Just the other day, I opened the fridge to find an anniversary card curiously propped up against the milk. The front of the envelope read, "My Girl." After eight years, my heart still flutters when I read that, especially now that I have to compete with an irresistibly cute toddler.
Friday, June 12, 2009
When it comes to celebrating anniversaries, my husband and I don't buy each other extravagant gifts. Instead, we do two things: spend quality time together over a delicious meal (that someone else has prepared) and support Hallmark.
Last Tuesday night we celebrated at an Italian restaurant. We nestled into a corner table and gorged ourselves with antipasto, spinach salad with bacon and mushrooms (and you know how I feel about bacon), homemade pasta with ricotta and bechamel, and chicken parmigiana smothered in cheese. Italians know how to do it right! And they always send me home with leftovers.
The conversation during our date was light and fun, even superficial at times. But all the while, I felt a deep sense of connectedness. It's easy after eight years to say, "Oh, we don't need to go on a date. We know that we love each other. Been there, done that." But for me, it matters that we spend this quality time together, even if there are moments where we sit in silence, stuffing our faces.
A few years ago, someone offered me this simple advice on marriage: "Nurture your love like you would a baby." It stuck with me. Babies need nourishment and attention to survive and thrive. So do our marriages. I'm no expert on relationships, but it makes sense to me that we need to "feed" our marriages and take care of them, especially when we feel pulled in so many different directions.
After eight years, Tim and I laugh about each other's quirks and finish each other's sentences. We still fail miserably when it comes to managing household tasks, but at least that means we're lucky enough to have a roof over our heads. Our marriage isn't perfect, but it's ours. And I wouldn't want it any other way.