I wrote a belated anniversary letter to my husband this week. More soon!
So on that night 14 years ago we were at our rehearsal dinner, enjoying Deborah’s fantastic hospitality and your mom’s fantastic food. (It’s crazy to think that in pre-September 11 America, if you wanted to, you could prepare a meal for 50 in your kitchen on Long Island and transport it across the country in insulated carry-on bags.)
Seattle friends mingled with college pals and family friends from back East. Your grandma and aunts and uncles met my parents and aunt and cousin. In front of them all, Mark and Patrina toasted us and later there were cookies my aunt made (In her Buffalo kitchen. Packed, and carried on. Crazy!)
Of course there were tender moments, too, like professing our vows and listening to our parents offer their blessing and, while Gina sang about our love being here to stay, doing the traditional mother-son/mother-son dance. But I love that we laughed a lot, that we shared the day with so many people we love, and that it wasn’t perfect. Just like the loaves and fishes, we have memories enough to crack ourselves up, year after year.
Our parents and grandparents all did a lot better than that, though, and although there are days I feel like turning you upside down and giving a shrug, I do feel like we’re just getting warmed up.
The boys and I talked about kids and careers and marriage that night we went out. It felt comforting to hear that others have those days of doubt and concern and frustration. However, I know deep in my heart today—just like I did 14 years ago—that for henceforth, you are the guy for me.