Happily ever after

Twenty years ago today, the Farmer and I got married. I meant to scan a picture from our wedding album to post today but like so many other things, it didn't get done. Phoenix got worked last night, though. You have to have your priorities.

We're not having a big celebration or anything. In fact, I'm working late tonight and will probably get carry-out pizza for supper. We might get away this weekend for a nice dinner out. Maybe. If the Farmer isn't baling hay.

I drug our wedding video out last night. Wow. We were SKINNY back then! The Farmer asked if I would still fit in my wedding dress. Maybe . . . if you didn't try to button up the back. We both had more hair back then, too. Mine was long, over-the-shoulder and very blonde. The Farmer's was . . . there.

In the last two decades, we've survived the straightline windstorm that trashed our farm in 1998 and the day in 2007 when the Farmer left baby Phoenix loose in the house all afternoon. We've had calves in the basement, bats in the bedroom and dogs everywhere. We know each other well enough to know any sentence that starts with "Honey? Can you . . .?" is going to elicit The Hairy Eyeball, followed by doing whatever is requested. This includes pulling my van out of the mud, pulling my van out of the snow and explaining (with limited patience) that the tire BLEW OUT and no, I can't just air it up and drive home. We've buried a parent together, put up with each other's eccentric relatives and lived through multiple home improvement projects. He's learned that letting the dogs out needs to be followed by letting the dogs back in. I've learned how to help back the cornplanter into the machine shed without putting a dent in the back wall. More or less.

No wonder his hair is falling out.