Love Letter for 50

I bet you don’t find yourself writing love letters very often. I know I don’t. But it’s not that I never did. I’m a sap at heart, and I bet my husband can pull out a fair amount of sentimental cards I wrote on special occasions of years past.

But I think that was a long time ago. Before three kids and everything that comes with them. And maybe the tenor of those love letters has changed over time, even if the sentiment has not.

Today is my husband’s 50th birthday. And, if I’m being honest, I spent most of his last day in his 40s being sort of cranky with him. The way you do in a marriage when stupid shit goes wrong, nothing of substance, and just throws off your day.

And then, as I always do, I kind of let my crankiness peter out as normal perspective took over and all was well. This left me thinking more about my husband’s big day and the pressing issues at hand. Like what kind of cake we should all eat.

Sort of. I did think about cake (because I usually do), but also about so many other things on this milestone birthday.

When I met my husband back in 1999, he was 32 and I was a youthful 26. And photo quality was sub-par, apparently.


17 years later, he is turning 50.


The thing is that I sit here, on this dusty old blog, year after year, and wax poetic about my kids on their birthdays — their milestones, their interests — to remind my future self with these word time capsules just how they’ve changed each year. Maybe I should do a similar write-up for my husband today, but not so much about what has changed, but what has stayed the same and remained the very bedrock of who we are.

Sure, I had a bunch of really cheap jokes up my sleeve about aging, but none of them are any good. Not even the one about priority seating at our three year old’s college graduation in 2035 because my husband will be unspeakable-years-old.

And let’s just get it out of the way. The thing that pisses me off to no end. The thing that should piss you off, too. The man doesn’t really age. Sure, there are a few more wrinkles and perhaps slightly less hair, but overall, he’s a freak of nature and we should all hate him for this.

I recently met him for breakfast after his annual physical, where he casually referenced losing “a few pounds.”

“A FEW? HOW MANY?” — As a lifelong student of weight loss, I demanded to know.

“A few. I don’t know. The doctor asked me if I improved my diet (not really). If I started exercising (hell, no, not even a little). And then he looked over my blood panel with a shrug and said it was working for me.”

As he ate a fucking bacon, egg and cheese on a roll.

So he has his good looks. But that’s not all.

This past Saturday, we threw a party for his birthday and had all of our close friends here to celebrate. We had casino tables and a bartender under a big, weather-proof tent.







We had the greatest cake in the history of cakes, which only notched up my daughter’s drive to appear on The Food Network, but was ***almost*** too pretty to eat.


***I can’t stop eating it.


We caught up with friends from near and far who came to party with the guest of honor. And party, we did. Holy shit, do not ever make fun of 50 year-olds because this is what time my clock read when the last person stopped drinking in my kitchen.


For the record, that works out really well when you have young kids. Really well.

Before they turned my home into a rave venue and set me back 8883 light years in sleep, I had asked them all to give me one word to describe my husband, which I collected for a toast I gave at the party.

Everyone had free rein because I promised not to disclose who said what. Under those circumstances, you’re bound to get a few snarky adjectives.


This is what I got:

Fantasty football genius (with the use of creative spacing, this is apparently one word)

Come on. Pretty amazing.

What did I learn from this? Well, first of all, I learned that one-word assignments really stress some people the hell out. Holy shit.

But more seriously, I found, after 17 years of knowing him — including 11 years of marriage, four homes, three kids, one pug and little sleep — all of the things that drew me to him are also obvious to everyone else.

There are people out there who get along with everyone. People who are universally liked and well regarded. I was lucky enough to marry one.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not always easy to live with. {Try to at least pretend you are stunned, even a little.}

And yet, this man, with all of those words that our friends provided to describe him so accurately — this man chose to spend his life with me. And that makes me the luckiest person I know.

And while all of those words rang true, I have one more to add.

His character?
His kindness?
His patience?
His generosity?
His effort on any given task, big or small?

All just beyond.

The life he has built here with me and with our children?
Beyond what I ever could have wished for.

And so, on my husband’s 50th birthday, a love letter may look different than it did when we were dating, or when we were newlyweds. Maybe a love letter now is a toast in front of our best friends and then being cranky about everything two days later, only to bounce back and say that I have always known you are the most spectacular husband, father and friend. You are my beyond.

Happy birthday. xo



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  1. Markus says:

    Those of us who know P are very fortunate. I’ve counted back and realize that I’ve known your husband for over 30 years. Thirty years of skiing, golfing, travel adventures, mischief, celebrations, laughter, concerts, beer, wine, Irish Mist, gin and – of course – Espresso Martinis! But mostly, decades of friendship. As well regarded as P is (see the one word descriptions!), I honestly believe that he wasn’t truly complete until he met and you.

    Here’s to the next 50 years!

    Love you both!

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