Today is my wife’s birthday.
I met her when she was just 21 years old. (I was just about to turn 23.) Thinking back, and looking at old pictures of her, she looked so very young. In her twenties, she looked like a teenager. She was petite, sweet, and cute, then; Now she’s petite, sweet, and freakin’ hot. She wears maturity well. So very well. Hubba, hubba.
We’re one of those couples like you see on TV sitcoms: dorky guy with a hot wife.
For a mother of two rambunctious boys, with all the whirlwind of activity and craziness that goes with them, she’s managed to not only hold herself together well, she’s actually gotten better through it all. She’s a great mother.
She’s a great wife, too. She’s a great cook. She’s a great organizer. She’s. . . just a great everything. I’m lucky, proud, and blessed to have her as my wife.
And if she keeps getting better with age from here on, as she has from 21 to now, good lord, she’ll be the pinnacle of God’s creations before she gets grandchildren.
Bullgrit
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