Four Year Anniversary
Four years ago it was was pouring rain in my mom’s backyard in Brockville, and I was sitting outside by myself, sheltered under the gazebo, eating cold pizza crusts, staring at the outdoor setup for our wedding, and hoping the sun would find its way to us. Hours later, the seats had dried, the sun peeked out from behind the cloud cover, and we were married in the glow of daylight—light that stuck around and fended off the rain for the rest of the ceremony and into our reception. It didn’t rain a single drop more.

And now I’m here in my house in northern Ontario. My mornings look a lot different these days. There is no leisurely pizza eating. It’s usually a whirlwind of trying to evict our almost-three-year-old out of her bed, or OUR bed, scheduling showers and scarfing cereal and packing preschool bags and crossing my fingers that I can throw some coffee into my mouth before I have to navigate the strange circle that is the childcare drop-off parking system because people don’t understand physics at 8:30 AM.
That rain turning into sun has stuck with me over the last four years, though, in that transition from newlyweds to celebrating our fourth year of marriage. (We figure it’s the traditional fruit and flower anniversary because after four years of marriage, odds are your budget may only support a bouquet and some apples.) I feel like every year I come back and say wow, that was busy, wow that was tough som...