Today is our wedding anniversary. We left the kids with the
grandparents yesterday and hit the big city to celebrate. We ended the day with
a fondue dinner at a nice restaurant, and were navigating our way back to the
highway toward home. I turned left and was concentrating on listening to the Tom
Tom for directions, looking up to admire a swanky house on my right when it
happened. I hit the curb full-force on the passenger’s side. I pulled over on the
very busy street, and J got out to survey the damage. Both passenger-side tires
were shredded to the rims. So here we were, 60 miles from home, standing on the
sidewalk next to our disabled vehicle at dusk.
After we called the insurance tow service and the police
(someone needed to secure the area), I started calling around to find someone
who could replace two tires on a Saturday night. This is kind of like trying to
get the stuffed animal you want out of a mechanical claw machine in a bowling
alley. Every place I called closed at 7 p.m. The tow truck wasn’t going to be
able to get to us for at least an hour, maybe longer.
Meanwhile, not one, but two police cruisers arrived and set
up flares behind our car. With their help, I was finally able to locate a
Wal-Mart 30 minutes in the opposite direction of home that could help us if we
could get there before 8 o’clock. As the minutes ticked by with no sign of our
truck, I could feel my stress level rising. To make matters worse, I called my
mom to see how the kids were doing, and learned that R’s stomach was upset, and
K had been cranky for most of the day.
The tow truck finally arrived an hour-and-a-half later, and
Officer Hernandez (we were on a last name basis at this point) generously
offered to drive us ahead of the tow truck so that we could reach Wal-Mart in
time. Our anniversary ended with a ride in a police cruiser and a positive
confirmation that the individuals in the photos on the “People of Wal-Mart”
website aren’t PhotoShopped, but actually do exist. (Think thong underwear worn
outside of flesh-colored stretch pants.)
The most memorable part of our evening out (and there are so
many to choose from) was my husband’s reaction to all of this. He didn’t yell
or place blame, although I was clearly at fault. There were a few jokes
referencing moving curbs, but that was it. He stood in the dark with me,
helping me figure out what to do next without complaining, even though I’m sure
it wasn’t the evening he had in mind. He didn’t even flinch when we had to
shell out $200 for tires.
In the weeks leading up to our wedding six years ago, I was
terrified that I would freeze and forget my vows in front of an entire church
filled with our family and friends, so I neurotically recited them every night
before I went to bed. If there’s a silver lining to OCD, it’s that I still
remember them by heart:
I, S, take you, J to
be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in
sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.
My twenty-five-year-old-self thought those words were
incredibly romantic, but I know now that that girl had no idea what she was
really agreeing to. Over the past six years, we have weathered the deaths of
family members, the births of our two children, family vacations, the serious
illnesses of our parents, personal loss that brought us to our knees, the flu,
career changes, broken down vehicles, hospitalization, and home improvement
projects.
It’s easy to love and honor another person when life is moving along
on cruise control, but it takes a lot more effort when we hit a curb. It’s not the
wedding day vows or the happy photos from family vacations that build a
marriage. It’s being up together at 2 a.m. cleaning vomit off of the carpet
because your two-year-old has the flu. And it’s having that person beside you
when you get the news that your mom has cancer. Those are the moments that
define a couple.
We are by no means a perfect couple. We argue, and we drive
each other crazy at least once per day (more on the weekends), but in a world
where romance and sex are the prevailing images associated with relationships,
I’m grateful that I also have a partner who is my friend. I think Dan Seals
says it better than I ever could in this song:
Here’s to you Ace. Happy #6!
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