Eight Years

Eight years ago, Tad and I got married. We were both only 22 years old, we had only known each other for a year and a half, had only officially dated for five months, had no money, were a history major and an art history major, and were totally smitten with each other. Our journey together has taken us from BYU to upstate New York as VISTA volunteers, Boston for grad school, SLC for law school, parenthood twice (and an impending third time), and through miles of emotional and spiritual maturation.
As much as I love to think of those early days, of the intensity and sweetness of our love then, I would never trade it for what we have now. There is nobody in this world who understands the whole of me (and accepts it unconditionally) the way Tad does. I have no idea why I get to be lucky enough to have a companion who is as totally loving as Tad -- it's certainly not because I deserve it. He views my imperfections with a smile, tolerating my impassioned rants, my nagging, and my overall spiritual inferiority with what never feels like mere tolerance. There is nothing that I approach in which Tad doesn't demonstrate absolute confidence in me, something I need so much. And he's there . . .he spends time with me, with our kids, with our friends, and working on our house, despite his many commitments.
I have a hard time thinking about Tad as a dad without getting emotional. The tenderness, kindness, compassion, patience, and total love with which he treats them is an example to me and an enormous advantage to our kids. He always backs me up with them, always complements my efforts with them, and dotes on their every development while understanding their limitations and idiosyncrasies. I could not have lucked out more. I love you forever, Tad.