When we dance, he gently leads. He can make a fire in the rain. He starts a conversation out of nothing at a dinner party. He can ride a horse, shoot a gun, and make perfect crepes. And he’s stern and gentle with our boys.

He’s my South African gentleman cowboy hubs.

Four years ago we stirred to the sounds of our own peaceful morning music choices, playing from a laptop nearby. Seagulls called outside our window and the busy streets of Edinburgh bustled below. We eventually settled into a sunny place with a beautiful view of Calton Hill, and it feels like there was enough peacefulness to swim in. We left it for these sunny southern shores two years ago.

This morning we stirred to the sounds of a baby ready for a diaper change. About the time he finished nursing his older brother was awake and ready for Dada to fetch him. He turned over and whispered:

Happy Anniversary. I love you.

We stumbled downstairs in the still-dark early morning, me carrying the bigger one to go and use the potty, him cuddling the little one, so tiny in his strong arms.

I paused for a moment while waiting for the kettle to boil to listen to our music. The Bear, singing his ABC’s and laughing in his high chair, squealing a request to see his baby brother or get down or coffee or cookie or just something. The Baby, cooing and singing as he watches the palm trees sway in the winter winds of the Cape, on this close to shortest day of the year.

We have a week before our address changes again. Change and movement, suitcases and packing seem a chorus in the song of our lives. But love has been the rhythm, the beat, the lyrics, and the reason to sing. We have two beautiful boys, ten thousand photographs, and a lifetime’s worth of memories already.

These four years have been a gift and a blessing. They’ve been full of joy and profound heartache. We’ve laughed until we cried, and cried until we laughed. He’s a reason for me to send thank-you notes to heaven.

To my South African Gentleman Cowboy Hubs,

Happy Anniversary. I love you.