Getting it All Wrong

I lie next to Hannah on her bed as she gets ready for sleep.  It takes a while sometimes, and today was the first day of school, so it takes a while longer.  But it’s not school that she wants to talk about, of course.  It’s weddings.  So, what’s new?

“How long, exactly, have you and Mommy known each other?” she asks.

“Twenty-five years,” I say.  Well, four days short of that, but close enough.

Jane and I have been talking for some time now about our twenty-fifth anniversary. We even went away last weekend (to Minneapolis, wild things that we are) for a night out.

“What, did you get married the day you met?” Hannah asks.

“Nope,” I say.  “We were together ten years before we got married.”

(Well, “married,” but you know.)

“Oh, Mama,” she says, with exasperation in her voice, “you need a chat.”

She rolls over.

“What do you mean?” I ask, tapping her shoulder.  It doesn’t seem to faze her that we’re talking about two women being married.  What bothers her is that we just do it all so wrong.  No down-on-the-knee proposal.  No poofy wedding dresses with long, drapy trains.  No tiaras.  Ten years of waiting before having a ceremony.  It’s almost inconceivable.  At least when you’re six.

She pulls up the covers.  “You just need a chat.”