I was fully prepared to go through an entire year of the special days by myself. Now, as some of the really big ones come around a second time, and I'm alone, it's much less fun. Today was our anniversary, the second one I've gotten to spend alone in a row. It's not like I haven't been through this before. This is definitely not my first solo special day. I couldn't possibly count how many anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, school awards ceremonies, graduations, and crisis days I've gone stag. I've even done consecutive solo holidays, without much whining. But those were usually separated by months with Mr Man at home. No such luck this year. Didn't even get to Skype. (Haven't in ages. Months maybe?) I got an extra long time chatting with him on Facebook. It will have to do. As for me, I didn't even try to go out to dinner. My back strain from Saturday is actually getting worse, and I decided sitting in a restaurant chair, or worse, a booth, would be one torture too many. As it was, I barely survived the walk around Publix, to load up on gluten free junk food for my pity party (pizza, veggie chips, and the only balm for a lonely heart, ice cream).
I'm not sure what it is about July that ends up being so incredibly challenging for us, nor how we managed to put our wedding during what always ends up being the worst month. One year, in the week leading up to our anniversary, his work crisis was so bad, everything changed dramatically for the worse for him, so he was in a horrible mood, and I was so stressed out I ended up in the emergency room with chest pains. Early in our relationship, while I was pregnant with our first child, we went to a Who outdoor concert where they opened the doors late (didn't they learn in the 70s?), and in the rush daughter number one and I were nearly crushed out of existence on a ramp to our seats, until someone overlooking the ramp saw the man trying to hold back the crowd with his body, arms framing me, and they lifted us straight up to safety. Another year, our annual group camping party was kicked out of the Great Sand Dunes national monument (for stupid reasons), and one of our little convoy rolled her car, ejecting her passenger (who survived, relatively unscathed). For our tenth anniversary, the man and I flew to London, rented a car, and drove up to Gretna Green in Scotland to renew our vows. Halfway there, the tiny roads and wrong-side traffic had me so terrified, I had a nervous breakdown on the side of a country road, so hysterical it was unclear whether we were going to proceed with our mock elopement or give up and go back to the states, and possibly give up on the marriage. (It was a hell of a breakdown, let me tell you.) This year, while the his assignment is in overtime, he's in a paperwork nightmare, so bad that he is literally stuck at work until it is resolved, needing someone to take care of the cats and handicapped dog that he keeps. If we are lucky, this will just be a few days. I doubt we will be so lucky. You know, July sucks. No two ways about it.
Next year is a milestone anniversary. As badly as this year went, I am determined to make next year's celebration a great one. Unless the zombie apocalypse all the movies predict actually comes and plunges the world into chaos, we have guaranteed that the man will be home for it. We have taken drastic steps that should assure it will be so. I am determined to throw a silver anniversary party at least as good as the quarter century party we had we back when I turned twenty-five. I don't know whether it will be as big an event, but it will be as memorable. I will probably even recreate the adorable "quarter" cakes that the man made me (albeit gluten free, of course).
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