Celebrating the first year of marriage is always a big deal: flowers, romantic dinner, the top layer of the wedding cake. Add a decade or so to that and the cards are a day late, the kids don't go to Grandma's, and supper is usually something like spaghetti. Hallmark and the people who sell and teach pole dancing would like us to believe that option 2 doesn't work, that anniversaries should be romantic, adventurous "Days of Our Lives" type material. But I for one say that a marriage that can handle two-a-days and spring and ground turkey is one that lasts. And, be patient with me, I have proof.
This year, as a treat for 12 years of wedded bliss, Coach planned a trip to Puerto Rico for the two of us: no kids, no cell phones or computers, only perfection. For a brief couple of days, I actually bought into the plan. I got excited and started dreaming of picturesque images of me and Coach on a brown sand beach, riding jet skis, maybe even some bareback horses, hanging by a kid-free pool, and walking hand in hand through the streets of San Juan. He He, who was I kidding? Here's that proof I promised you.
On our THIRD attempt at making a flight, I and the not-so-patient Coach finally boarded Delta for our long awaited trip. Upon landing in San Juan, the pilot announced the awesome temperature of 89 degrees! Woo hoo, we thought. Quickly we discovered the reason for the comfy temps: rain. In Puerto Rico. On our anniversary trip. Strike 2! We pressed on, though, swayed by nothing, this 12 year couple determined to have fun. We made it to the car rental company, with no insurance card (my fault), and after TWO hours on back roads along the coast of Puerto Rico, tracing and retracing our routes, we finally made it to our resort. Whew, as much as I would love to continue this by lamenting our awful rest of the trip, I just can't. Coach and I laughed our way through our remaining days, reminded with each snafu of the previous 12 years and all those other little snafus that make us, us.
I remembered the black labs who chewed through our air conditioning unit during what seemed then like the hottest summer on record.
The time we tried to paint the back bedroom together and after only a few hours of together-time decided we just "don't work well together."
I recalled the move to Olive Branch and Coach and his lovely bride(ahem, me) unloading the RIDING LAWNMOWER off the moving truck. (Do I look like I can lift a ton?)
We moved five times in the first 8 years of marriage. On the up side,I can seriously now pack a house in a weekend!
Or the time I lost the two black labs and we had to explain to Tucker that the police came and got them and they work for the government now.
I can't forget 17 weeks of a baby in the Intensive Care Unit and how our daily lives revolved around hospital visits, blood donations, and meeting with Neo-natologists.
We joked (once we got him home) that we wouldn't let him do ANYTHING until he was 18 years old and paid off:-)
Yes, folks, proof that life is not always bouquets and beaches; and sometimes the love that lasts is the one that laughs!
Happy Anniversary, Coach!
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