This past Monday came and went with little fanfare.
Not that I expect my admirers to cheer the fact that I got out of bed, entered my car and actually put in a solid eight hours of work, but after the June 7th that occurred two years ago, I figured a few people, including myself, would celebrate that day as a national holiday.
My wife and I celebrated the momentous occasion with dinner and a relaxing evening with our daughter, who probably didn’t even notice that her parents were in the midst of their two-year wedding anniversary.
Thanks to a few unforeseen circumstances, our one-year anniversary arrived with plenty of excitement, but eventually fizzled out. Because of a time-consuming addition to our family, I almost forgot about our anniversary this year until I was reminded about it a few days before (the memory slip was eerily similar to our first year together as a couple. Luckily, my wife understood that being a member of the male species, sometimes scattered my brain where I don’t remember important dates well enough. Maybe that’s why we were married on 6-7-08.)
Two years ago, we were unaware of where life would take us. We were preparing to live in a foreign place, be together 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the first time, and attempt to compromise on everything.
Needless to say, I’ve annoyed my wife in ways she never thought possible.
However, the transition to Clinton, married life and eventually parenthood, has been smooth and a wonderful experience. God bless my wife, but along the way, she’s attempted to teach me a few things on proper etiquette.
Christina should have seen this coming. We’re nearing almost eight years together, and I’m pretty consistent on when I want to hear “instructions.”
A Saturday or Sunday afternoon in the fall is generally not the best time to tell me about an important date coming up.
But no matter how many times my wife says that an appointment is approaching or something needs to be accomplished around the house, my hearing seems to leave me while football players flash across the TV screen.
Regardless of how many times I’m oblivious about the gathering we were going to later in the evening, my wife is surprised that I did not comprehend her previous statements. For all I know, she didn’t tell me, but eventually, after plenty of evidence pointing to the contrary, I concede, giving her the notion that she was right (at least I have learned one thing since we were married.)
In the kitchen
My kitchen abilities are lacking. My brother Matt still thinks I don’t know how to run a microwave, but I assure you, I received plenty of training during college.
But it’s not the cooking that bothers my wife. It’s my inability to shut cupboards and keep the table uncluttered.
First off, I believe our cupboards are fixed to stay open. I swear that I shut them, but almost daily, after reaching for a glass or a plate, my wife questions whether I was born in a barn. I’m assuming I was not born in a barn, but it always seems that the cupboards stay open after I use them. I cannot explain this phenomena, but I’m investigating.
Every now and then, I bring home papers from work (hard to imagine at a newspaper, I know). Instead of putting them in a place that wouldn’t take up space, I set them nicely on our table, creating a mess that seems to pile up after days. Eventually, Christina must get tired of reading my columns, and decides to give me an ultimatum. Either unclutter the table or the remote moves to her chair. Needless to say, my hearing kicks in at that moment.
Being a great explorer left me a long time ago, but my wife still believes in this talent. When searching for lost objects (which even in a small home, always happens), I throw back a few things and look as best I can. Unfortunately after a few seconds of investigating, I usually cannot find the missing object.
Once my wife enters the search effort, a whole new technique is developed. She scans every square inch, until she finds the object, and then looks down on my abilities as an explorer.
Nowadays, before looking, I just ask her where the lost bottle, pacifier or remote is located. However, I believe that method is starting to wear thin, since she’s starting to utilize my selective hearing system.
No matter how much I annoy her, though, she puts up with me, and I cannot wait to see how much fanfare awaits us on our three-year anniversary.
Scott Levine is the Associate Editor of the Clinton Herald. He has been at the Herald since 2008. He can be reached at email@example.com.