windinthemaples

Today, my husband is turning thirty-three years old. Next month, we'll have been together for seven of those years. He likes to think that the first time I answered his personal ad on Yahoo! or the time that I finally agreed to meet him for drinks were the smartest decisions I ever made. Time and time and time since, I have made decisions to say "Yes" to him and that string of steps entrusting him with my life, tying our paths closer together has led to the spectacular adventure, the realized dream that it is today.

He's my best friend, my copilot, my lover, the father in this little family we've crafted, the breadwinner, the heavy lifter, the companionable silence at my side. He's good down to the marrow, passionate about justice and equality, fearlessly loving and generous. He's a blaze of talent and vision, a wish-granting genie, a soft place to land, a staunch supporter, the solidest foundation I've ever felt myself to have.

Everyday of his life, I'm honored to be a part of it and insanely humbled to be that person who captured his attention, his love, his steadfast and unturning devotion. I don't know what I ever did to deserve to be so blessed. He's the knight wearing our family colors and he never fails, ever. Heady stuff.

Daniel, you'll probably never read this unless I get creamed by a bus, but know that I love you so much, appreciate you more, and am celebrating the event that was your return to this earth. You are a good man, a golden man, a much beloved man.