My funny Valentine, sweet comic Valentine, partner in life, love and mortgage payments, how I adore thee. Two kids, 12 pets, three house moves, five career changes, one near-death experience and four renovations later, I can honestly say there is no one in the world better suited to my loyal heart than my Carpenter.
In all of those challenges, there is no question that the hardest part of our life together has been raising our two children. I cannot tell you the number of times the Carpenter and I have looked across the room at one another (usually after reprimanding one child or settling an argument between them both) and silently reflected on how two casual sexual encounters ended up turning our relaxed lifestyle of freedom and limited luxury into a frantic, tumultuous life of scheduled frenzy and exhaustive expense.
One can only conclude that sex is the root of this issue. It’s a good thing that since having children, that is the scarcest element of our marriage (yep, I said it). The very beings created by one intimate act of love have done everything they can to ensure that pattern is not repeated.
To be fair, I don’t solely blame the children. I blame the person who schedules 6am hockey practices on both Saturdays and Sundays. That guy must really hate us. Nothing says birth control like minor hockey, am I right?
The Carpenter and I strive at the start of every September, when school, sports and club activities begin, to ensure that we are still a couple at the end of the seasons for all of the above. To that end, somewhere in the mayhem of every day, we try to carve out a little time to nurture our relationship. That sacred time can be as simple as a kiss, as gentle as the delivery of a cup of tea or as quick as a tea towel shot directly across the backside of the poor sap stuck washing the dinner dishes. My personal preference is the short-lived embrace known as the snuggle, or as my children loving refer to it, “Oh gross; they’re at it again.”
Leading by example, the Carpenter and I figure that showing affection to one another teaches the children to understand that, despite their efforts to divide and conquer our union (like when they hear “no” to a request presented to Mom, that means they cannot then run to Dad to see if his answer is different), they will always be met with a united front. That united front will occasionally embrace. Deal with it. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like my husband and I are throwing the cereal boxes off the kitchen table and making passionate love on the harvest table while the children are downstairs watching Nickelodeon (sigh). Honestly, I’d just have to lug the vacuum cleaner upstairs to pick up the Cheerios before the cat ate them anyway, and that is an obvious deterrent.
Leading by mushy example, my spouse and I hope our children will be grossed out frequently by the image of their parent’s public displays of affection. We also hope that our children will learn the most important lesson of all: that a healthy relationship is based on respect, trust and honesty. Nothing less will do.
If we teach our children anything, I want them to know what love is and why they deserve nothing less, too.