Our fourth wedding anniversary is August 16. I’ve been trying to think of something deep and wise to share about marriage, but I got nothin’. Basically, all the cliches are true: you’ll fight, you’ll make up, she’s always late to get ready to go out, he falls asleep in his recliner about as much as the other wives said he would.
But, the real beauty of the situation is that we’re still married. That’s the real beauty of any marriage: simply choosing to stay together, every day. Life would certainly be simpler alone – no more socks on the floor for her to pick up, no more hysterical crying for him to decipher.
Jim and I – like any happily married couple – choose to stay together because we’re better together. We’d rather deal with the long work days, the short nights interrupted by babies, the slamming doors, and the too much month at the end of the money together. So, I call him every morning to say hello when I wake up (cowboys get up in the dark of morning; nursing mothers do not. On purpose, anyway.) and he calls me each afternoon when he rides back into cell phone service. I look forward to him coming home each day, and he looks forward to coming home. At least, I’m assuming he does. He hasn’t said otherwise, so we’ll go with that.
And we keep on joking. I’m glad we’re married to each other, because who else would sling so many puns my way, then explain them to me when they go over my head?
Get it – I’m short, so they go over my head. Short jokes might be the glue that hold our marriage together. That, and my telling Jim he is actually 6’3″, not 6’2″ like he says he is. Who lies and says they’re shorter than they actually are, anyway? Weirdo.
When we’re not joking around, we’re buying groceries (gotta remember his Copenhagen), putting shoes on the kids’ horse (Butters doesn’t get ridden very hard, but Jim takes good care of his feet), line drying Levi 501s so they don’t shrink, getting offensive grease on his cowboy hands by flushing the radiator in my Jeep, and daydreaming about cowboying in Arizona or buying a piece of property in Nevada. I do things for him, he does things for me, and the kids were a joint effort.
Between chores and future plans, it’s important to remember that marriage is a marathon, not a sprint. People evolve (phases aren’t just for kids), jobs end, careers meander, and the final destination keeps moving. But, if you can remember why you fell in love in the first place (bronc riding stories are sexy! And starched shirts and holding hands and kisses in a single cab ’92 Ford), then you can make it through the dirty laundry, the sleeplessness that turns into despair, the angry words yelled down the hallway and the low bank accounts.
Dang it, that ended up being kinda deep. Oh, well – as long as we’re still married, it’ll be okay.