14 Years and Counting…
Yesterday I celebrated fourteen years of marriage to my husband. Let’s pause and give thanks that I wasn’t celebrating being married to someone else’s husband. Although, to both be honest, neither he nor I are the same person we were fourteen years ago.
I count that as a blessing.
I know I’ve changed way more than he has. He’s my rock of Gibraltar. My constant. My axis when the rest of the world is a whirling dervish. He keeps me laughing—at the world, at the kiddos, at myself. And, unlike his previous wives, I enjoy our intimacy, which makes him a very satisfied husband. We’re well-suited for each other.
However, the passing stranger might question the strength of our relationship. We don’t hold hands. We don’t play smooch face in public. We don’t go on long walks at the beach and spend hours gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes over candlelit dinners. That’s just not our style. Case in point, the extent of our anniversary celebration yesterday was a brief text conversation:
Me: Looked at the calendar. Happy Anniversary! (smooch)
Him: Yeah, my Outlook reminder popped up. I didn’t get you anything.
Me: Me either. Want me to take out the trash?
Him: Yes, I forgot. (smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch) You know where.
Me: Not sure what you mean. Better show me tonight.
Him: (smiley face)
I know what you’re thinking. As a romance author, I obviously draw from real life experience. And you threw up in your mouth a little, didn’t you? Lol. This is how hubby and I roll, and it works for us. Just like the googely-eye stuff works for other couples.
That’s the beauty of it. Our “romance” is as unique as we are. Everyone’s “romance” is their own. A neighbor recently told us he and his wife were getting a divorce. “We’ve been growing apart; you probably noticed we don’t hold hands.” Uh, neither do hubby and I, so we don’t judge. My parents used to go out for dates on weekends, complete with my dad driving around the block and ringing the doorbell, corsage in hand. Hubby and I take “date days” to go out for a movie and some afternoon delight while the kids are at school. Some wives get all dolled up with clothes and makeup to feel sexy for their husbands. I know my hubby could care less what I wear, because he knows I’m just going to end up naked in the end.
Does that make us less in love than others? Does that make us less “romantic?” I don’t believe so.
A couple newly in love act and react differently than a couple who have been together for, say, fourteen years. As a romance author, “romance” is different for each of my characters, just as it is in real life. Don’t look at another couple and scoff at how their romance manifests itself, even if that involves googely-eyes. Celebrate love and romance. Celebrate theirs. Celebrate your own.
Speaking of celebrating, I have some smooches to collect. While I’m doing that, enjoy this Flinstone’s clip (when he remembers, hubby sings this to me 😉