Maybe this is a few days late, but I’ve been a little busy being cranky having to return to the real world.

That, and Taco has NOT SHUT UP since we’ve been home. I mean, really. The day we got back, Taco meowed incessantly. Even when he was half asleep, he was croaking out meows. I’m sure he missed us and all, but you can SHOW us. We don’t need to hear it. It’s died down a little since then but he’s still way too loud for my tastes.

Anyway. Honey. Happy anniversary. I’m writing this because I still haven’t given you the card I bought months and months ago and then forgot.

I knew you were a keeper when I still liked you after two weeks. I can’t believe how long ago that was. I appreciate that you do things like get me the fries I so desperately crave because Aunt Flo is in town even though it makes your pizza cold. And that you’re such a good daddy to the boys. Mostly when no one’s looking, but I know.

You’re my bestie. You know me better than anyone on this earth. It annoys the crap out of me sometimes because I can only bullshit you when you’re feeling generous and allow it. I’m amused that you vaguely accept me being PigPen when you love clean so much. I assume that you’ve finally understood that the mess is in my genes and no matter how hard I try, I WILL get crumbs all over. And I try to accommodate your “man cave” weekends with the curtains drawn (sometimes) even though I would live in a house built of windows if I could.

I would say I look forward to growing old with you, but it seems we’re already doing that. I’m not sure whether this is what aging is like normally or if we just prematurely age each other by being pains in each others’ asses. But I wouldn’t be happy with it any other way. You keep me on my toes and I love that. I’m up for 10 more if you are. I heart you.