July twentieth

8 years ago before there were two small children and houses on farms and minivan floors covered in Goldfish crumbs,

there was this day.

There was a bride in white standing next to her groom. There were friends flanking them on both sides. There were flowers, flowing gowns and boutonnieres pinned on dapper tuxedos.

This day was the start of all that was to be.

 Bubbles were blown, pictures were taken, limos were ridden in (really junky limos we should note. Junky limos without air conditioning on this hot July day.) We ate a big dinner, cut slices of cake, danced our first dance and then bid our families and dearest friends goodbye we set off for the start of our life together.

The start of all things Mr and Mrs.

And now here we are, eight years later. Eight years, one apartment, three houses, two sweet boys, one conversion van and one minivan later.

This anniversary certainly called for celebration. This was an occasion and it called for grown up stemware. And picnic blankets in the grass.

And late evening dining in my very favorite evening spot in our yard, the place where the sun casts rays through the tree branches creating long shadows and cool shade as it dips low in the sky on its descent to the horizon.


Here we celebrated. Thankful for each other and for all of the events of life that have been sandwiched in between that wedding day in 2002 and today. And had it been our first anniversary or second or even third we would have been celebrating here just the two of us. But it's our eighth and now these two are a part of the celebration too.


The four of us ate cheese pizza from Casey's gas station in Farmer City,

and drank rootbeer from our grown-up stemware.

We stayed outside until Patrick's rootbeer spilled all over the picnic blanket and the bugs started biting, which really wasn't very long at all.
And that night before we went to bed I went to the bathroom to find my toothbrush as I have most nights since becoming Mrs. Vance; waiting for me next to the sink with a fresh smear of toothpaste on the bristles. I'm thankful for eight years of marriage to a sweet man who takes care of our family and provides for our family and who after eight years still puts the paste on my toothbrush and leaves it waiting for me.