My wedding anniversary is in a few days — on Easter Sunday, to be exact. We don’t have anything special planned, because it’s Easter. We’re already going to be getting together with the whole family to celebrate the holiday, so there will be lots of food I won’t have to cook, lots of dishes I won’t have to wash, and lots of goodies that I won’t have to pay for.
In a lot of ways I’m pretty lucky because we’re going to be having a big ol’ shindig, thanks to this coincidence of the calendar, and we don’t have to do one lick of planning for it. I should just relax and enjoy the fact that almost everyone we know will be celebrating something this weekend — it’s just that they won’t be celebrating us, and I feel a little slighted.
I probably shouldn’t care about this too much. We’re married twelve years, and our anniversary is often around Easter (our first anniversary, in fact, was the day after), but this is the first time that our anniversary falls on the actual holiday. It’s a rare occurrence — it won’t happen again for another 84 years. We got married around Easter in part because — and this is absolutely true — the pastel pinks and blues and yellows and silvers of the season coordinated with the color of my bridemaids’ dresses.
Our anniversary celebrations are usually nothing big — dinner, maybe a movie, perhaps a piece of cake and a glass of champagne if we’re feeling really festive. But I still feel like we’re getting cheated out of something special that we can do together, alone. We’ll spend the whole day running amok. We go to two different Easter dinners — one with my mother’s side of the family, and another with my father’s. We will take our daughter on two different egg hunts. We will be wearing fancy new outfits and actually going to church and spending more time than is absolutely necessary with various members of our family — and probably only a dozen people, tops, will remember what the date actually is.
We will barely have time to stop for gas, let alone stop to do something alone together.
Let’s face it — I don’t know when everybody’s wedding anniversaries are. I practically never forget a birthday (and I didn’t even before I had Facebook to remind me). I still remember every phone number I ever had in my life. But anniversaries are a little touchier, especially because my family is huge. My father is one of thirteen children (not a typo) and my mother is one of five, and so if you count all my aunts, uncles, and first cousins only, not even the more extended family, I’d have to remember over fifty dates. It’s unfair for me to expect everyone else to remember a day that is really only important to two of us. (I can only remember the exact date of one of my sisters’ weddings, and I was in both of them.)
But I am particularly touchy about sharing my anniversary with a holiday this year because I have always had to share my anniversary with something. And not something awesome, either, like Cadbury Creme Eggs and marshmallow Peeps and giant plastic eggs that are potentially filled with little blue boxes from Tiffany’s (even if they never actually are).
No, I have the incredible timing of getting married in the same week that something truly awful happened: Columbine.
So you can probably imagine why I like to be able to celebrate a little bit on our anniversary, something happy that came at the end of a week of sadness. And why I’m bummed that this year, we kind of can’t. Because of my husband’s work schedule, we really can’t make alternative plans for a different date — his next night off isn’t until almost a week later, and by then it will be close to my birthday, which this year is only a few days before Mother’s Day, so once again I kind of get snookered out of an extra celebration.
I know, I know: first world problems. It’s just one day, really, out of all the ones we have had together and will have together for the rest of our lives. But it’s the one day that is ours, just for us, and I am protective of it. We’ll celebrate somehow, even if we just end up gorging on peanut butter eggs and airplane bottles of liquor on our sofa at the end of the day. It will be a sad little commemoration, not at all fitting of the best twelve years of our lives, but we’ll celebrate.
I just wish that everyone else would remember to celebrate with us.
[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’]http://primeparentsclub.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/rachelage2-a.jpg
[author_info]About the Author
Rachel Gonzales (aka “rockle”) is a PrimeParentsClub.com regular Lifestyle contributor. She is the actual child in her profile picture, which was taken in 1976, so it probably goes without saying that mistakes were made. You can read more of her here on Prime Parents Club, or on her blog, rockle-riffic. [/author_info][/author]
Image: Scott Liddell