Today marks the seventh anniversary of my marriage to the man in the above picture, greeting one of his daughters. This year has certainly seen the most changes. In fact, last year on this date, we had dinner with our wonderful friends and neighbors, Matt and Lonna and I was a little down and depressed because the other couples there had kids and I felt like my life lacked direction. Little did I know that itty bitty Ada and teeny tiny Margot were already with us. It seems like a thousand years and a million miles away from where I sit now. Where I sit now is a messy orange couch in a messy living room with a view to the kitchen where there is a basket of baby laundry to be done and not a single clear inch of counter space. The bed is unmade, the blinds are closed and no (shock) I have not had a shower and I smell like spit up. This is where/how Stephen found me two hours ago when he came through the front door and surprised me with a beautiful card, a box of Clementines (my favorite!) and a new pair of Smartwool knee socks (7 is apparently wool). Though he did chuckle at the fact that I smelled of sour milk, he didn't sigh or moan or say a word about the rest of the disaster that I have learned to exist in recently. He snuggled and kissed two happy little girls who lit up at the sight of him. He hugged me close and wished me a happy anniversary and told me how much he loved me. This is the man that I chose. The man that I married and he never ceases to remind me of why I made that decision. Some days he comes home to a freshly scrubbed me in a house that is organized, smells of dinner, and is humming with positive productivity and happy, well rested babies. Other days he comes home to this.. the afore described mess. I can predict what he will do when he comes home today. He will come in the door, go wash his hands and come straight in to be with the girls. Then he will change clothes, take the dog out, and go see if there are any dishes to be washed. If so he will wash these and watch the girls while I take a shower and later he will figure out what to do for dinner (if I have not already done so) while I feed the girls and put them down. He will have it ready by the time I finish with the girls and we will sit and eat together. And I will be so grateful. So grateful for a helping hand, for a hot meal, for a comfortable silence. So grateful for a man who is so patient with me, who understands me, who looks past my ineptitude and shortfalls. A man who works hard all day to support us, then comes home, rolls up his sleeves and starts his next set of tasks with a calm face and a sweet demeanor. He changes diapers and washes babies and helps to soothe me and the girls when our evening nursing goes amiss. He is our hero, our champion, our rock and we love him more each day. May the next seven years be as phenomenal as the last seven have been.