The Anniversary of a Family

Like many wives, my feelings towards my husband are not always the most charitable. The dirty shirts thrown carelessly across the back of a chair, the cereal bowls with coagulated remnants stuck to them left to rot in the sink, and the forgotten chores could all make a saint swear. And trust me, I am no saint.

And don’t even get me started on the communication challenges that seem to be a universal complaint among wives. Blank stares when asked a question, monosyllabic grunts that are supposed to be proxies to an intelligent response and the selective hearing.

It was our third wedding anniversary yesterday.

With all of our current activities and near future plans, our lives have felt like a Buick trying to keep pace on the autobahn. Thus, we had decided awhile ago to keep this anniversary low key…and had casually and even dispassionately tossed out a couple of ideas about maybe somewhere to have dinner. Indeed, only a day before, with my mind trying to reprioritize which “have to” came first, did I realize that it was the day before my third anniversary – and my husband was not even home. He had left on Sunday to fly to Philadelphia for business and I, at the time, had only bitched at him about missing out on personal family time on the weekend…and didn’t even think to admonish him that he was going to miss our anniversary. He actually did make it home in time to take me to lunch and pick up my (our) daughter after school.

But yesterday, on the 3rd anniversary of the day we had pledged ourselves to each other, with one simple act, my husband reminded me about why I love him. And how much I do, which is even more deeply than the day that I married him or during those heady first weeks of falling in love with him.

It was not because of a surprise gift of jewelry or some other grandiose token of love. All of the things that we have going on in our lives require significant financial investment, so we had agreed that gifts would not be exchanged, even ones that might be “shared” like a weekend to Key West or Las Vegas. While doable, they were probably not wise decisions at this juncture.

It was not because he came home in time to take me to lunch. Lunch was nice, and I got to take him to the restaurant that I frequent during my lunch hour due to their outstanding Chicken Tortilla Soup that I have raved to him about. I found reason to get pissy during lunch, as he took a work call while we were seated together in a booth and were trying to reconnect after his absence. When a prolonged sigh did not do the trick in getting him to hang up the phone, I dropped my soup spoon onto a plate and it clattered loudly enough that other patrons looked at us.

It was not because of where he took Taylor and me to dinner. We went to Bru’s Room, which for any reader not from the South Florida area, is a popular restaurant, Sports Bar and watering hole. I gamely entered another submission into the Bad Mother of the Year Award Annual Competition (BMoTY) and sat with my 14 year old daughter in the bar portion of the restaurant. (She certainly didn’t mind – Burgers and Nachos are amongst her favorite dishes). However, my husband’s heart WAS in the right place – they had a Buzz Trivia game going on last night which is something we have enjoyed doing as a family in the past. (If you have ever played the Buzz Trivia game, BEWARE if you notice that "DTV" has logged onto the scoreboard.)

It was not what he wrote in his card to me. It was Flintstone festooned, and while he may bear a passing resemblance to Fred, I do not have red hair nor am I as wispy waisted as Wilma. But in fact, the kind, more lengthy proclamation of his love on the blank left hand side of the card had been encouraged by my daughter. She helpfully coached him that simply writing “yabba dabba do!” above his signature was not ample enough. (I have taught her well.)

It was because of his card to Taylor – which was a surprise to both me and her. She was too embarrassed by the outward display of affection from her Step-Father to read it in front of us. She ducked into another room and reappeared a few minutes later and mumbled, “touching.” I thought she was being sarcastic which would be very normal vernacular for her current teenage self. I held out my hand, and asked to see it. “Why?” she asked, “You’re just gonna cry.” She handed it to me and looked over my shoulder to read it with me. The card itself was benign, but what he had written in it, to her, was not:

“April 21, 2010

If you really think about it, this day is as much of an anniversary for you and me as it is for your Mother and myself.
Today marks the day you became my daughter. And while you might think this day does not include you, I say it is not complete without you.
These past 3 years have enriched my life and you are a significant part of that.
Happy Anniversary Daughter

Love Always.”

She was right. I cried.