I'm two days overdue writing this post, but that's okay, because we were actually together, sweating and laughing and spending the day being Jaja and Shitzy, Old Man River and Krissy, and writing a love letter to you to say happy anniversary didn't seem nearly as important as going on a ride and then to dinner, before passing out in front of a Rom-Com.

Before I start writing, I always wonder if the day will come that I run out of words--that I start repeating myself in these yearly love-letters, and then I remember that living the day-to-day with someone is about repetition and romance together, that the steadiness of a relationship, the solidity of a routine, and the predictabilities of a weeknight are what make a marriage sustainable. At least our marriage.

Our life is often about adventure, yes, those big trips or moments that we record so we can pull them back out over dinner and relive them, those epic and beautiful times when it feels almost like a fairytale.

But it's also about finding the monotonous and mundane schedule and demands of every day life fulfilling. And I do, Old Man River. Our life together, even those times when it ventures no further than the backyard or the couch because, Jesus, neither of us can talk to another person, is the thing I take the most joy and fulfillment from.

Even sitting at the kitchen table (that we are definitely not stripping and repainting because my friends told me how to do that today and that shit is way too involved for us) with nothing but the end of summer barreling toward us, we manage to look at the future and find adventure in the what if.

What if we can live wherever we want when Liv is done with high school?

What if you retire first?

What if I sell that teaching memoir?

What if I get a full-suspension bike and manage to get down the mountain--any mountain--without falling or crying or needing a major neck massage one day?

And what if you just did the dishes when it was your night without singing about how much you hate them and harassing me about how many pans I use?

Some of these are big ticket items--and some are not (though at the time they seem like fucking Everest). The point is, while what if can often be a phrase used to second and third guess a decision that leads you nowhere real quick, in our relationship it has become a question of reflection and anticipation, one that we often ask when we're in the car traveling, and Livvy and Luna have expressed their disinterest in family-time by putting on head phones and falling asleep (respectively). It's a question we ask when we're at the table together, just chatting, sharing about our day and something that cropped up.

And it's a question we ask when we're dreaming, when we're doing that thing where we look to the future and think, if it's been this good for sixteen years, how great will it be in sixteen more?

The answer? Fucking awesome. Obviously. Look at us--we are a goddamn hoot.

So, what if this post is two days late and has no new photos of us? I guess it just means we're living with our eyes on each other and nothing else. And that's a pretty epic way to spend 16 years.

Happy sweet sixteenth anniversary, Old Man River. Love you always.

xoxo