In December, we found ourselves with a rare opportunity for an evening out. My parents were visiting from the West Coast, and earlier that afternoon, my mother texted me at work, “Don’t rush home. Spend quality time with your partner. Go. Have a drink. Look into each other’s eyes.” I appreciated her suggestion and assured her we would take her advice. It echoed memories of the early days after we welcomed our first child. I was captivated, simply nursing and admiring her. My mother had once placed a sandwich on the arm of my chair, whispering, “Save some for Alex.” That sentiment has resonated throughout our years together, especially during times when I feel depleted, and he asks, “When do we prioritize us?”
I shared the news with Alex that we had the night off. He appeared surprised, “Really? What do you feel like doing?” Instead of excitement, I felt fatigue and an odd sense of disappointment. We stood there, hesitant, as we made our way from the office to the snowy parking lot.
We decided to try a new restaurant nearby. As we climbed into the car, I worried, “Do you think they’ll seat us without a reservation?” He shrugged, his hand on the steering wheel, “We won’t know unless we ask.” I envied his ability to transition into date mode.
The soft hum of NPR filled the air as we arrived at the restaurant, an imposing old mansion with a wraparound porch. I thought about our own porch, still covered in ice, and the two small trees in our yard that had split during an ice storm; they needed to be cleared. The trampoline was buried under snow.
He kissed me on the cheek and walked up the path to inquire about a table. I lingered, anxious about the possibility of being turned away. Moments later, he texted that we were in. I took a deep breath and approached, attempting to calm my nerves.
Inside, the restaurant was uncomfortably crowded; I felt elbows and hips brush against me as I settled into my seat. I imagined an aerial view of the room resembling a chaotic pinball game, with tables set up for maximum collision.
Alex sat across from me, appearing relaxed, which only deepened my unease. It felt awkward to shift my focus to us; my thoughts drifted to our daughters. Lingering reminders of unfinished tasks bombarded me.
- The laundry remains unfolded.
- I need to find that Frozen pajama top for Polar Express day.
- I left the mail for our neighbors on the counter.
- Did I put the creamer away?
“Would you like to start with a drink?” Our waitress’s cheerful voice broke through my thoughts. Alex tapped the menu and said, “We’ll have a bottle of this sauvignon blanc.” He smiled at me, “Does that sound good, hon?” I nodded, caught off guard, “Yes, sounds great.” She assured us she would return shortly.
As she walked away, I avoided making eye contact with Alex, feeling unprepared to meet his hopeful gaze. How did we reach this point? How could being cherished feel like just another task?
The constant vulnerability in parenting and marriage is overwhelming. Each day presents new challenges, making it hard to stretch my resources to meet everyone’s needs. Juggling mean girls, puberty, algebra, adult time, downtime, and self-care feels like trying to coordinate a multi-course meal, each dish requiring specific temperatures and timing. If my marriage were a soufflé, it would surely have collapsed.
A work-related question bubbled up, but I swallowed it. Discussing work is a no-go for date night.
“Hey,” he said softly, “Are you OK?” His blue eyes searched my face. I forced a smile, “Absolutely.”
He tilted his head, exhibiting that familiar expression he makes when he senses I’m glossing over something. I shifted in my seat and decided to open up. Our meals arrived soon after the wine, and we quickly dug in. Gradually, the noise of the room faded, and I found myself alternating my gaze between his eyes and his hands.
When he plays guitar, he focuses intently on his fingers, moving them gracefully yet purposefully across the strings. Usually, the girls are asleep, and I sit curled up on the couch, relishing the moments of watching him unobserved. It transports me back to that summer in 1999, where the sun kissed his forehead and he smelled like clover. I would press my hands to his temples and kiss him lightly, enjoying those fleeting moments. When he looks up, our smiles connect, reminding me of our youth and flirtation, yet acknowledging the years that have passed. Sometimes he’ll tease me, pointing out, “Your fang is caught,” a reference to a tooth that sometimes snags my lip. No one else has noticed, but it still gives me butterflies.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I nodded, and we exited the restaurant. “What’s next?” he inquired. I bit my lip, realizing just how much I craved this time with him. Moments like this, free from the pressures of parenting and busy schedules, are rare. Desire blossomed, reminding me that beneath my wrinkles and fatigue, I still exist.
“How about some pool?” I suggested. His grin widened; we both knew that leaning over a pool table with a cue stick was one of the few things that helped me shed everything else—I transformed from stressed to carefree in an instant.
I watched him chalk his cue, his shirt cuffs peeking from beneath his sweater. Part of my mind focused on the upcoming shot while the other part recognized the need to relax. I let my shoulders drop.
Forget the potential mistakes. Dismiss the fear of embarrassment. Sometimes the ball sinks, and if I’m fortunate, my excitement returns.
The mental tricks that convince me that “must-dos” outweigh “I love yous” can overpower me. I used to believe that love and strong marriages should come easily. However, it turns out that it’s about recognizing your opportunities and trusting your instincts to find that sweet spot in your relationship.
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In summary, nurturing a marriage amidst the chaos of parenting and daily life requires intention and connection. It’s essential to prioritize moments together, allowing love and desire to flourish, even in the busiest of times.