We have a confession. Kevin and I sometimes watch the Bachelorette. It is a bit of a guilty pleasure and something that never fails to make us laugh with its ridiculous declarations of love and unrealistic dates. It has also reminded us of something very important: despite The Bachelor/Bachelorette enterprise's conception that the best place to fall in love is in a helicopter over Figi, the best place to really fall in love is at home.
Because home is where all the joyful things happen--the birth and homecoming of our 3 children and all those precious first moments, the experiences that have brought us closer together, the holidays and special memories. And home is also the place where all the not-so-joyful stuff happens--the sleepless nights, the sick kids, the endless disciplining, the middle-of-the-night vomiting.
It is easy to say you are in love when you are flying over Figi (or, in our more realistic life--when the beautiful life moments are unfolding), but when you can be in love while you work together to clean up the vomit that cascaded down the stairs, or change another diaper, or try to talk over the dim roar of children, or discuss the impending demise of your vehicles and what to buy at the grocery store, then you are really, really in love.
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| Happy 10 year anniversary to us! |
And after 10 years of marriage and 3 kids, we can say together that there is nobody we would rather clean up vomit with. Nobody.
Now that is love.
1 comment:
That is true love... Thanks for the updated posts. You've had quite the July. I didn't realize you and the Waggoners got married so close together.
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