45 Years and Still Going Strong!

Forty-five years ago today, my husband and I were married.  We were a couple of fresh-faced 22-year-olds, recent college graduates, when we tied the knot. But we didn't rush into marriage or anything.  High school sweethearts, we'd been "together" for over seven years by the time we were joined in the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony.

Today I decided to do something I haven't done in years: I decided to try on my wedding dress. Probably not a great idea for someone who, ever since she turned the big six-oh, has been bemoaning the fact that half of the clothing items hanging in her closet don't fit her anymore.  But I just wanted to put it on for some crazy reason.

It doesn't fit, of course; I can't even begin to zip it up. I was a skinny little thing when I got married, although I didn't really appreciate that at the time. But even when I tried it on in my early 40's, when I weighed a good bit less than I do now, I couldn't zip it up.  I blamed an expanded rib cage and widened hip bones (LOL!), because I'd given birth to so many big babies.  My first two were normal-sized, under 8 lbs. each; but #3 was 9 lbs. 13 oz.; #4 was 10 lbs. 12 and 1/2 oz. (and 24 inches long!); and #5 was 10 lbs. 2 oz. (So yeah, that was it: expanding bones, not expanding flesh!  Was I in denial, or what?  Are you falling off your chair laughing yet?)

Anyway, here's how the dress looked on my wedding day, when it was kind of hanging off me.

And here's how it looks now: skin-tight with the zipper gaping open in the back.  

The veil still fits, so I’ve got that going for me! 

I did love my dress, though.  I blogged about it many years ago, if you’d  like to visit that old post here.

Anyhoo--

The moral of the story is that wedding dresses look so much more magical and beautiful on dewey-faced young gals than they do on 67-year-old grandmothers of 23.  But I wouldn't change a thing about my blessed life!!  (Except maybe my waist measurement and the number on the scale!)  I wouldn't be that young bride again for a million bucks, because I would miss all the people who have joined our family in the years since that bitter-cold December day in 1980.

My husband and I went to morning Mass today, and I was reminded that December 27 is the Feast of St. John the Apostle/Evangelist.  We were actually married at a church named for another important John, St. John the Baptist.  And we bestowed the Irish version of the name John on our firstborn son. (I must admit that back then, I was not as aware of saints' feast days as I am now; but I think the Holy Spirit might have had something to do with the choice we made when naming our oldest son.)

This evening, that oldest son of ours will arrive with his wife and seven children, after a grueling two-day trip from Wisconsin, to spend a week with us here in Virginia.  What a great anniversary gift this is for his dad and me!  Tomorrow, we will have a Pearl get-together at our house with his three Virginia brothers and their families.  (Only our baby and his wife and two daughters will be missing; they are out in Michigan with his in-laws this year.  But four out of five sons ain't bad.)

This is my favorite picture from our wedding.  Don’t I look ecstatic? (And doesn't 
that groom look handsome?)

I’m praying to see our 50th anniversary.  My parents lived to see their 60th!  But no matter what, I’m grateful for the many wonderful years I’ve had with this guy of mine, still my boyfriend.  Life is good. God is good.  All the time.