I love you anyway.

(Edited because twice in one week, I misspelled my title. Seriously. I did take English classes in college.)

Do you know what I like about having been married for so long? I know some of you have been married for longer than nine years and you may or may not have just rolled your eyes when I said I'd been married a long time. Sorry. Nine years is a long time. By the world's standards, I totally deserve a medal for nine years. If you've been married longer than that, well then you deserve a medal, and a party. Where was I? Oh yes. Why I like being married, or more specifically, married to my husband.

I like that I don't have to pretend. At all, even a little bit. I get to be one hundred percent pure, honest me. When Josh comes home from work and me and all four children are still in pajamas, the floor is covered with popcorn kernels and rice krispie treat wrappers, and there isn't a single clean dish in the entire house, I don't have to make excuses for how my day was. If the best I got is, "I didn't feel like doing anything today," he's good with that. Because we all have days like that sometimes. Roll with it, and tomorrow the house and children will all be clean.

When I decide I want to stay up and write until 2 AM five nights in a row, he shakes his head in wonder, then kisses me goodnight with all the loving, accepting tolerance he can muster. I don't have to sneak, to explain, or justify the whats and hows of why I do things. I just get to be me.

Because he gets me. Sometimes I'm a total mess. I talk too much, I don't sleep enough, I care too much about things that don't matter. I am a miserable, awful person first thing in the morning. My arms will never be skinny, my butt always, uh, generous. My body will forever be scarred by the stretching and strains of child growing. Sometimes I procrastinate. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I waste time. He knows all of that.

And he's still here.

It's a happiness that isn't bred of perfect gifts or thoughtful, romantic sentiment. it isn't fostered by weekends away, or well paid compliments. Those things are important. But this is more than that. This is acceptance.

I don't think there is anything else in the world that feels better than saying to someone,

"This is me, in all my faults and failings and awful bad habits."

And with a nod and a smile, hearing them say,

"I accept."