8 years and no one has been pushed down the stairs

As of August 2, 2006, Mr. Happy and I will celebrate the 8th anniversary of our marriage.

It's hard to believe that neither of us has pushed the other down the stairs yet, although, there was that time I fell on the stairs while Mr. Happy was in the living room - he says he has nothing to do with it, but I remain suspicious.

(I always said, if I had married the guy I was dating in high school I probably would have pushed him down the stairs by now. Which really isn't all that funny, considering that one of my ancestors died following a fall down the stairs. Hmmmm...)

Anyhoo, we're still married, we're still pretty darned happy with each other... in fact, I'd say that the last few years, although our most difficult for other reasons, have brought us closer together. We are a team. It's "us" vs. "them". We have discovered that understand each other better than other people do and we forgive each other the quirks that others would find maddening.

I've learned a lot about myself and about Mr. Happy in the last eight years:

I've learned that marriage is hard. It's not: "Woohoo, we had a big party, we said some vows and now it's all just happy, happy, joy, joy for the rest of our lives." It's every single day hard. Every single day you wake up and have to remember to put the other person first and hope that they are doing the same for you. If you're just in it for yourself, then you'll either kill your partner's self-esteem and trample all over them for the rest of your miserable lives together or your partner will figure it out pretty quick and you'll be at the end of the driveway with your suitcase and a footprint on your ass.

I've learned that men really do think in a completely different way than women do. And it's very frustrating for both partners.

I've learned that I can forgive many things, but forgetting a full carton of milk on the counter where it will sit for the entire day, will almost always send me over the edge.

I've learned that I can be a complete harpy and Mr. Happy will still pull me into his arms and hug the crazy away.

I've learned that when I feel like I don't belong anywhere, like no one understands me and I don't fit in, that I will always fit in and belong with Mr. Happy.

I've learned that men carrying laundry baskets or tearing down sheds are way more attractive than silly underwear models.

I've learned that the simple act of putting pjs in the bathroom for Mr. Happy to wear after he gets home from work at some ungodly hour of the night can be seen as an act of love and consideration, when in actual fact, I just don't want him to turn on the light and rummage through drawers in our bedroom while I'm sleeping.

Happy Anniversary.