Four years ago, Mr. Crochet me and I got married for the first time. It was the kind of wedding I'd always wanted -- we wore jeans, and we got hitched in the living room with a dozen relatives standing by.

Our parents got us an ice cream cake that we pummeled each other with, then my new grandfather-in-law took the lot of us out to see the new Harry Potter movie.

It was the Saturday after US Thanksgiving. Months later we got married again, with pretty suits and dresses and catered food and dancing. But our first wedding, the Not-Wedding, as we call it, is a day we remember with smiles and chuckles, and we have a quiet celebration every year.

Every year we also have a massive Thanksgiving dinner for our friends. When we lived in the US, we would host a feast in honour of Canadian Thanksgiving. Since moving to Canada, we flipped things around and hold the festivities on the Friday after US Thanksgiving. That this happens to coincide with our not-anniversary is something that makes me smile. Plans for the feast begin weeks in advance, and then for a couple of days we clean and cook (he does the lion's share of cooking, and he does it very, very well) and set the house-spanning table for 26 people, and dance around each other in the kitchen, and usually only have one argument about something or other.

It's my favourite tradition, and it's become a favourite of our friends.

At this time of year when thanks is the thing to give, I live and breathe the appreciation I have for my husband, who rolls with the punches, makes me laugh, cooks a mean turkey and vegetarian lasagna, supports my crazy ideas, makes me feel loved, and who loves our friends and family.

We don't make a big deal out of our not-anniversary. Tonight we'll go see the newest Harry Potter movie, and then we'll relax in our yummy-smelling home, and we'll be giddy anticipating our party tomorrow night. And we'll be thankful to have created an open, warm, and loving home, into which we're lucky to have so many people to invite.

I love you, babe. Enough to have married you twice in rapid succession. And I'd do it again.