Sixty years is a long, long time.
Come August, that's how long my parents will have been married.
Due to the difficulties of getting 22 people in the same place at the same time, we celebrated this month, instead of two months from now.
A four-day weekend with my parents, my two brothers, my sister, everyone's spouses and all 10 grandchildren, plus my oldest sons' significant others.
To be completely upfront about this, it was all my parents' doing. They planned it ... and paid for it. A beautiful holiday at a mountain spa. Lounging by the pool. Massages. Cocktails. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It was like being in paradise.
At the heart of it were my parents. Two people who have known each other since the eighth grade.
Who married at the age of 20.
Who raised four children.
Who have been together for richer and for poorer ... in sickness and in health.
And who, after 60 years of sharing a life together, still look at each other with a fire that burns bright.
My parents and I have had our difficulties over the years.
But at the heart of it, they are role models for the ages.
And when all was said and done, Wonderhubby looked at me at the final celebration dinner Saturday night and grinned.
"I hope we can make 60 years," he said.
I grinned back, knowing that we have 53 more to go before we hit that milestone. "Sure, and we'll be saying 'I love you ... uh ... what's your name again??' "
But I hope we make it.
Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms