We have arrived once again at the portion of our program where life needs to pause, briefly, so that Otto and I can contemplate our life together. The fact that I have been half-joking for weeks that thinking too hard about this past year can only lead to madness was not a deterrent to my handsome husband; today’s our anniversary/familyversary and that means CELEBRATION.
Regular readers may recall that last year on our anniversary, Otto looked up the traditional 3rd anniversary gift and found that it was leather. Not wanting to deal with a vegetarian-staged protest over his gifting attempt, he elected, instead, to buy us all crystal sun catchers for the kitchen (crystal being the “modern equivalent,” though I’m still wondering how leather turns into crystal, exactly).
I had a feeling that perhaps a tradition had just been started, but I didn’t know for sure until this morning.
Apparently the traditional gift for the fourth wedding anniversary is either fruit or flowers. I would’ve been happy with an apple, but leave it to Otto to make sure we get something that lasts—today at breakfast, the kids and I each received our own rose bushes.
Red for me, pink for Chickadee, and yellow for Monkey. (“Sorry, I couldn’t find any green roses,” Otto told Monkey, before he could complain that they weren’t his favorite color.) They’re perfect. Beautiful and thorny, just like the people I love best.
It’s been 90 degrees here for the last few days, so I felt a little silly presenting Otto with his gift of some new “wicked good” slippers from LL Bean, but he’ll need them this winter. “I don’t know if I always keep your heart warm,” I told him, “but as long as we’re married, I promise to keep your feet warm.” He laughed, which was the goal.
Besides, that wasn’t his real present. I gave him his real present yesterday, as evidenced by this unretouched IM conversation we had when I got back from my doctor’s appointment:
Mir: When the doctor asked me today if there was any particular stress that precipitated this depressive episode, I said “My son has Asperger’s and my daughter… is thirteen.”
Mir: That seemed explanation enough.
Otto: So, you got a truck load o’ meds?
Mir: More like a pocketful. But yes.
Mir: And a list of therapists.
Otto: And good again.
Otto: I know it isn’t about me, but thank you for going and talking with her.
Otto: I just want you to be happy.
Mir: Happy anniversary! I got you some… LESS CRAZY!
Otto: How did you know?
Otto: It’s EXACTLY what I wanted.
I already got what I wanted, four years ago. But the roses are nice, too. And I’m looking forward to the Less Crazy.
Happy anniversary, Otto. I don’t know why you put up with me, but I’m so very glad that you do. I love you more all the time, and you’ll always be my favorite.