While filling out some paperwork (an attempt on my part to track my spending habits), I noticed the date. Well, I noticed that it was July 27, which meant a whole change in my late afternoon plans, as today is the deadline for high school registration.
For some reason, I couldn't quite believe that it actually is the 27th - no particular reason popped into mind, it’s just that I thought today was Wednesday, but it’s actually Thursday.
No wait, it’s Wednesday.
It’s just that I thought the 27th was Thursday, not today.
Which really is Wednesday.
And after checking online, it really is the 27th.
Then it hit me.
Why I should have remembered this date.
It’s one of the most important dates of my life.
And I totally forgot.
Today is my 26th wedding anniversary.
Now, I know the stereotypical sitcom version of the forgotten anniversary involves the forgetful, contrite husband frantically dashing out to the gas station at midnight to come back with some pitiful gift for his infuriated wife.
But I have no fears in that regard.
In fact, I bet my husband, who is away all this week on business (sweating in the cornfields of Nebraska, the lucky guy), hasn’t remembered either.
And I’m not the least upset.
In years past, especially during those crazy, child-intense years, with a traveling husband and 4 children under 10, I might have been a little perturbed. Especially with the out-of-town part of the equation.
Let’s just say I’ve mellowed with age.
And I think my marriage, too, has mellowed, ripening like a fine Chilean wine.
(Do wines ripen? Maybe they age, which only goes to reinforce the image. Oh, and I’m still a bit of a non-conformist - I know it’s supposed to be a “French” wine, but frankly, most of the wine we drink these days, unfortunately, comes out of a box and any bottle we splurge on is much more likely to come from south of the equator than from across the pond.)
But, as I was saying, my marriage fits me like a comfortable glove. You know how leather gets softer as it’s worn and comes to fit every digit like a second skin? That’s how I feel about my relationship with my husband.
We trust each other so completely, love each other so enormously, that most of the time we just really enjoy each other. There’s very little strife, we laugh at each other’s foibles, and finish each other’s sentences.
Never for a second do we doubt our love for each other. And instead of fancy dinners out or expensive jewelry, or this year, even flowers, we show our love for each other in the every-dayness of our lives together.
Michael makes the coffee for me, indulges my crazy love of animals, and does an enormous amount of housework. I cook him fabulous meals (most of the time), and when I’m unable, he steps up with his famous nachos or homemade pizza. I like to seek out unusual beers for him to try, share books I know he’ll like, and give him the things he would never indulge in for himself (um, like new shoes).
We share the everyday stresses of parenting, bill paying, and politics.
If ever there were soul mates, Michael and I are it. Or they. You know what I mean.
So, yes, I forgot my 26th anniversary, and far from being a sign of a failing marriage, it is a sign of the strength of our vows to each other and our commitment to each other. It’s not taken-for-granted, but rather, is such a part of myself, that I don’t need to mark it with hoopla.
Instead, I’ll marvel at the passage of time, all those wonderful years together, and look forward to many, many more with the man of my dreams.
And I’ll sure be glad when he walks through the door Friday evening.
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