The first time I fell in love I was 4 years old and obsessed.

The object of my affection had curly red hair, a voice that could win over even a stodgy bald rich guy and the awesomest, spunkiest, don’t-ever-give-up attitude ever.

She had the sweetest friend, Molly, a locket I coveted and a story that tugged at my little-girl heartstrings.

Her name was Annie and she taught us all, way back then, that even on the worst days, the sun comes out tomorrow.

My love affairs moved on, over the years, to include such characters as the Scarecrow from the “Wizard of Oz,” Charles Ingalls from “Little House on the Prairie” and Kevin Arnold from “The Wonder Years.”

And then there was that boy band in the late 80s/early 90s. I might have had a little thing for them.

Real-life love stories are a lot different than celebrity crushes, of course. We all learn this (the hard way?) growing up. Middle-school, anyone?

My real-life love story, has several chapters.

Though my book is far from finished, I’m on the last chapter. It’s going to be a long one, so settle in.

Being with the man I know I was always supposed to find is the perfect ending to my love story that’s just beginning.

Our love story that’s just beginning. (!!!)

So the final time I fell in love I was 30-something years old and head over heels.

There is a sense of peace about our lives now that I’m not sure I ever remember feeling.

I like it.

And I’m grateful. So thankful.

How lucky we are.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my love, my babies and everyone else. Here’s to new beginnings and final chapters!