Tongue Out Tuesday: Happy Wedding Anniversary Edition

Today is Tongue Out Tuesday. It’s also my wedding anniversary, so I’m combining the two. I’m a pet blogger so I get to do that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure my husband won’t be offended. I mean, he knew what he was getting when he paid my dowry of two chickens and a sack of beans.

Three years ago today, the funniest, most handsome and most patient man I’ve ever met said, “I do”, and he was looking at me. Me!

Every so often, when I glance down at the the third finger of my left hand, I am dumbstruck. Those two shiny rings are mine, nudged over my fat knuckles as a symbol of his love, his commitment and his promise to love me because of my failings- not in spite of them. And boy, have I given him a run for his money.

I don’t intend to be challenging or difficult; I just have problems. Seriously. I’m not right in the head.

I broke my first vow less than a year into wedded bliss. And a year later? I did it again. Same vow, same broken promise, same reason: I can’t say no to a deaf dog.

But let me back up so you can better understand.

When planning our ceremony, a destination wedding by necessity as this was the dark ages of 2012 when same-sex couples could only get legally married in a handful of states, we chose New York City. We wanted an intimate celebration with our personal touch all over it. The highlight of the ceremony imagined by us, for us, were the vows we wrote for each other. I still can recite mine, which is especially important today, because those vows are central to this post.

At 11:30am, on Saturday, May 26. 2012, standing in the Ladies Pavilion overlooking the lake in Central Park, I slipped two rings on the right finger of the wrong hand of my beloved (for more on this bit of comedy, check this out) and recited the vows I had written over several months. Those words of commitment and promises to him are reprinted here in their entirety.

To be standing here with you, Omar Antonio Lima-Chavez, is profoundly meaningful to me.

As much as these vows mark a milestone and a new beginning, this moment is also a celebration.

That I found a man that loves and accepts me for who I am; that we live in a changing world where love in all it’s forms is honored; that my mother and my father are here to witness and celebrate our union; that your family has welcomed me as one of their own; that you have chosen me above all others; these are the things that I celebrate today.

For your love, I am eternally grateful. And for your hand, I am humbled and vow to honor you everyday- in all that I do, all that I say and all the dogs and cats I promise not to bring home.

I love you Omar, beyond words, and for all the days of my life, my hand and my heart are yours. 

“All the dogs and cats I promise not to bring home.” Heartfelt. Sincere. Wishful thinking.

I know I meant them at the time, with our large family of two big dogs, five persnickety cats and a lovebird who’s response to fear or anything new was unmitigated violence. I’m not sure if Omar believed that particular line in my vows, but I kind of think he did.

We were married in May and things went swimmingly until December when I met a deaf puppy that I brought home. His name is Edison and he changed the course of our lives. He brought an inspiration and focus to our family that we couldn’t have anticipated. Nonetheless, broken vow.

Once that cute, deaf what-have-I-gotten-myself-into? fur monster got to 90 pounds, started to grow a big boy brain and knew a couple dozen hand signs, I brought home another deaf puppy. His name is Foster. He’s a handful but sweet. At a year and half old, I’m starting to see signs of his fully functioning adult dog brain. He’s a joy but even I have reached the end of the puppy road. They’re cute, but exhausting and I’m done.

Even if I did have the inclination and energy to take on another deaf puppy, my husband has told me I’m done. And after two broken vows in three years, I know better than to push my luck.

As much as I love and adore deaf dogs, I prefer my husband over living in the shed. And frankly, I’m too old to get divorced, and 44 is like 97 in gay years!

Happy Anniversary, Omar! Thank you for traveling this road with me. If nothing else, I keep things interesting! <finger hug>