It’s official. Hubby and I have been married for 369 days, 20 hours and 19 minutes. The honeymoon is over.

It’s official. Hubby and I have been married for 369 days, 20 hours and 19 minutes. The honeymoon is over.

Although, I’m not sure it ever really started, to be honest.

We woke up June 16, the day of our first anniversary, and Hubby wished me a happy 10th anniversary.

We’ve only known each other for six years.

“It feels like we’ve been married forever, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Centuries,” I agreed.

We took the kids out of town for the weekend to celebrate as a family. Hubby spent the day at the casino and I spent the day swimming at the hotel swimming pool with the kids.

After several long hours of being splashed in the face by some kid attempting the cannon ball in the shallow end for what seemed like the hundredth time I removed myself from the pool, dried off and  text Hubby.

“I’m ready to go back to the room. If this kid splashes me one more time I’m going to drown him,” I text. “How has your day been? Coming back to the room soon?”

Several hours later the kids were hungry so I took them out to eat for our anniversary–without my other half.

It was a nice meal.

Before turning in for the night I text him one last time when he thought he would be coming back.

I was asleep before the reply came and when he finally arrived home.

In all actuality, it was a nice weekend. We both got to do what we wanted without any arguing or bickering.

We’ve never been a lovey, dovey couple. Hubby thinks holding hands in public is an outward flagrant public display of affection that is completely and utterly uncalled for.

Case in point.

For our second date I decided to cook him a beef and broccoli stir-fry. I had it simmering in the pan when he arrived at my apartment.

“I thought I would take you out to eat tonight,” he said looking disappointed when he found me in the kitchen cooking.

I told him I didn’t need to be wined and dined and eating in was more romantic.

He sighed a big, fat loud sigh to that. I’m guessing he didn’t agree.

While the meal simmered to perfection I tried not to be irritated by the look of fear on his face. Before he would even touch it he wanted to know what was in it.

I told him the ingredients included beef and broccoli, garlic, mushrooms and green onions served over a bed of brown rice.

He proceeded to tell me that he wasn’t a big fan of broccoli, he hated garlic and he had never once in his life tasted brown rice.

I remember thinking I couldn’t have chosen a worse meal in the world to decide to make him. I berated myself for not asking for his opinion first and just assuming that he would love my cooking or all the ingredients that I loved to cook with.

However, this is the same man who, on our first date, told me that he doesn’t share food off his plate and he certainly doesn’t appreciate a woman who helps herself to his plate without asking.

I hadn’t done the aforementioned crime he was speaking of, he just wanted to set the boundaries.

It really is a wonder that we made it to a second date.

I guess I found it attractive that he was up front and honest, even if he was a little quirky.

In any case, he managed to swallow down my home-cooked meal he had initially been afraid to eat. In fact, if I remember correctly, he had two helpings.

That same dish became so popular at our house that I went on a hiatus from making it for an entire year.

Until this week, when I made it again to celebrate our first of hopefully many more anniversaries.