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GET AWAY
TO STAY TOGETHER
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Every once in awhile, you hear about a couple that have
been married for 55 years or so and have never spent a night apart.
How romantic, how impressive, how determined, how….ridiculous.
I can just imagine my wife’s reaction if I suggested we spend
the next 7432 consecutive nights together. "That’s a lovely
idea," she would reply. "I’ve always wanted to see what you do
on those golfing junkets to Las Vegas."
There’s something to be said for a little space. Every once
in awhile, women need to be with other women, and men need to be with other
men. And spouses need to visit their out-of-town families…alone.
My father spent a fair amount of time apart from my mother when
traveling on work assignments. But they always vacationed together. He once
told my mother that before he died he wanted to fulfill his dream of being a
bachelor for a week.
"I don’t have any problem with that at all,"
she sweetly replied.
"Really?" he said, completely surprised at her
willingness to let him fulfill his dream.
"I’m happy to let you be a bachelor for a
week," she repeated. "Where should we go?"
My wife and I are a little different. We both encourage the
other to get away on our own. Two days after I got back from a boys trip to
Oregon, she left with our daughters for a weeklong mother-daughter bonding
trip.
My sons and I were left at home alone. For a week. And once
again I realized the value of creating some marital space. By the time she
returned, which was last Saturday, I had a newfound appreciation of all the
little things she does to make our marriage work so well.
First of all, I was down to my last pair of underwear. I kept
putting my clothes in the Magic Hamper, as I’ve always done, and nothing
happened. The magic was gone.
My sons were having the same problem. They’d drop their
clothes in their Magic Hamper, and towards the end of the week it was
overflowing onto the closet floor. Clothes had always reappeared folded and
clean, but it wasn’t happening.
We tried to dampen our disappointment by buying junk food,
watching sports, and having "Bad Manners Night" at the dining room
table, but that got old after a few days. I began to miss my wife by
Wednesday or so.
She must have missed me, too, because she finally called me on
Thursday, five days after she left. They were just across the border in
Mexico, and apparently phones are difficult to find.
"Nice of you to call," I said when I heard her voice.
"It’s really expensive to call from here," she
replied. "I need to talk fast. How are the dogs?"
I knew it. She was calling to see if we had killed the dogs.
Our understanding of our marital space includes the fact that we don’t
have to call and check in every night that we’re apart. She might not have
called at all, except she was worried that the dogs wouldn’t survive a
week in our care.
"Don’t worry, I fed them three days ago. I was going to
walk them, but they’ve been rolling around in their own excrement and I
couldn’t stand the smell."
"Very funny. You guys better be nice to those dogs. Did
you water my plants?"
"What plants?"
She ignored me, knowing I was trying to let her know in my own
little way how much I missed her. But I was getting a little impatient that
she hadn’t asked how the boys and I were doing.
"I’ve got to go," she said. "This is costing a
fortune to call. Take care of those little doggies."
"You mean the boys?" I asked, setting her up.
"I’m not worried about you guys," she replied.
"You’re probably sitting around in dirty underwear watching sports
and eating junk. I miss you, though. See you Saturday." Then she hung
up.
She missed me. That’s all that mattered. When she returned on
Saturday, I could see that absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder.
The only living creatures that were happier than me to see her return were
the dogs.
Life would be back to normal, and we would all appreciate it
that much more.
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