Anvinersary

Yes, I purposely misspelled. Today is our 22nd anniversary.

I’ve already told the story of our wedding day, so I won’t tell it again, but here’s some pretty pictures from that post:

Left: Brian Callahan: Derek’s college roommate and dear friend who passed unexpectedly of heart failure this year. Men out there—take good care, go to your annual checkups. Center: Me, and, yes, I was tiny. Thank you for that 🫤 Right: my father, who is 73 and in good health.
Left: Me again. Right: Derek. Some trivia: Derek is looking out at someone not invited to the wedding who is taking our photo. My expression is just from being cold. Because of its old-timey quality, I used to tell people this was my grandparents’ wedding photo, and they believed me.

We’ve got the kids today. We only trust Mom and my father and stepmom with them, although I think they’re not babies anymore, and Uncle Erik would probably do a standup job. But Mom is unwell, and I didn’t ask anyone on my side of the family to take them.

They have a longish drive and my stepmother sometimes comments about that, or toileting accidents, or how we forgot to send extra clothes or sunscreen, or how Aislyn wouldn’t eat anything, or got carsick, or…

In fairness, she’s just reporting the details of the day, as any responsible caretaker would, and in fairness, I can be overly sensitive to any sort of criticism, either real or perceived, directed at me. Forgetting extra clothes is important information and feedback that we would want to keep in mind for next time.

Aislyn should really have an entire survival backpack on her at all times:

  • Extra clothes
  • Sunscreen
  • Dramamine
  • Facial tissue
  • Towels (in case Dramamine doesn’t kick in fast enough)

And usually, she does. But sometimes, for whatever reason, we drop the ball.

Anyway, in all honesty, I often find it difficult to ask for things. And especially if I suspect there might be any pushback from anyone.

If I still talked to Cassey, I might have asked her about today, but I don’t.

It’s kind of sad. My dad and I were very close for a long time. Especially in my teens. He stepped in and took care of me when my mother no longer could. At times he was really the one person in the whole world who was there for me.

And you wonder why I develop such appreciation for, particularly, the men in my life who do things for me, even little things. I think it must stem from my relationship with my father.

I feel like we’re not as close, anymore. I miss that.

I hope that doesn’t happen to my kids and me, but I suppose separation is a normal, natural part of growth and development. They’ll someday have their own families. And much sooner than that, they’ll have friends and want to be with them and not me, and it will be okay. But I think it with tears in my throat.

So, for today, we will probably take a ride up to Portland, eat at Cracker Barrel, and go to Books-a-Million.

Actually, I think it’s nice for the kids to see how Mama and Daddy spend time together when they’re not around. We might go to a different place to eat, though, like Union Bluff, Simon Pearce in VT. We used to go to Three Chimneys sometimes. Obviously there can be no deep or grownup conversation with them there, but that’s okay.

And when we would go to Borders when we were young, we’d sit and read books for hours until the store closed at 11 pm. Obviously, we can’t do that. But we haven’t done that since our twenties, anyway.

I think the important thing is that we do something every year.

Maybe I can talk to my dad or Erik about some future Saturday and Derek and I could leave early and drive to the Upper Valley. Maybe in the spring. Spring would be good.

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