People thought we were crazy to marry in January (What about a potential Iowa blizzard?), but it was the perfect time. I wasn’t traveling for work, the church and reception site were available, and it was unlikely I’d get overheated and faint. Plus I could wear long sleeves so I could avoid blinding anyone with my pale skin. We were married the day before Super Bowl XXXIII. Chris referred to our wedding as Super Saturday.
I don’t know much about football and I’ll never pretend to – so I never referred to our wedding as Super Saturday. I didn’t know who was playing in the Super Bowl, and that was fine with me. There are a lot of things I don’t know or understand, but one thing is clear: I know why I married Chris. And I know why we’re still married.
He loves Weird Al and knows most of the lyrics to his songs.
He’s a planner like I am.
When we honeymooned in Orlando, he agreed to eat at Café Tu Tu Tango, even though he was nervous. He wasn’t an adventurous eater, but I really wanted to dine there, so we did.
He’s often mistaken for Kevin Costner.
Chris was wearing a green UNI sweatshirt when we met. My alma mater! My favorite color! Oddly enough, I’d never before seen a green UNI sweatshirt. I’ve never seen one since because UNI’s school colors are purple and gold. He must have bought the only one ever made. It was probably on clearance.
He’s good with money.
He’s the hardest working man I know. I’m proud of the business he and his partners have created. I never doubted it would become a successful venture, even in the beginning when I wondered how we were going to put food on the table.
I consider myself a good cook; however, the one recipe I haven’t perfected is ice. I never empty or refill ice trays, so he does it 99% of the time without complaining. He just rolls his eyes.
He laughs when Isaac walks out of the bathroom carrying a plunger and says, “Help please.”
He got up with the kids for years when they didn’t sleep through the night. I found him asleep in the rocking chair on more than one occasion with a baby in his arms and an empty bottle on the floor. (How could he sleep like that?)
Every Monday night he takes a few boys to the rec center so I can watch trash TV in peace.
He talks football with Henry and Noah.
When I got car sick in California when we traveled with friends, he pulled over so I could vomit on the side of scenic Highway 1. While our friends looked out at the stunning view of the Pacific Ocean, he made sure I was okay.
He and I traveled to Paris and London with only our backpacks and a Rick Steves travel guide. He trusted me to speak French to the locals.
He’s a much better navigator than I am.
He takes Isaac somewhere almost every night at 6:59 p.m.
He understands it takes me 20 minutes to get ready in the morning and 100 years to get ready for bed at night.
He made secret arrangements with my parents for childcare so we could go somewhere overnight for our anniversary.
He uses puns.
When my great-grandma met him, she turned to me and said, “Oh, he has nice teeth.” Dental hygiene is important to me, and I appreciated her stamp of approval.
He exercises regularly and has run marathons.
He didn’t pass out when the ultrasound revealed we were having twins.
He didn’t freak out when our twins were diagnosed with autism.
He didn’t run away from home when I woke him up in the middle of the night and said, “I just took a pregnancy test, and we’re going to have another baby!”
He doesn’t care if I don’t shave my legs during the winter. It gives them some color.
He is patient and kind unless he is watching an Iowa Hawkeye game.
He wears wild and crazy shirts during family holidays.
For our 9th wedding anniversary, he put on his suit. I wore my wedding dress. A friend took pictures of us on the steps of our wedding reception site. We laughed when cars drove by and honked at us.
He cried with me when my grandma died, and he laughed with me when I stood in the front of the church and told a funny story at her funeral.
I was proud of him when his best friend died in a car accident and he had the courage to go to the front of the church and tell stories about his friend who was larger than life.
He’s happy for me when my writing gets published, and he always encourages me to do more.
He knows it takes me a million years to pack my suitcase, and I won’t have it done until a few minutes prior to our departure. This drives him crazy, but he's learned that’s how I operate.
He cranks up my side of the electric blanket to high before he goes to bed. He knows if my side feels like a sauna when I crawl under the covers, it will feel just right to me.
He listens to me ramble after the kids are in bed, even when his eyelids are getting heavy.
He talked to the neighbors across the street about Isaac’s obsession with the garbage cans. While he was chatting with these young guys, they told him they have a hot tub. He’s never been over there to soak in it.
He has mechanical skills. (I have none.)
He’s the best dad I could ever have imagined for my three boys.
He helped me lead and organize an autism support group for several years.
If I’m ready to blow my top because I’m really frustrated with the kids, he’s calm. If he’s frustrated, I’m calm. It’s nice how that works. The kids should be grateful, too.
He can quote lines from Coming to America. It makes me laugh every time.
He’s a Democrat who thinks Donald Trump is the worst presidential candidate for America’s future.
He can fix all of my tech problems – and there are many – even if I don’t have much patience with him when he’s explaining everything to me.
He doesn’t mind eating spinach quiche every Thursday and pizza every Friday.
He drove the kids and me to Minnesota so we could see the largest ball of twine made by one man.
He helps with Noah’s tie before any music concert.
He didn’t file for divorce when I thawed the leftover wedding cake and ate it without him. For the record, it was delicious.
He kisses me every night before he goes to bed and tells me he loves me.
He’s the real deal.
I’m a lucky girl.