Today is our wedding anniversary.

It has been 12 years since my beautiful wife, Wetherly, and I said our wedding vows on a warm June morning at Signal Point on Signal Mountain. (Random memory: We thumb wrestled just before the I do’s.)

I am pleased to report that the state of our union is strong. Here’s how I know: We still laugh until we cry, and we still cry until we laugh.

Example No. 1: A week ago yesterday, Wetherly and I took our two sons, ages 1 and 6, to our neighborhood playground. It’s one of those treated-lumber wonderlands with bridges and slides.

Boys see a playground as a place to test their courage. Mommies see a playground as an emergency-room lobby. At one point, I announced that I was taking our toddler to the top of a big slide in the middle of the playground.

“Honey, it’s wet,” my wife protested.

“Mommy doesn’t know that boys aren’t afraid of a little water,” I boasted to my 1-year-old son.

I sat Indian-style at the top of the slide and placed the baby securely in my lap. I was wearing slick, dry swim trunks. The hard-plastic slide was still beaded with water from a morning shower.

As soon as those dry swim trunks hit the wet slide, my hind parts began to hydroplane — whoa! The baby and I careened down the slide like the Jamaican bobsled team. I braced for a hard landing. We hit the mulch — whoa! — bounced — whoa! — and then cratered again before coming to a jarring stop about 10 feet beyond the bottom of the slide.

I expected Wetherly to rush up to administer first aid ... but no. Once she saw that the baby was OK, she started convulsing with laughter. Soon, tears streamed down her cheeks and she struggled to breathe.

Example No. 2: About three weeks ago, on my 50th birthday, we loaded the kids in the station wagon and went out for dinner on a Friday night.

As we rounded a corner in the restaurant, I felt all the blood drain from my face. Standing in front of me on the restaurant patio were about 40 of my friends and relatives.

I noticed immediately that many of them were holding up a copy of a book with a picture of my two little boys on the cover.

“What is this?” I asked, turning to my wife.

“This is a book-signing party,” Wetherly said, smiling. “You have a book.”

For months, my wife — along with several co-conspirators including my sweet sister — had worked on nights and weekends compiling, editing and publishing an anthology of more than 130 of my “Life Stories” columns.

I had no clue.

Someone led me to a table and put a Sharpie in my hand. I began signing books that I had authored but never seen. I would later hear my 6-year-old son observe to someone, “Look, Daddy is speak-less.”

After I signed a few books, I excused myself momentarily and went to look for my wife. In a hallway, out of view of our guests, I buried my face in Wetherly’s shoulder and wept.

“How did you do this?” I whispered. “Why?”

“Because I know how much you appreciate things,” she said, hugging me tightly. We both wiped away tears and began to laugh.

There are moments in a good marriage when you realize that things are turning out just like you had hoped for on your wedding day — only better.

Happy anniversary, Baby. I love you.

Mark Kennedy’s new book, “Life Stories: A Collection of Columns,” is available online at publishedbywestview.com. Look for it soon in Chattanooga-area book stores. E-mail him at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com.

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