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There are numerous crimes you can commit that can net you a seven-year sentence. I wonder what my wife did to get sentenced to seven years with me.
Yes, my seventh anniversary is approaching, and, as usual this time of year, I take a moment to reflect back on the day and think to myself, “How can I figure out what day and year it was we were married so that I don’t have to ask my wife?”
I have lots of reasons for sometimes stumbling when it comes to remembering the day. For one thing, I am a guy, and numeric memories are reserved for home run totals, national championship years and “Rocky” sequels. But perhaps a bigger reason is that I don’t, technically, remember our wedding.
I remember before the wedding, especially getting in trouble along with my groomsmen because we were not in the church on time. But seriously, who’s fault is that? Personally, I think blames lies with the person who put us in a room with a pool table.
I remember after the wedding, in particular saying to my brand new wife: “Did we just get married?”
But the actual wedding was a blur. I know I was there, because there are pictures. I know plenty of other people who have no actual recollection of their wedding, probably since most guys are trying their best to concentrate and repeating over and over, “Say the right name. Say the right name. Please, please, please don’t let me say the name of my 11th grade prom date or Carmen Electra or, heaven forbid, Rupaul.”
We spent the first few years of our marriage as what a neighbor referred to as DINKs – Double Income, No Kids. And that was fun. Plenty fun. But after a few years of this, we said to ourselves, “Hey, selves, fun ain’t all it’s cracked up to be!”
So we decided to start a family. And boy, did we learn in fast order than single income, one kid is WAY different than our previous way of life. But that was OK, because we were moving along the road of life to a place where we were, quite frankly, we wanted to be, and we were growing tired of the college-type lifestyle. And, that was good, because as you quickly find out with a newborn, they really don’t particularly care if you are used to sleeping in on a Saturday.
When our daughter, Allie, was about 2, we decided we needed to add to our brood. Prior to having children, we had said we wanted two, and when we found out we were having a son, we decided that we had a matching set, and that would be plenty for us. By the time Parker rolled around, we were pretty used to the world of kids, so it was not hard to adapt to having two. Plus, Parker dug him some sleep-time which made it pretty easy.
So now we are just cruising through the next phase, which is raising kids to be decent humans on down the road, something I am thankful for my wife since she instills values, morals and respect for others in the children, while I teach them to make noises with various body parts.
My wife is a fantastic mother and a terrific wife, and I am thankful for everything she does. She married a man who switches between goofy and silly and cranky and grumpy in a matter of minutes, and she adapts to this by, essentially, ignoring me on the whole, which is probably pretty good for her sanity. She also married a man who has such quirks as needing to have the dishes in the dishwasher arranged a certain way or the laundry folded a certain way. And she finds a happy medium by letting me do the dishes and fold the laundry. Everybody wins.
I know that seven years is not a signature anniversary. (For crying out loud, a quick check of the Internet shows the gift for the seventh anniversary is wool or copper. Perhaps I will get her a sheep statuette.) But for me, each year at this time is a time for me to reflect on my marriage, my family and my life, and realize how lucky I am. And to thank the judge for not paroling her yet.