My Biggest Edit Ever

When I met my husband, he was 23.
I was ten and a half years older, had two kids, and was absolutely, positively done with marriage, babies, and homeownership.

I told him all of this on our first date.

“You’re sweet,” I said, “but I’m not the one. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and I’m not interested in revisiting all those milestones.”

The universe, apparently, found that hilarious.

Three years later, we were married and working on our first baby together.

Fifteen years in, and I still have moments where it all feels surreal.
We’ve built a beautiful, loud, sometimes chaotic life in Tennessee — full of sarcasm, dog hair, belly laughs, and the kind of love that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Our family of six (now seven, thanks to my daughter’s boyfriend making regular appearances) spans 17 years in age from oldest to youngest.
And somehow, it works. We always roll together. Always close. Always loud.

My husband loves my older kids like his own. He shows up, takes care of everyone, and does it all with a dry sense of humor and a closet full of 2009 clothing.
He’s a self-made business owner. He finds fulfillment in providing — buying me the horse of my dreams, helping our kids with homes, and making sure I drive exactly what I want.
He rarely shops for himself, but gives without hesitation.

Our love language? Humor. Insults. Shoulder nudges. Fighting over the remote. And a whole lot of hugs.

When I reflect on my life — on The Klein-Smith Edit and all the reinventions along the way — he’s the biggest edit I ever made.

Fifteen years ago, when that beautiful man walked into a bar, I couldn’t have imagined this life.
Not this love. Not this family. Not this perfectly messy, loud, loving Tennessee home.

But I’ve learned that sometimes, the best things happen when you stop controlling the plan and start trusting the detour.

He was the detour.
And I’d take it again a hundred times over.