Sunday was Sir Monkeypants’ and my 18th wedding anniversary, and I feel like the great-grandmommy of the whole internet by admitting that. We’d been dating for six years before that, so this actually marks 24 years we’ve been together – a few wrinkles, a lot of grey hairs, and a few extra pounds ago.

We celebrated like this. Sir Monkeypants took the kids to swimming and got them a post-swim snack, while I hit the grocery store and then started painting trim in the basement. We had a good hour and a half together while he installed baseboards and I finished up my painting for the day, then I fed the kids lunch and left to take the youngest on the hour-long round trip to drop her at a birthday party. Meanwhile, Sir Monkeypants finished with baseboards for the day, took down the Christmas lights, and I went to the Canadian Tire on my way back from the party drop-off for a replacement bike tube for the Captain.

By the time I got home, Sir Monkeypants just had time to grab a quick shower before going on his own hour-long journey to pick up the Little Miss from her party. I helped the older two finish their homework, gave everyone a snack (packing one up for the Little Miss), did piano practice with Gal Smiley, then took the big kids to IKEA where we met up with Sir Monkeypants. The kids tried hard not to shove each other to death while we looked at four different storage solutions for the new basement (does IKEA have any kind of frequent-buyer or rewards program? Because between bookcases, TV stands, wall shelves and wardrobes, we may be blowing the kids’ university fund there in the near future).

We dragged everyone home – in separate cars – just in time to throw together sandwiches and soup for dinner, get the kids clean and in jammies, listen to a couple of speeches due the next day, and put kids to bed.

Then we collapsed on the couch in pain (the basement work takes its toll on us old folks!), exhausted.

It was kind of just your typical day. But also really good. Because there were anniversary wishes from the kids (they made their own cards – and Rainbow Loom accessories from an unnamed enthusiast, I’m sure you can guess which one!). There were plenty of extra hugs and kisses and thank-yous. There were curious questions and enthusiastic singing along with the radio and absolute delight in pieces of gum, from three sweet brown-haired children that weren’t here 18 years ago.

There were quiet moments where I looked at Sir Monkeypants and saw the guy I married, and saw us together living the life I imagined. There was a loud moment of exclamation when Sir Monkeypants pointed out that the paused TV, showing a still from an almond milk commercial, featured a kitchen where there were eight little plates in the slots, but only SEVEN big plates, and WHERE was the missing plate, and I had been thinking the EXACT SAME THING.

There were shared stories of our days – funny things the kids said, like the way the Captain’s mind was blown when he heard that they mint Canadian money right here in Ottawa, and the way the Little Miss, when she says something she doesn’t mean, says she is being “fartastic.” There were potential problems in the basement to discuss and there was much sighing over the May calendar, which is busting at the seams. There was random stealing of handfuls of each others’ post-dinner snacks on the couch, and preparing of tea without having to ask what goes in it. There was contentment and laughter and the dream of another 18 years.

Happy anniversary, Sir Monkeypants.