It was December, and we unexpectedly found ourselves with a rare night off. My parents had come to visit, and mid-afternoon, my mom texted me at work, “Don’t rush home. Spend quality time with your husband. Go out, enjoy a drink, and just look into each other’s eyes.” I appreciated her suggestion and assured her we would take her advice. It brought me back to the early days after our first child was born; I was completely infatuated, caught up solely in nursing and watching her. I recall my mom placing a sandwich on my lap and whispering, “Don’t forget about Jake.” Those words echo in my mind even now, after 12 years of marriage, especially during those times when Jake gently asks, “When do we become a priority?”
I informed Jake that we had a free pass for the evening. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, “Wow. So, what do you want to do?” Instead of excitement, I felt a wave of exhaustion and an odd sense of disappointment wash over me. We stood there, both hesitant, as we made our way out of the office and carefully navigated the snowy parking lot.
Our decision was to try a new restaurant nearby. As we climbed into the truck, I wondered, “Do you think they’ll have a table for us without a reservation?” He shrugged, his hand on the steering wheel, “We won’t know until we ask.” I envied his seamless transition into date night mode.
As NPR played softly on the radio, we arrived at the restaurant, a grand old mansion complete with a wraparound porch. I thought about our own porch, still frozen over, and the two trees in our backyard that had split during the ice storm. We still needed to clear the limbs. The trampoline in our yard was buried under snow.
Jake pecked me on the cheek before heading up to inquire about a table. I waited anxiously, wondering if they would turn us away. After a few minutes, I received a text from him confirming we were in. As I walked up the path, I took a deep breath of the crisp night air to steady my nerves.
Upon entering, I was struck by how crowded the restaurant was; shoulders brushed against mine as I settled into my seat. I imagined the room from above, picturing it as a chaotic pinball game, tables arranged for maximum bumping and bouncing.
Jake sat across from me, looking pleased, which only made my unease grow. I shifted my focus inward, thinking about our daughters and all the tasks waiting for me at home. I felt bombarded by reminders of what I had not accomplished: the laundry still unfolded, the search for the Frozen pajama top for Polar Express day still pending, the mail meant for our neighbors forgotten on the counter, and had the creamer been put away?
“Would you like to start with drinks?” our waitress asked, her smile bright. Jake confidently ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc and turned to me, “Sounds good, right?” I nodded, caught off guard by his enthusiasm, “Yes, great.”
I glanced away, avoiding Jake’s hopeful gaze. How did it come to this? How did being cherished become just another task on my list? The constant vulnerability that comes with parenting and marriage can be overwhelming. Each day brings new challenges that seem to stretch my ability to meet everyone’s needs—ranging from managing mean girls and puberty to navigating adult time and personal downtime.
A work-related question began to form in my mind, but I swallowed it down. Talking shop is not for date night.
“Hey,” he whispered, concern etched in his eyes. “You OK?”
I forced a smile and replied, “Yup.”
He tilted his head, knowing I was skimming over something deeper. I shifted in my seat, deciding to make an effort. Soon, our meals arrived, and with each bite, the noise of the restaurant faded away. I found myself drawn to his eyes, then his hands.
When he practices guitar, he focuses intently on his fingers, moving with grace across the fretboard. In those moments, usually after the kids are asleep, I curl up on the couch and watch him, reminiscing about that summer in 1999 when he was sun-kissed and sweet-smelling. I would touch his forehead and kiss him tenderly, feeling that flutter of youthful connection. Sometimes he’ll tease me about a little quirk of mine, and even now, it sends a rush of warmth through me.
“Are you ready?” he asked, and I nodded, feeling a wave of longing to just be with him. Those moments where I’m not grading myself as a mother or juggling schedules are rare. Desire stirred within me, reminding me that beneath the exhaustion and the wrinkles of my 40s, there’s still a spark of who I used to be.
“What about shooting pool?” I suggested. His grin said it all. Leaning over a pool table is one of the few things that clears my mind; it transforms me from a tightly wound figure into someone carefree and playful.
I watched him chalk his cue, noticing his shirt cuffs peeking from under his sweater. As I contemplated the table and my next shot, I realized sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. Forget the pressure to be perfect. Sometimes you sink the ball, and sometimes you don’t, but rediscovering that flutter in your heart makes it all worthwhile.
The constant balancing act between pressing obligations and heartfelt connections can be overwhelming. I used to think love was supposed to be effortless, but it’s clear that a strong marriage requires effort, awareness, and a willingness to see the opportunities for joy and connection. If you’re interested in more about nurturing relationships, check out this insightful piece on dismantling the armor of busyness that digs deeper into this topic.
In summary, the challenge of maintaining intimacy in a busy marriage is universal. It requires intentionality and a willingness to embrace vulnerability. By making time for each other and prioritizing connection, we can dismantle the armor of busyness that often overshadows our relationships.
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