Thirteen Years

After 13 years of marriage, most of our wedding gifts have that well-worn look to them. Our lime green and cobalt blue bathroom towels are starting to fray at the edges. The duvet cover my thoughtful mother-in-law sewed for us is not as white as it used to be. The majority of the dishes we so eagerly picked out from Target are chipped and hard water-stained.┬áBut I don’t mind.

It means we’ve lived. It means we’ve packed and repacked them together as we’ve moved from city to city, starting new adventures. It means we’ve laughed while cleaning them and forgot to mind the hardness of the ceramic sink upon contact. It means we’ve allowed our children to begin learning the value of work by loading them in our lousy, ineffective dishwasher.

I looked at one of these dessert plates the other day and thought of all the chocolate chip cookies we’ve enjoyed together over the years and smiled. We could replace the dishes, I know. It’s probably time. But I love the tangible reminder that we’ve spent years together. And we have so many more to go.

Happy anniversary, Colin. It just keeps getting better, chipped dishes and all.

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