marriage

dear husband

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I’m bad at sympathy. I’m awful waiting hand and foot. And, for most things, I kind of adhere to the “Suck it up” motto. I would have been a 1950s wife fail.

So, five days post-op from sinus and throat surgery, this is what I handed the hubs.

Edited Urgent Memo

Call it a nudge to get back to reality. Tough love, maybe? Or, maybe, a last ditch effort to salvage my sanity.

I know he feels bad, and I do feel sorry for him. But, he can get his own medicine and pudding at this point. I already have to do those things for the two in diapers in the house. And, I can’t even fathom the thought of waking up with him in the middle of the night for medicine in between parties with the other two.

Can I blame my lack of sensitivity and sympathy on exhaustion?

I wish I were better at this. I wish I had the energy to race up the stairs at his every need. I wish I had the patience… and stomach… to hear about all his ails. I wish I had another set of hands to tend to his medicine, snacks, blankets and movies as soon as he wanted. And, I wish I had the time to keep him company while he feels crummy. Cue Best Wife Ever award.

I’m lousy at these things for any longer than the first few days, and the two littles suck any extra time I might have to become decent at such. But, don’t think he is being abandoned.

He is loved. He knows he is. There are pudding, popsicles, ice cream, soup and applesauce to feed an army. I have changed more bloody gauze than I thought my poor, weak stomach could handle. And, I battled with the pharmacy and drove one and a half hours yesterday to ensure he did not run out of this pain medicine in the middle of the night.

So, even though I can’t bear to change any more gauze or hear about his clots or mix up another cup of meds, I will always take care of him. He’s in good hands – extremely sarcastic hands, but it’ll do.

sharing a lifetime

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Image

It all started on a porch in Ohio. On a cool spring day, boy met girl. There was chatter, and there was laughter. Six months later, there was a wedding.

Sixty years ago today, my Grandma and Grandpa said, “I do.”

Sixty years. Sixty years of living and loving, of heartaches and joy, of angry spats and treasured moments. Sixty years of a life shared.

In 60 years, they raised three wonderful girls, moved at least 15 times, lived in two countries, loved one another from across oceans, struggled through several wars, planted roots in Texas, and lived whole-heartedly.

There is love in their home. There is kindness. There is generosity. There is overflowing of laughter. Compassion seeps throughout. They are the hardest working people I have ever known. And, they are cherished beyond belief by family and friends alike.

What a beautiful couple to celebrate on this monumental milestone. Sixty years.

Too few couples last 60 years, and, in this day, too few care to make it that far. But, marriage is a sacred bond. It’s not meant to be trivial or a fleeting moment. It is hard and messy. There are days full of dislike and exhaustion, but so many more filled with love. Marriage is lifelong and lasting. True love never fails.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails …” 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Today, my grandparents celebrate 60 years of marriage.

Happy Anniversary! I can only pray that my marriage will last as long and be as beautiful as your own. You inspire me.

i need you. you need me.

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After marriage, when just us two turns to baby makes three… and then four, it doesn’t take long before an unforeseen transformation occurs. And, you probably don’t even notice at first.

An art is lost. The art of communication and appreciation. The simple gesture of holding hands, sharing a moment or a meaningful kiss become buried under everything else, much like that rogue sock at the bottom of the laundry basket that never quite makes it to the washing machine. Everybody acknowledges that being a parent is tough. But, being a parent AND spouse is really hard.

My husband and I had our first full night completely to ourselves last night since E was born. The kiddos were shipped to the grandparents’ house for the night, and we finally had a chance to have a night on the town and then SLEEP. (And, I’m not talking about the kind full of restless babies or toddler’s feet in your face that us mothers have affectionately labeled sleep. I’m talking beautiful, glorious sleep. But, that’s beside the point.) It was an odd realization last night to drive about with two empty car seats in the back. There was stillness. A silence. Nobody to focus on but each other. How quickly that is taken for granted before children.

As we drove, my husband did something he hasn’t done in ages. We turned on “our” music, and, then, he gently reached his hand into mine, smiled at me as we made connection, and continued to drive. With our two hands joined, we sat together, enjoying one another, sharing a conversation and soaking in this rare occasion. And, I’m reminded that we need this. It’s okay to leave the children with a babysitter sometimes… especially more than once a month 😉 We are not just parents. We are husband and wife, and that should not be stuffed beneath the bed alongside those pesky mismatched socks. After all, we did love each other first, and we want to continue loving one another to end.