15 years ago. . .

at this very moment. . . .

I believe I was sitting at the kitchen table with my Aunt Georgie and Mom. Having some sort of breakfast. . . maybe. . . and I do remember coffee. . . Up at what seemed so early at the time (probably around 6:30ish. . . which is now every morning. . .). . . and realizing I had no shampoo or conditioner. . . and planning on running to Hills (do you remember that place?. . . they had the best hot dogs at their snack bar). . .

on the morning of our wedding. . .

Magic. Pure magic.

I can't believe that it was 15 years ago. . . It sounds like so long ago. . .

But I feel like this life. . . has always been this way. . . that that time before. . . was another life ago. . .

And yet, it sounds so long ago. . .And seems like yesterday. . .

The whole wedding prep thing was a nightmare. yikes. But I was determined that the wedding day would be perfect, because I wouldn't let any of that crazy stuff ruin my day.

And I didn't. It was perfect because it was the beginning. . .

Our life. . .
The one we would create together to be what we wanted.

And I can't believe it. We did it. We have created our own magic. Our own little happy kingdom in which to share our little happily ever after. And maybe the things around us aren't always perfect.

But that's OK. I love our life. I love this life that we have made together.

It sounds so very grown up. . . but I can't imagine ourselves that way. . .

I just remember that little girl fifteen years ago. The girl who cried the night before her wedding because everything was just so crazy. The girl who cried because she wasn't sure what being a wife really meant. What the whole job description entailed. . . And the dear boy who told her he didn't expect anything from her. Just that she should be herself. And that they would be happy together.

and we are. . .

I love you so very much, buddy. Thank you for asking me to be your wife.
For making my dreams come true. . .
For believing in me. . .
And making me your Queen in this happily every after. . .