To the one who DIDN'T run away screaming when I said, "Yeah, I wanna be a writer someday."
To the one who puts up with all my little quirks and idiosyncrasies and tastes and preferences.
To the one who tolerates my strange sleeping hours.
To the one who gives selflessly of herself all the time, to both family and friends and strangers - like the school bus drivers, whom she makes chocolate truffles for every Christmas.
To the one who knows the worst things about me and loves me in spite of them. And stayed, too. ;)
To the one who mans the fort while I spend two or three weekends a year at Writers' and Horror Cons chasing down impossible dreams.
To the one who told me: "You HAVE to do this. You have to go" when I almost skipped my first Borderlands Writers Bootcamp when the kids were sick.
To the one who balances the books, keeps the house clean, and mows the lawn when seven months pregnant. With a pushmower. And goes camping when four months pregnant.
To the one who has shouldered the burden of our special needs children, and has sacrificed so much for both them and me.
To the one who manages NOT to kill me when I'm in the final editing phase of a project, and I've been sitting and staring at the computer and typing for days, unresponsive and lost in a fugue state.
To the one who still laughs at me but because she thinks I'm funny and not pathetic (well, not too pathetic).
To the one who's a much better driver (though a bit of a lead-foot) and much better handyman than me.
To the one who managed things at home while I spent long nights at grad school.
To the one who changed my life.
To the one who didn't mind dating a guy on a work-restricted license, and after marriage, didn't mind driving AROUND said guy for almost a year.
To the one who said "Yes" nine years ago today, full well knowing I was a REAL "fixer-upper", "work-in-progress", not knowing EXACTLY what was to come.
To one of the few persons/things in my life MORE important to me than writing.
To Abby Gail Lucia.
Happy Anniversary, babe.