Approaching my eight-year anniversary, I think the main marital challenge I face is weekends. The kids suddenly have hours and hours of unstructured time--this leads to sororal/fraternal conflict. Sometimes, there is a kind of refrain passed from one adult to another: "Oh my God, it's only noon." "Oh my God, it's only one..."
My husband--the dad with energy--suggests trips, expeditions. A return visit to a petting zoo. A lengthy drive to "the Castle Playground"--a structure in a rival town. (The slides are surrounded by half-assed plastic "turrets.")
By contrast, I think that weekends are for movies and books. Occasionally, an art museum. That's all. I would not travel to a petting zoo if I were a bachelor. Why must I do that now?
There is--fortunately--a never-ending stream of mediocre animated films. Yesterday, the family found itself at "Stitch Head," which started strong, then traveled nowhere. My son, sensing the narrative aimlessness, claimed to feel "sick in the tummy." And here is the gift of marriage. My husband hopped out of his chair. For thirty minutes of Act Three, my husband walked with Josh up and down long corridors, just noticing old movie posters, so that my daughter and I could continue to follow the story.
And that's romance. I hadn't known--eight years ago--that that's romance.
My son rallied and watched the last five minutes. He witnessed a memorable interlude--an alligator had indigestion and loudly burped. Greatest script innovation in Hollywood history. Everyone was reasonably happy.
And we headed home.
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