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Happy Anniversary, Paula

Eight years ago today, I blubbered through our wedding ceremony in Ft. Lauderdale--ran around shaking hands and kissing babies at the reception, and then dashed off with my new bride--in a limo destined for the Intercontinetal Hotel in Miami. I cried in the limo, too. Who knows why? I think it was all such a rush.

Of course, the tears were flowing this morning as I watched Charles Gibson's "second-to-last-day" tribute on Good Morning America--so maybe I just have issues.

We had a great honeymoon--9 days on Prince Edward Island, and then a few more in Miami after we got home. It is probable that on our return trip to the States, my wife was carrying an undeclared item--our first child, Madison. If the custom agents in Montreal and Miami had only known!

Paula, thanks for 8 great years of bliss. I intend to make the next 8 even better than the first. The next 8 years, that is, let's stick with the 5 children we've got! I love you.

The Scenario

I often test my wife's love and enduring affection by offering her a simple scenario: "Would you have married me if...?" I know that she loves me today, and there's no need to wonder about that--and I know that she will love me through thick and through thin, so there's no need to worry about her feelings changing should something happen.

But... I always wonder--"What If?" So I might ask her:

"Would you have married me if I was missing a thumb?"

"Would you have married me if I had a limp?"

(Goofing up my eyeballs): "Would you have married me if my eyes were stuck like this?"

(Shouting): "IF I TALKED LIKE THIS?"

Etc, Etc, the game goes on and on... But it ALWAYS ends the same. She tells me "No."

That's right, this mother of my five children ALWAYS says that, no, she wouldn't have married me if even the most infinitesimal thing were askew about me physically. And everytime I ask, "Why not? I'd be exactly the same person..." At which point she says, "No, you wouldn't... You'd be bitter."

And no matter how much I'd argue, that I'd be the same happy-go-lucky guy, that I was only missing a portion of my left-hand thumb and I'd learn to work around it. Or that despite the limp, I could still get the garbage to the curb. Or that, even as a shout-talker, I was ironically the most gentle man in the county... she still wouldn't give, determined that said challenge would leave me bitter.

It's a fun dialgoue that's conclusion has never once altered--and now I'm not sure I could lift my jaw off the floor, if it did.

Nocturnal Diatribe

I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP!

I just went into our bedroom to find: sleeping wife, her light on, TV on, bathroom light on, my light off. I quietly tip-toed over to my lamp, clicked it on (so it's ready for me when I go to bed), and walked over toward the bathroom.

Twenty seconds later, what should I hear? The following is an actual dialogue between myself and my waking wife:

She: WHAT?!
She: What happened?
She: What did I do?
Me: (Chuckling silently)
She: Did you turn all the lights on?!
Me: (Hiding in the bathroom) No.
She: Did I do something??
She: Did I DO SOMETHING?
She: Answer me--Did I do something!?
Me: Yeah, sometime.
She: What happened?

At this, she climbed out of bed and walked over to me, her eyes just slits, and her hair askew. At which point we had an actual two-way dialogue and sorted out the fact that she had left the lights and TV on and that I was not attempting to shake her awake (a point which we establish almost every night when I quietly move about the bedroom).

She's back to sleep now, and I just paid some bills. Isn't life great? I love her nocturnal diatribes--they crack me up. Most of the time, I don't even need to say anything...