Like many of you, the Carpenter and I have an adult child that lives with us – for many reasons, all of which we are fine with at this present time.
Our daughter is helpful and, when fed, cheerful. Having said that, like many of you, it impacts the intimacy of our relationship.
It’s ironic that the fun of making children is quickly numbed by the act of having them. Not forever, don’t panic, but for periods of your life, prepare yourself for drought.
When the kids were little, nap times for them were catch-ups for us. Don’t blush, you know it’s true. Bedtimes for the kids were enforced and we could outlast them by at least a few hours, so we could also work on our relationship without interruption (cold and flu season was the biggest obstacle, which only lasted from September to May, so no big deal).
That’s back when our kids thought seeing mommy and daddy slow dancing in the kitchen or exchanging a kiss at the door before we left for work was just gross (it’s also the reason they’ll make loving spouses one day).
In their teenage years, the kids were coming and going so much, we had time to ourselves. The last thing our teenagers wanted to do was spend time with their parents in any capacity beyond being driven somewhere. Once our son learned to drive, he was gone.
Our daughter is a unique soul who works, pays her own bills and keeps her room neat, but has decided not to learn to drive yet. An introvert by nature, she is a nocturnal creature by habit. We can no longer stay up as late as she can. Surely, I don’t have to explain why this presents a challenge for us.
So, imagine our excitement when our daughter went for an overnight with her friends to the big city, leaving us old married people with a whole night to ourselves. Just us two. Like old times. Like younger days.
If you know anything about me, by now you know that I have a tendency to overshoot with high expectations of important events, so this time, I chose not to make plans. I prefer spontaneity anyway. That day, my husband and I both worked on our independent chores and agreed to meet for a relaxing, low-maintenance dinner. I left the rest up to fate. Whatever the romance gods deemed worthy of us, we’d take it. We deserved it. We’ve been burning our individual candles at both ends. It was time to light a collective flame. One candle. One night. Ours to enjoy.
Here’s what that looked like: our dinner was terrible (lesson: don’t cheap out on steak); the Carpenter was in pain from a day of physical labour; I was wiped out from driving our daughter to Toronto and grocery shopping for cheap steak.
We couldn’t agree to a movie we both liked, because we don’t like the same things, so we watched something neither one of us really enjoyed, and fell asleep sitting up in our respective chairs. When the credits rolled, we woke up and had a good laugh at which one of us was more pathetic. It was a tie.
Did the romance work out? It’s cute you have to ask, but I don’t kiss and tell. What matters is knowing that true intimacy is more than matching bedtimes.
Spontaneity for the win.
