This October, Samantha and I hit five years married. October 23rd, 2021 — that was the day. And if you'd told me on that day what the next five years would look like, I would have believed you, because honestly? We jumped into the deep end from day one.
We didn't start with a quiet, newlywed apartment phase. We started with kids. Multiple kids. A blended household that was already in motion. There was no easing into it.
The Partnership
Samantha is a nurse. She worked at Sanford, now she's at Essentia Health, and on top of full-time shifts she's pursuing her BSN with plans to keep going after that. She comes home from twelve-hour days and still has energy for Lincoln's bedtime routine and Josie's latest art project and whatever crisis one of the older kids is navigating.
I don't know how she does it. I really don't. But I know this: our marriage works because we treat it like a team. Not a romantic comedy team — a shift-work, logistics, divide-and-conquer team. Who's got Lincoln in the morning? Who's taking Allie to her driving test? Who's cooking tonight? Did anyone switch the laundry?
It's not glamorous. But it's real, and it's ours.
The Little Things
Five years in, love doesn't look like grand gestures. It looks like Samantha texting me a photo of a tool she saw at the store because she thought I'd want it. It looks like me having coffee ready when she gets home from a night shift. It looks like both of us sitting on the couch after the kids are finally asleep, too tired to talk, watching something on TV that neither of us is really paying attention to — and being completely content with that.
We don't get a lot of alone time. When you've got five kids across a range of ages, date nights require a level of planning usually reserved for military operations. But we've learned that connection doesn't require candlelight. Sometimes it's just ten minutes on the porch while Lincoln naps and the house is briefly, miraculously quiet.
What I've Learned
Marriage with a full house taught me that patience isn't a personality trait — it's a skill you build. That asking for help isn't weakness. That saying "I'm overwhelmed" out loud is better than pretending you're not. That your partner doesn't need you to fix everything; sometimes they just need you to listen while they vent about a shift that went sideways.
Five years down. Samantha is halfway through her BSN, Lincoln is walking and getting into everything, and the house is louder than ever. I wouldn't change a thing.
Happy almost-anniversary, Sam.