Who’s hand do you want to be holding?

It started with a cheesy move and a simple number on a piece of paper. Now here we are 10 years of marriage and three kids later. Older, greyer and definitely with bigger bags under our eyes. We didn’t know that our life would end up like this; we sure didn’t plan it like this. But I’ve always known that we shared the same goals and that it was his hand that I wanted to be holding on this journey.

When we were first married, someone told me that there would be long hard years of marriage. When I was younger, years did feel long and the thought of having long tough ones was something I was not interested in doing. However, when we first got married, we did have a few tough years as we learned the dance of a marriage. I always knew he was the one, but I was still young and floating through life unsure of where to land, but he never was. He was grounded and had already landed when we met. As I’ve gotten got older, the years seem to whiz by. The hard ones definitely feel shorter and the great ones have started to feel longer.

So while we are in the trenches of raising children and some day’s between dance and t-ball, and work there are few glimpses of our cheesy simple love, it is his hand that I focus on. His hand, that when I’m 80 years old sitting in my rocker watching the sunset, it is his hand that I will still be holding.


One rainy autumn evening around 10 years ago I thought I was taking a chance and giving this beautiful waitress my phone number….Well I fell in love.

And with the blink of an eye.. today I woke up with 3 beautiful kids and an amazing wife (the waitress).
Looking back we like to talk about our love and all the things in our memory we have done, the risks and chances taken together, the moves and changes we made as a couple.

We still talk and dream about all the things we get to do together now as a family in love. Time goes by so fast.
Love is what you make it. Drive fast and take chances but don’t forget to smell the roses on the way that’s how some memories are made.




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