Today, for an hour or so still, is my wife and I’s second four-years-of-marriage anniversary.
Not that we’ve been married 8 years, just that we were married twice. Three times, actually. To each other. Not that we were divorced.
Hmmm . . .
It’s really very simple. It was important to my parents and grandmother that Maddy and I be married in the Catholic Church. Sure, we said. We weren’t any more Catholic than anybody else (and very much less Catholic than Catholics), but we were flexible.
The priest was flexible, too, but not that flexible. “Will you promise to raise your children in the Catholic faith?” Not so much, we said. Maybe, but probably not. Wouldn’t care to wager much on it.
So my parents’ priest said he would bless the marriage. But we needed a marriage to bless first. So we got pre-married at the county courthouse.
Then the Catholic marriage. And later, in India, a Hindu wedding with Maddy’s family. This one also somewhat religiously abridged, this time because we had lived together first (but we were already married! we thought).
We like celebrations and presents (who doesn’t?). Throw in our dating anniversary, three wedding anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, our birthdays, Christmas, Flag Day, 4th of July and Indian Independence Day, and we pretty much stay in celebration mode all the time (except for April, for some reason, unless you count my sister in Ohio’s birthday . . .).
Happy anniversary, Maddy.
(I was soooo kidding about Flag Day).