anniversary

There is no end to the stories I could tell about our wedding day. The “proposal,” the snow, the plaid pajama pants in our photos… Really, the day was magical in that Liam-magic sort of way. Today, for our 9^th anniversary, I’ll share another.

For this story, I have to tell the punch line first. Then I’ll explain. Because every joke is better when you have to explain it, right?

Last night, before drifting off to sleep, Liam asked me, “Do you know what should have been happening at this time nine years ago?”

I thought long and hard, coming up with stuff like, “We should have been going to different houses to sleep,” or, “We should have thrown those plaid pajama pants away.”

Over and over, he shook his head. Finally, he took pity and said, “My groom’s cake should have been in the oven.”

See, we had a small, quick wedding. The cakes were a bit of an afterthought, one supplied by my parents just so we’d have at least a few traditional things here and there. There was a small bride’s cake with two layers, and then there was Liam’s requested Black Forest Gateau. Yes, he always calls it gateau.

After the short wedding and the drive through the snow to the mountains for our tiny, tiny, tiny reception, we dug into the champagne (in dollar-store flutes) and cake. Liam totally bypassed the bride’s cake and attacked the chocolate and cherries.

And then he made this face. Not the face that says, “Ewwwwwww.” Rather, I think, the face that says, “I don’t know exactly how to make Black Forest Gateau, but I don’t think this is it.”

He struggled through a few more bites and then switched to the other cake. Later, he said the gateau was way too moist for his liking. I tried a bit and agreed. It was kind of…gummy. But we took it home with us anyway and put in the fridge like we might consider eating another piece.

Then I got the great idea that I might heat it up and eat it like a cherry-chocolate cobbler with some ice cream. I stuck the bowl of “cobbler” in the microwave and two minutes later pulled out a big, fluffy piece of Black Forest Gateau.

The baker had seriously forgotten to bake our cake. And Liam has never, ever let me forget it.

My husband is convinced that he’s a very romantic man, and in most cases, I would be inclined to agree. We just celebrated our sixth anniversary this past weekend, which brings to mind how it all began. I have to admit that his proposal was quite romantic, though it took some time to come to this conclusion–like, six years.

The story begins on New Years Day in 2006. Liam, who is very goal oriented, wanted to discuss our plans for the coming months. After two years of dating, I had an idea of how important goals are to him, so I was prepared with a few suggestions. What followed is nothing short of classic, and in most opinions epic. I give to you the story, however brief it may be, of Liam’s marriage proposal.

“Let’s sit down and talk about our goals for this year,” Liam said, patting a spot next to him on the couch.

He was already waiting with his notepad open, bullet points at the ready. I could see several mentions of exams for his Microsoft certifications, plans for getting his American citizenship, and the desire to buy a new car.

I looked down at my own list, which included notes about achieving my real estate licensure and maybe, possibly, if he was amenable, becoming engaged. My list didn’t seem to match his, and I felt a bit of a pang in my heart. Still, I was never one to mince words, so when he asked me for the first thing on my list, I let fly.

“I’d like to know that we’re at least one step closer to getting married,” I whispered.

His gaze landed on my pitiful list of goals, eyes wide and blue and surprised. It was certainly not what he’d expected, and I could see him toying with the idea of discussing the real estate portion of my hopes and dreams before moving on to diamonds.

“Umm, errrr,” he said, his eyes moving back and forth between my paper and his. I knew he was desperately trying to decide if Microsoft should be the next word out of his mouth, but he swallowed the urge and sighed.

“You want to get married?” he finally asked.

“Well, we don’t have to get there immediately, but I’d like to at least know you want to. You do want to, right?”

“Ummm, errrr,” he said again, his cheeks filling with color.

“It’s just… We’ve been dating for almost two years now, and I’d just like to know that it’s…going somewhere, you know?”

“Well, hell. If it means that much to you, let’s get married this weekend.”

And there it was. My proposal. It wasn’t decked with flowers or accompanied by swelling, victorious music. There was no cheesy message on the Jumbotron or a diamond ring. And that’s okay, because I don’t really like diamonds anyway.

We actually married two weeks later, on January 14, in a very small ceremony in a tiny country church. I wore a dress that I’d bought in college for recitals and concerts, while Liam wore a button-down shirt and tie. We exchanged rings that we’d purchased the day before, on a Friday the 13^th, and then left the chapel with my immediate family in tow to find that it had snowed while we were inside.

I laughed for ages over my proposal story, and everyone laughs with me because, well, they know Liam. I see now, though, after six years with this wonderful man that his gruff and clueless request was simply his way of trying to give me what I wanted as soon as he possibly could. I don’t regret the haste. I don’t regret the size of the wedding. I don’t regret the one-night honeymoon. And I’ll never, ever regret the words he spoke that got us where we are today.

Tag: anniversary

Plaid Pajama Pants and Black Forest Gateau: A Wedding Story

A Decent Proposal