I love my husband.
Is that old-fashioned for such a modern wife and mother?
I work long hours and spend the time that remains with my family, even though they come first in my heart.
This story started Nov. 12, 1995. That's the day I got married. But since I was already pregnant with our son, I guess you could say it started a few months earlier.
Actually, my husband and I lived together for several years before deciding to wed, and in fact, we would have waited, except that it was important to my future mother-in-law that we be married when our child was born.
So I had the gown fitted, the cake ordered and the bells ready to ring in this new era of our lives.
But getting to the altar -- actually, in our case, the chuppah -- was complicated. Isn't it always?
We couldn't find a rabbi who would perform the ceremony (I am Jewish, my husband is not). We couldn't find a location we liked that had an airport nearby so my parents could fly in easily from Chicago. We couldn't be sure I'd be able to take time off from a new job working at a TV station.
Eventually, details were resolved, the anxiety passed and we found ourselves standing side by side one sunny, startling Saturday morning. We were surrounded by siblings and friends holding the canopy above us. Seated behind us were our families and more friends.
I don't remember much about our wedding ceremony -- it only lasted 15 minutes, a half-hour maybe -- but I do remember the moment it ended. Gary and I walked down the aisle to the song "May You Never" and began our lives as husband and wife.
Those 15 wonderful minutes began the best nine years of my life, so far.
I love my husband more than ever. I love being married to him. I often find myself
looking at my wedding band, the words engraved on my ring and on my days: "I carry your heart with me."
Everywhere I go, you go, my dear.
Don't misunderstand me. Gary and I have had problems -- overwhelming, challenging, debilitating problems at times. Financial, emotional, geographical.
We filed and survived bankruptcy. We are raising a very challenging child together. We left an area we loved so that I could accept a job that would be better for all of us, even though it meant my husband would be farther from his parents and his own work.
But our union has strengthened, just as it has strengthened us. It has boosted our immune system -- the more we are exposed to, the more we can fight off.
It would be tempting fate to say there is nothing we could not survive together. And it is probably untrue. I have seen marriages destroyed by the death of a child, by selfishness or by disinterest.
But there is nothing I want to go through without my husband. And nothing I want him to go through without me.
Just this week, we moved into a new home. For the last two months, Gary has spent all of his time knocking through ceilings, exposing beams, eliminating and rebuilding walls, ripping out carpet, putting in hardwood flooring and painting. He has been making us a home.
He spilled blood and sweat (the tears were mine), and now we live among boxes filled with toys, memories and hope. And a few wedding pictures.
Julie Moos is a thirtysomething who lives with her husband and son. Her column appears every other Thursday. To read more of her thoughts, visit MomInTheMirror.com.
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