Till death do us part....

That translates into, until we kill each other, right?  That's the modern day take on our wedding vows?

As I mentioned in an earlier post, we had two of our apartments become vacant in the house we used to live in.  So as a result, we have been spending quite a bit of time in that house over the past month.

We're in the home stretch, almost done, thanks to an awful lot of help from my husbands parents.

The thing is, even though I couldn't be more thankful to have them, I can't help but feel guilty every time they are working on the house.  They watch our daughter all day, and then pick our son up from school, feed them, and bring them to their various activities (ballet, tae kwon do, etc), and I know if it were me, I'd have cracked by now.

But as I said, we're in the home stretch.  And not a minute too soon.  Cause I'm about to crack.

But being in our old house, where we started our family and lived for 6 years, makes me think about where we came from.  And not just the memories from that house, but from when we met, and what we've gone through together.

I was 16 when we met, he was 20 (almost 21, but I'm pretty sure I probably rounded it down when I told my mom about him).  He was such a nice, genuine guy, and I couldn't help but fall for him right away.

He had this cute little mustache (ok, it was cute then, but God help me if he decided to wear it that way now.), and his hair was longer and his cowlick over his forehead more prominent.  He lived 4 hours away from me at the time, so ours started as a long distance relationship, which when you are 16, is not easy.  Maybe that's why mom didn't mind me dating him, because I only saw him twice a month, at best.

One weekend when he came out, he surprised me with a coolerbag, full of ice, and packed inside of it was my favourite chocolate frozen yogurt, that you could only get in his hometown.  It was mostly melted from the drive, but it was, barr none, the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.  To be honest, I think that was really made me realize that I would marry this man.

We had a couple of rough patches, but then, who the hell doesn't?  We persevered, we struggled, but we fought for it, and we won.  We have a wonderful life together.  Where I am weak, he is strong.  And we have fun, and we are each others biggest supporters.

I drive him nuts sometimes.  Sometimes because we're so different.  Other times, just for the fun of it.  He has been known to be a little anal when it comes to things like, well, lets say painting a wall, for example.  Where as I, could not be less anal.  When rolling on a dark paint, someone like me may get a little paint on the blinds, on the wires, on the floor, in my hair, in my eyes.  I'm not saying that this has happened, or anything, of course.  Just a rhetorical scenario.  Someone like him might make some teasing, sarcastic remarks to the affect of "I can't believe that you got paint all over the blinds.  Way to go."  To which, someone, not me obviously, may respond, "Shaddap or I'll stab you."  See how fast this stuff escalates?

My point is that, you knew this when you married me.  You knew that I can't paint a patio without trying to schoo away a wasp, leaving a huge paint stroke up my leg, and falling off the ladder and knocking a gallon of paint into the driveway.  (True story).  You knew it's impossible to fold every load of laundry as it comes out of the dryer.  You knew I would never win awards for housewife of the year (Hence why I work outside the home for a living).  And you still put up with me.  Imagine that.

So, thanks for that.  ;)