Dan and I got married seven years ago this week, in my mom's backyard in San Jose, with a taco truck and about sixty people and a playlist that kept skipping. It rained for eleven minutes right after the vows. We still talk about those eleven minutes.
Before kids, our anniversaries were a nice dinner out, sometimes a night away in Monterey. This year, with 28-month-old twins and an emergency fund we're trying hard to grow, we set a limit: $60 total, including the babysitting.
I was a little grumpy about it at first, if I'm being honest. It ended up being one of my favorite anniversaries.
The babysitting problem
This is always the biggest cost for us. A sitter in the Bay Area for four hours easily runs $100 or more for two toddlers. So I did the thing I always feel slightly guilty about: I asked my mom.
She already watches the twins one day a week, and she said yes before I finished the sentence. She came up on a Saturday afternoon, and we paid her in the currency she prefers, which is a box of the good pastries from the bakery near our house ($14) and a promise that she gets the twins overnight at her place in September. Which, let's be real, is a gift to all of us.
How we spent the $60
Here's where the money actually went:
- Pastries for my mom: $14
- Picnic groceries (bread, two cheeses, salami, peaches, olives, chocolate): $24
- A bottle of sparkling wine: $13
- Gas and parking: $8
That's $59, and I found a dollar in my jacket pocket afterward, so technically we came out ahead.
The afternoon
We drove up into the hills to a regional park with a view of the bay that we used to go to when we were dating. We hadn't been there in almost four years. The trail was the same, the bench at the top was the same, and the view was the same, but we were not the same people, and that felt worth sitting with.
We walked for about an hour, slowly, without anyone asking for a snack or needing to be carried. Dan held my hand the whole time, which he never gets to do anymore because both of our hands are always holding a small person.
At the top, we spread out an old quilt and ate our picnic. I'd made little sandwiches on the baguette. Dan had packed the chocolate and hidden it in his backpack, which is the most romantic thing he knows how to do.
The part that mattered
We did something we started on our first anniversary and let slide once the twins came: we each answered three questions out loud.
- What was the best part of this year?
- What was the hardest part?
- What do you want more of next year?
Dan's best part was the twins saying "Dada" at the same time from their cribs one morning. His hardest part was the week in February when June had a double ear infection and none of us slept. He wants more Saturday mornings where nobody has to be anywhere.
My best part was starting this blog, which surprised him a little. My hardest part was the stretch last winter when I felt like I was doing everything badly. I want more afternoons like this one. Not expensive ones, just ones where we look at each other and not at a to-do list.
We stayed until the sun went down behind the hills and the fog started rolling in from the west. It got cold fast. We'd forgotten jackets, obviously.
Coming home
We got home around 8:30. My mom had fed the twins, bathed them, and put them to bed, and she was on the couch watching a cooking show with the volume on low. She'd also folded the laundry I'd left in the basket. I cannot stress enough how much I love that woman.
Would I do it again?
Yes. Maybe with jackets.
A fancy dinner would have been lovely, but I don't think I'd remember it as clearly. What I'll remember is holding Dan's hand on a quiet trail, and the way he laughed when I said my "want more of" answer was "you, but with less HVAC talk."
If you're trying to celebrate on a tight budget, here's my short version: find free childcare if you can, go somewhere that means something to you both, pack food you actually like, and ask each other real questions. The rest is just scenery.
