My husband and I recently celebrated 2 years of wedded bliss and 27 years of sheer agony, which leads me to my firm belief that there are some keys to the success of a marriage:
First, appreciate one another. All of us go through each day, rising and going off to our various places: some go off to work, some to school, some to daycare, some to the bar. It's just a part of our daily routine. What we often forget is that, when we go out that door, most of the people within the household are going in five different directions. We're all in different buildings, or even different towns. Our kids and grandkids are out of our sight until we all come back together again at the end of the day. And we take it for granted that that will happen.
I try to remind myself not to take anyone for granted. When Druck walks out that door in the morning, I hope I'll see him again later. I'm not being morbid, I'm just not taking that fact for granted, though I don't dwell on it. But I make sure his morning is as good as I can possibly make it, i.e., making sure there's good stuff to eat and, occasionally, if I'm feeling generous, making him a nice breakfast. Unfortunately, he, like a pet dog, reaps the benefits of Liam living with us because Nimmy regularly makes Liam a good breakfast (and he usually helps with that chore - he is a fabulous egg scrambler, I must admit).
I always provide Druck with a lunch, a kiss, and a "have a good day," as he walks out the door. Liam and I usually wave out the window until his car is out of sight and I breathe a sigh of relief that there's one less person to take care of for the moment.
The next secret to a good marriage is: don't sweat the small stuff. His underwear on the bathroom floor are hardly a reason to go whacko. Him using my decorative pillow as a lap desk is a different story, however, and I'm working through the whole accessory issue in therapy. The big phrase here is, "I'm working on it."
We had a close call the other night with the decorative pillow saga and I held my ground when he started pacing around the house looking for a pillow to use as a lap desk once again. "Do not touch those pillows," I insisted. He responded by informing me that he was going straight to the store to buy his own decorative pillows. "Not pretty ones," I shouted, which halted him in his tracks. "Why not?" "You're just going to ruin them." "If I want to buy pretty decorative pillows and ruin them, I WILL." With a snort, he left the room as I called, "Why waste your money on pretty ones? I'm sure you could get ugly ones for a lot less. Because you're just going to ruin them anyway!!!" My poor therapist.
I think we've both learned that we just have to let go of some things. He lets go of the fact that I am out-of-control disorganized, and leaving the house takes me about 10 minutes and four more trips back into the house before I can actually pull out of the driveway. "Where are my glasses?" "They're on your head." "Where are my car keys?" "They're in your hand." When I return the third time for my shoes because I'm about to go meet a new client in my fluffy white slippers, I notice that he's gripping them in his hands and shakes his head and sighs heavily before handing them over.
I've learned to put up with his snoring, his putting his dish in the sink (when the dishwasher is 3 inches to the right of the sink), his refusal to take ballroom dance lessons with me, his refusal to watch a "chick flick," his refusal to accompany me to social gatherings (did I ever mention the fact that he didn't attend my 40th birthday party thrown by neighbors and friends because he hates social settings?), and numerous other things which we won't go into right now because I don't want to get into anymore trouble than I'm already in.
On the weekends, Druck and I try to spend quality time together. Sometimes we travel to our place in New York; other times, we stay here and play with our grandson. But we try to get out of the house, at least for a few hours, alone, together.
Sunday, we left for awhile after dinner. The intention was to go get a cup of decaf coffee, sit, enjoy conversation, look at each other, smile and giggle. But, as is often the case, he gets under my skin at the last moment.
"Where do you want to go," he asks, as if we hadn't made a plan.
M: "I thought we were going to Biggby Coffee because I have that gift card."
D: "I don't want any coffee."
M: "Not even decaf?"
D: "Nope."
M: "Then what do you want?"
D: "Nothing."
M: "How about a smoothie?"
D: "Nope."
M: "Then let's not go there."
D: "Well, where, then?"
M: "I'm not sure, but I will say that right now you're riding my nerves like a bad surfer on a rough wave."
D: "Okaaaaay."
M: "You know, I have to tell you that, by this time in my life? If we had just met? And this was our first date? I'd never go out with you again."
D: "Oh, well, isn't that nice. If I said that to you, you wouldn't speak to me for days.
M: "I just want to get a big lovely old house in the Village of Northville, sit on one of those wraparound porches and listen to the wind."
D: "Where'd that come from?"
M: "I want to do that."
D: "I'm never moving to Northville."
M: "Why NOT?"
D: "I don't like it there. You know why."
M: "Listen, if I ever sell that damned novel and I make, oh, just even a million - no movie deal, nothing else, I'm moving to the Village of Northville!"
D: "And I'm getting a condo in the City. I'll come visit on occasion."
M: "Fine with me."
D: "I'm getting a cat."
M: "You're what?"
D: "You heard me. When I get my condo, I'm getting a cat."
M: "You don't even want the cats we have now! And you say you're getting a cat."
D: "That's right."
M: "Let's go to Border's Books for awhile."
D: "They have coffee there."
M: "I know. I love you. But I'm still getting the house with the wraparound porch in Northville."
D: "I love you too. And I'm getting the condo in the City. With a cat."
M: "Sigh."
D: "Would you like me to get you an iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts?"
M: "You know I would."
D: "Maybe that'll get me another date."
Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma
