Where has the time gone?

Tomorrow will be my thirteenth wedding anniversary.
Okay, our thirteenth wedding anniversary. (But aren't anniversaries, just like weddings, all about the bride/wife? I thought so!)
Thirteen years ago, I was busy trying to not run to Mexico as the pre wedding jitters took hold. I mean, I was nineteen years old, in college, and getting married? What was I thinking? I remember thinking I was going to puke all over my wedding gown, that much I remember distinctly.
Luckily, I wasn't thinking too hard.
I didn't run. I didn't blow chunks on myself or The Soon To Be Husband.
I stood there, in front of God and our selected family and friends, swearing to love and honor him--not obey. If I'd promised to obey, I'd have broken that vow within the first five minutes.
I don't remember the ceremony. I went into shock, and all I remember is taking a few steps and then being hugged in congratulations. (The ceremony was videotaped, so I know I didn't promise to obey. Covered my bases there.)
Thirteen years, four pregnancies, three kids later, I have to say I'm not sure what I would do without The Man. Some days, I think I'd like to try for five minutes, an hour tops, but when the kids started fussing, I know I'd want him back super fast.
And I might just miss himself myself.
Might being the formative word.
The Man has seen me at my best and worst--and he thinks I'm beautiful and hot.
And he likes to buy me things. When I let him.
And he cooks and cleans and cares for kids.
Admittedly, he does do things that drive me to distraction and thoughts of homicide, like leaving his socks laying around and not putting the cap on the toothpaste.
He waits until I'm soaking a bubble bath to have to use the restroom.
He occasionally rolls over in the middle of the night and breathes on me.
He eats Chex cereal with vinegar. Hell, he eats anything with vinegar.
He loves sports. Which means he's a sick puppy. Really sick. And he plays fantasy football. He needs therapy. Serious therapy.
But The Man is a great daddy, which is very sexy to the little wifey. Especially when he takes thE heathens outside for hours on end and I can relax and read without ear plugs.
My mom thinks he's a wonderful son in law (He has her fooled!).
He works hard to provide for his growing brood. (No fat jokes there!)
And he makes me laugh.
You know what I mean. Whether its a fun laugh in bed, a bust a gut laugh at something else, or a smile because of something he's said that didn't come out quite right, he makes me laugh.
He and my kids are one of the few things that can bring a laugh to my lips.
And that is worth all the dirty socks, flatulence, morning breath in the world.
It is not worth the sports. That is still too much for any sane woman to bear.
I'm working on that.
A girl's gotta have a project.
Smooches baby!