My wedding anniversary is coming up, and I think I can say honestly that of the 3,647 times I've asked myself why in the world I wanted to get married again, 3,640 of those times I looked into the warm brown eyes of my dear husband and knew exactly why.

The other seven times occurred when we were working on D.I.Y. home and garden projects.

Regarding those seven times, I can honestly say that at the end of those experiences, I was just thankful that we don't keep guns in the garage, or one of us would be dead, and the other would be in jail. Hard to say who would be pushing up daisies and who would be trying to raise bail though. That's one of the mysteries marriage leads you to contemplate.

Anyway, I can now bring the grand total of those moments to eight. This is because last weekend we got a bit further into our Recession Garden project. This part of the project involved redesigning our sprinkler system so we can accommodate some raised vegetable beds, which will be where a fair amount of our lawn currently is.

My idea was to hire a professional, so that when I inevitably became concerned about how the project was turning out, the man I was haranguing would be someone who was being paid, partially, to listen to me complain.

It would not be the same man as the one I live with -- the one who tends to take my questions as personal affronts to his masculinity, becoming offended enough to not speak to me through dinner, cold shoulder me at bedtime, or deliberately leave all the recycling out for me to do, in a fit of pique.

You see, home improvement projects are something of a testosterone-soaked badge (or, bandage, in many cases) of honor to my husband, and he would not hear of hiring someone to do something he can (sort of) do himself.

And so another project began. Through the years of our courtship and marriage, I have at least learned what I can expect from these projects. This is because, when you're married for a long enough time, there's a certain shorthand-speak you use, which the other understands instinctively.

I know, for instance, the following facts about my husband's D.I.Y. extravaganzas:

1. If he says it will cost $100, it will cost no less than $300 -- maybe more.

2. Whatever parts are bought for the "complete" project will amount to just over half the materials actually needed. The extra materials will be purchased on numerous additional trips to the hardware store, which will each take approximately three hours, because my husband will run into friends there and spend 2.5 hours jawboning about who-knows-what.

3. If it's supposed to be done in one day, it will actually take at least two to three weekends, due to unforeseen problems arising and aforementioned Hardware Store Jawboning.

4. If he says it's easy, it probably isn't.

5. "Oops!" and "Darn it!" are always bad things to hear emanating from the project site, and generally cost an extra 50 bucks (plus trip to the hardware store) for each occurrence.

And so, on Saturday and Sunday, the yard turned into a construction zone, with trenches being dug, waterspouts being generated (from sprinkler pipe speared accidentally with shovels), and "oopses" and "darn its" were uttered with great regularity. It was a splendid time, my husband told me on Sunday night, as I was rubbing Ben Gay into his shoulder muscles and doling out Advil like candy corn at Halloween.

In the end, we had part of the sprinkler system modified, which is the first in several steps we need to take before building the raised beds. And while it was not professionally done, even with the "oops" moments it probably cost a lot less than it would have if we'd hired someone, as well as gave my husband a sense of accomplishment and pride once the new watering system was in and functioning.

And it represented the kind of compromise we all have to make if we want to share a home with another person.

Let's face it, "oops" and "darn it" moments are just part of life. Who knows, maybe marriage is the biggest D.I.Y. project of all. It can go smoothly, or everything can go wrong, but when all else fails if you can look into the eyes of your mate and still see goodness, you'll probably be OK.

And if you're afraid it might be one of those eight moments when you can't find patience or goodness in either yourself or your mate, send them down to the hardware store for awhile.

A few hours of separation and a good selection of pipe fittings can heal a world of marital trouble, believe me.

Diane Sayre is a freelance writer living in Hanford. Her column appears weekly in the Sentinel. Readers can write to her at The Hanford Sentinel, P.O. Box 9, Hanford, CA 93232.

(June 22, 2009)