I think every married couple should be forced to go to a wedding every few months. Not so they can prop up the wedding-industrial complex with multiple purchases of pricey china or brush up on their Macarena skills (no one should be forced into that fate). But I always find myself, in the midst of watching the couple tie the knot, taking a long, hard look at my mate and my relationship—and realizing that I'm taking so much for granted.
I am a lucky woman. I have been married for nearly 11 years to my best friend—a fabulous man. He's sweet, he's smart, he has wide-ranging interests. He's a self-taught guitarist and chef, an amazing dad, a triathlete. And a mild-mannered copy editor by day. And he's mine.
But too often, I focus on the little things that drive me crazy. The constant mentions of the "vortex" that he claims sucks keys, t-shirts and other items in (though eventually, apparently, the vortex spits them back to me). The laid-back attitude which often leads to lateness. And the giant stack of magazines and videos piled up in our basement.
In the constant rush and clamor of our crazy life with two kids, two careers, two cats and one wild dog, we often fail to set aside time as a couple, to laugh and have fun, to go on actual dates. It's a real fault in our marriage.
But at a wedding, I recommit myself to accentuating the positive, to trying harder to make our marriage stronger. To realizing I'm not exactly Miss Perfect myself. And as I slow dance with my husband (I've long since given up even asking him to Macarena), I fall in love with him, just as he is, all over again.