18 years

Erik is up skiing today while I finish up the pinkalicious party. And that’s a lot of why our marriage works.

In his defense, he contacted our bank a month ago to obtain these lovely passes that throw you to the front of the lift line and include snacks, private lockers and a dip in the glorious top-of-the-hotel open-air pool and spa. Truly, a lovely anniversary plan.

But he forgot that my varicose veins in all their blue and purple glory have banned me from the slopes and the tubs(and aren’t you glad I haven’t been giving you constant updates on the gross vein procedures? You’re welcome). He stayed for the beginning of the party– slicing strawberries, painting fingernails– but I could see his eyes shifting out the window, measuring the fresh powder…

He’ll stop by Costco on the way home and tonight, we’ll probably go to a Thai restaurant, order a green papaya salad, and he’ll sacrifice the lone shrimp on top because he knows I crave it.

I’ve spent my entire adult life with this man– babies and illnesses and moves and heartbreaks and miracles. And we have so much to look forward to– graduations and weddings and grandbabies and sunny days on the ski slopes. And after that? Forever.