Not a Confession

When my mom read this post about my birthday today, she laughed and said, "It sounds like you're saying you've been married twice!" She thought it was pretty funny that I said, "11 years of marriage with 2 opposite people making 1 whole family."

And I think she was wrong.

It's far worse than that! Really, it sounds like I'm married to two people at the same time. Which I'm not. 

(But that would be a fascinating blog, wouldn't it? I'd call this post: 

Confession.)

Seriously, I don't have a confession. I repeat: I'm married to one Preacher! The truth is, I've been married to the same Preacher man for almost eleven years now -- and we're pretty much opposites in all the minor details. 

He's always roasting, burning up in our house no matter the season. I'm always searching for my slippers, sweaters, and bathrobe.

He loves onion pizza, and I think raw onions were the Fallen Fruit (er, vegetable). Y'know, the one Eve ate? 

He's an outgoing, extraverted people person. I'm sometimes mistaken for a snob. (Yes, I said "mistaken"!) 

He likes hiking and camping and outdoorsy stuff. I like to sleep in beds and take showers and paint my nails. 

Right now, he's on the far western side of our state, while I'm on the far eastern side visiting family. 

It's true -- in all the daily details, we're total opposites. 

It's ok, though, because in the more important things, we're a perfect match. Like loving these two kidlets. Like enjoying time with family. Like faith. 

And like missing each other when we're apart, even after almost 11 years. 

Good night, Preacher!
Miss you,

Becki~

*Image credit:Wedding Cake.