Twelve Years

This weekend Andy and I celebrated our 12-year anniversary.  Twelve blessed years that I would do all over again in a heartbeat.  

And nothing could be more representative of our twelfth year of marriage then two little blonde-haired children devouring the very fancy, expensive piece of chocolate cake I brought home from our anniversary dinner. 

I had planned to enjoy it with my husband tonight after the neanderthals were in bed.  But those two can sniff a treat hiding in the house from a mile away.

And you know what?  I didn't even care.  In fact, we got more joy out of watching them eat it than we ever could have eating it ourselves.

And that's just the season of life we are in right now.  I don't get too many nights alone with my husband eating a fancy piece of cake.  But I do get nights full of a giggly seven-year-old, a half-naked four-year-old and a faithful, loving husband standing at the sink washing the dishes.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.