Eight Years

 

Earlier this month Brock and I celebrated our eight year anniversary. I was thinking about all the reasons I like being married, and one of them came to me really easily. When I got married, things that used to just be my problems became our problems.

Once, when were living in Chicago, we had been unloading groceries from our car. One of us dropped some bags right inside our front door, and then went back to get more. When we got back inside, we saw that the dog we had been watching (CJ, Brock's favorite dog of all time, may he rest in peace) had gotten into the groceries. He had found the raw chicken, ripped open the package and started tearing into one of the chicken breasts.

Brock and I looked at each other and I knew we were feeling the exact same thing. Annoyance over losing the chicken, disgust at having to clean up the mess, and worry that CJ would get sick from eating raw chicken. This situation was our problem and we were in it together. One of us couldn't say, "wow, too bad about all this," and go along their way. 

We've shared all sorts of challenges throughout our marriage, and I love that it's always been the two of us figuring out our problems. It's been a crazy eight years and I'm looking forward to what's ahead.

P.S. Here's a post I wrote for our fourth anniversary and one for our fifth