saying goodbyes and more happy birthdays. People begin making their exits. Kelly quickly grabs her camera (cameras were separate from phones in those days). She begins snapping photos of people and small groups before it's too late with everyone gone. Wait! Wait! Lemme get your picture before you leave! She bustles around and gets some pictures. She gets to Brian and me. Like the genius she always is, she naturally and quickly suggests getting a group photo with us and the two birthday friends -- Jeff, Kelly, Brian, and Laura. Absolutely brilliant. I could kiss her for capturing this snapshot of (what turned out to be) the best day of my life. The day I met The One.
One week later: I do my absolute best with my horrifying apartment. I spray air fresheners everywhere. I clean. I scour. I try to hide the repulsion. I have been obsessing about Brian all day every day. I hope he comes to this Superbowl party. I really hope. But I am nervous. So nervous! I had no nerves at all the night of Kelly and Jeff's birthdays. The whole meeting was such a surprise, I didn't have time to be nervous. But now I do. I am so nervous. What if he doesn't come? Yeah, that's a good possibility. He might not come. I might not ever see him again. I hope that's not the case, but you never know. Cleaning. Hustle bustling. Check the time. Ok, one hour until Superbowl. Breathe. Breathe. Clean. Tidy up. Straighten. Oh! Superbowl! We need a TV for that! In all my eager anticipation of creating this event with the sole purpose of seeing Brian again, I totally forgot that we have no TV. Gah! I run into my roommate's room. Do you have a TV in here? Omg she does. It's an 11-inch black&white TV with a bunny ear antenna on top. Ok that will do. Can I borrow your TV?! Can I move it into the living room?! She agrees but mutters something in Korean under her breath as she unplugs it. I suspect she is annoyed with me, but I will deal with her later. I can't have a Superbowl party without a TV. Pick up the TV and walk it into the living room. Halfway into the room ... diiiiiiiiinng donnnnnnnng. Ok. Set the TV down. A little sweaty from all the hustle bustle. It must be our other roommate or a neighbor or something. The party doesn't start for another hour. I am tempted to ignore it, so as not to lose even one minute of de-grossing this place. But I decide, no, I better see who it is.
Gasp. Omg. Is this real? Holy shit. It's Brian. He is by himself. In a tight black t-shirt. That blonde hair all spiky. Heart skips a beat. Breath is short. Hiiiii!!! I'm glad you made it! Come on in! We greet each other with those giant smiles, eyes locked again. Once again, I am all sweaty and gross. The first time from the gym and now from cleaning. I was going to freshen myself up before the big event, but he came an hour early. Why can't I interact with this wonderful person when I'm at least half-way decent? But whatever. I am quickly swept away by his dazzling good looks. He gives me that sense of confidence like I felt when I busted through the semi-circle. I am so delighted to have an hour of time with him before the others arrive. Our chemistry is off the charts. I don't know that I would call it flirting, though. Just smooth conversation with beaming smiles and eye contact. Not really flirting or wooing. Just easy and fun back and forth conversation. I am on cloud 9.
The Superbowl party does commence. People arrive and do the typical party thing. Throughout all of it, Brian and I chat, smile, and exchange eye twinkles. It is so obvious that something is happening between the two of us. A blind person could see our chemistry in the air.
We go on to have our first date soon after the Superbowl party. He takes me out for pizza and beer in Balboa. We both order beer flights, and he looks at me with pleasant surprise. That's right, Sideburns Guy. I not only eat pizza; I also drink beer. I continue to have confidence with him like I've never had before. I am myself. I have nothing to hide. And even with giddy excitement, I am 100% comfortable. We ride the ferry across to Balboa Island. We walk around all evening, talking and smiling. Getting to know each other. He asks thoughtful questions, as if he is truly curious about who I am. At one point, he asks me 'what's something that makes you mad?' I have no memory of how I responded, but I love that he asked that question. No one has ever asked me that before. And it's an excellent question. The conversation is magical. He is magical. Soon after our first date, we begin talking with each other over the phone (this was before the days of text messages). We also fall into a pattern of weekly dates. It is amazing. It is easy. I never tire of him. Never get bored. As time goes on, we fall in love. We get engaged. We get married.
And now here we are, 15 years into our lifetime together. It feels like yesterday that I busted through the semi-circle. Yet it also feels like that was a lifetime ago. I cannot imagine life without Brian. He is The One for me. All those years of hoping and praying for The One. All the fear that God would never have One for me. And now, it feels like Brian has always been part of my life. We have grown up together. We were mere kids at the time we met. And even when we got married -- kids. We have gone through quite a lot together, and we are better for it. I am a better person because of Brian. Life has not always been fun and easy like the early cloud 9 days. Life has hurled trauma at us. Grief. Unwanted surprises. Attachment challenges. There have been times of learning to overlook the other's idiosyncrasies. Times of secretly rolling our eyes with irritation. There have been times when we don't know what to say to one another. Times we both have tears welled up in our eyes, but we have no words of loving support to offer. There have been nights when we absolutely do let the sun go down on our anger. Times when we are so damn hurt by each other we could just spit. Our life together is not always rainbows and heart emojis. But that's life. And life has also brought us many amazing fun times together. Times of trying new things together and feeling that sense of glee that adventure brings. Times of laughing so hard we can't breathe and have happy tears streaming down our faces. Times of watching each other succeed and feeling like our hearts will burst with happiness for the other. Times of resolving conflicts and being understood in ways no one else in the universe has understood us. Times of humility and being accepted in the depths of vulnerability. Times of (literally) watching our genes get mixed together (in petri dishes). Times of seeing each other in our children. Times of crawling in bed at the end of long days, exhausted, yet delighted with the life we've built. Times of dreaming about the future and what life will bring over the next 15 years. That's life too. Life is all of it. And I want to go through life with Brian.
I love you, Brian W Freeman, with all my heart. All my heart! I love who you are. I love the man you are. I love the father you are. I love seeing the boys want to copy your every move. I love how you help me be a better person. You are amazing. You were amazing the day I busted through the semi-circle. And you are even more amazing as we have built a life together. Happy 15th Anniversary to the love of my life. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part. I am yours. Cheers to many more years of life together.
