five years

Five years ago today I married the love of my life.  It was unexpected, the relationship we began building almost ten years ago, but clearly meant to be.  Lofton was not my plan for myself, at least not in the Fall of 2001, he was a party boy with roaming eyes.  But certainly it was God’s plan for us to be together, I believe that 100 percent. 

bliss

I often call Lofton my prince, and he is, most days.  Truthfully though, five years of marriage has taught me that I don’t live in a fairytale.  Marriage ebbs and flows.  You have to give more than you take, and work to keep things chugging along.  It’s easy when it’s just the two of you, add a child into the mix plus two demanding jobs, and whew!

I try to set a goal for myself each year, a secret {now non-secret} marriage goal. 

unpacking after the honeymoon

My goal for year four of marriage was to be less nagging about the little stuff.  So what if Lofton doesn’t always put his dishes in the dishwasher, or turn his shirts right side out before he throws them in the hamper? I can live with those things if it means keeping us from fussing at each other.  Don’t sweat the small stuff, right?

Year five brings a new goal:  To communicate with Lofton as much as possible about my frustrations.  Not the little stuff, like dirty dishes, but the big stuff, like I sometimes need Lofton to help me transport Reese to and from school.  I have a tendency to keep the big things to myself.  Then they build, I become frustrated, and I snap.  I think it’s a woman thing.  We overload ourselves with work, and kids, and chores—then never ask for help BUT expect help.  I keep repeating to myself, “Lofton is not a mind reader, Lofton is not a mind reader.”

too old for late nights

My prince and I aren’t big on elaborate celebrations or grand romantic gestures.  I’m not even sure we’ll go to dinner.  I actually think on our first anniversary we ate Olive Garden take-out.  I just don’t need that fancy stuff to know Lofton loves me.  I’ll probably cook, we’ll drink a glass of wine, stare at the twinkly Christmas tree lights, and reminisce about how far we’ve come in five years.  Two degrees, successful jobs, one house, and a beautiful baby boy later we aren’t doing too shabby. 

Cheers to five years, sweet husband.  I love you.