On this day sixteen years ago, during the winter solstice and under a full moon, two people rushed around downtown Houston, trying to get paperwork in order to actually be able to go through with their planned wedding ceremony, because Houston officials had given them the wrong information. They got their paperwork, and their officiant arrived in a red sweat suit, with robes hastily thrown on over. She insisted they kiss a second time after the ceremony, because no one took a picture the first time.

Sixteen years later, through hard times and easy times, through three kids and four cross-country moves, through near-bankruptcy and financial stability, through mental illness and major surgeries and three cats and family drama and temperamental teenagers and three owned houses and way too many totaled cars, we’re still hanging on.

Love you, Jase. Happy anniversary.