Tomorrow will be eight years. Eight years since we gathered 13 of our closest family and friends and flew to Florida. Eight years since one of the best days of my life. Eight years since my husband and I vowed to love each other forever.
The day started out rocky. I woke up in a hotel room with no hot water. The woman that I hired to steam my dress yelled at me, my Mom and Dad got lost, my sister showed up with the worst sunburn that I have ever seen and the worst offense of all, we were running behind schedule (if you know me at all, you know that I HATE being late).
I stressed the whole way through getting ready and as the wedding coordinator walked down the hallway of the hotel with me, he asked how I was doing. I just looked at him and muttered something about being late. He replied that the time schedule was padded and we were actually early. I was later told that at that moment, I came to a complete stop, all the tension left my shoulders and a smile came across my face. The smile didn’t leave my face the rest of the day.
The guys looked handsome (yes, I made them wear tuxes in Florida, in June, to an outside ceremony)
The ceremony was beautiful
The cake was divine.
And Mickey and Minnie were loads of fun.
The day was, as the Disney folks would say, magical. And although the last eight years haven’t been perfect, they have been pretty darn magical. The last eight years have been busy. An apartment, two houses, a dog and two little boys. Add job changes and every day life in there and our lives have been jammed pack. We are beyond happy and couldn’t be more blessed.
So tomorrow we will celebrate 8 years of marriage by waking up at 2:00 in the morning, packing the car, grabbing the boys from bed and driving nine hours to the Outer Banks. I just hope that we don’t wind up divorced before we make it to the beach.
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