One might think that two people (soon to be three, thanks to the upcoming addition of a new baby) can celebrate four years of wedded bliss in peace and quiet. And maybe we will. I figure that it’s anniversary number five (coming this day next year) when we might want to gather more people around to remind ourselves that those six little syllables (“For Better or For Worse”) spoken upon an alter still hold true that much later in the process. After all, they say that if the average marriage makes it past year seven things look good for even more years to follow.

I’m not sure I recall the exact reason we chose August (month eight, by the way) to hold a wedding. Someone told me once that August is prime time for weddings and I would wager it was at least nine or ten times as difficult to find a convenient date and time in that month than in most others. Whatever the reason, it has become “our day”, that symbolic moment in time when things got a little more interesting.

I thought, perhaps, that after eleven years of togetherness — dating for so long, now married — these things wouldn’t matter so much, that all that would really concern us of the past would be the fond memories, the good times packed like a fresh batch of sweet pastries into our minds. A baker’s dozen (that’s thirteen, if I recall) of love muffins, if you will.

Oi!

As corny as that sounds, if all goes well, just a short decade from now we’re going to hit year fourteen, that point of “double the married average” and hopefully things are still as great and as fun as they are now. Hopefully marriage is not a chore, or a task, or a burden. Hopefully, marriage is still seen as a means to happiness. Hopefully adding more years to the equation, hitting year fifteen and then beyond is only a matter of fact and just another number. And hopefully when the sixteenth of August rolls around each year — like it did again today — it’s just a reason to celebrate and nothing else.