“These three words
are said too much
They’re not enough…”
-Snow Patrol

I said last week that I was going to make more of an effort with my relationship – that I had gotten lazy, and that I needed to put forth some effort to make things flow smoother, to be more loving. That was followed by a mini WWIII on Monday revolving around (surprise) drama related to my stepson, finances, my stepson’s crackwhore mother, and my nerve to be upset about anything. Though my husband and I are both prone to outbursts, he’s never straight out yelled at me like he did Monday. I ended up curled in a ball in bed crying while my six year old patted my head and offered me tissue – yes, it was probably one of my most horrifying mom moments.

He apologized later – said he realized later that he was yelling, that when he tried to lower his voice, he was still kind of yelling. He knew he wasn’t being fair, he knew he was acting like an ass. He said sorry, but inside I just couldn’t snap out of it. It was one of those moments where it was like I was sitting outside of myself wondering, “Is this truly my life? Is someone yelling at me?”

I’m not a believer in fairy tales, and I don’t think that I ever have been. I don’t believe in love at first sight, I don’t believe necessarily that there is “a lid for every pot”, I don’t even believe that  love can conquer all. I’m far too cynical and jaded for that stuff, and that’s just me – for those who believe,  well, I guess I’m a bit jealous. I wish I had more faith in love and human nature.

I have been married nearly eight years and I guess that there are things that fall by the wayside if you’re not careful. I can say wholeheartedly that I love my husband, but when asked the other day if I was in love with him, it was difficult to answer. I equate the whole “in love” feeling with those butterflies and the shivers when that  special person says just the right thing, and you can’t believe that someone is saying that to you and that someone feels that way about you. After eight years of marriage and eleven years together, well, sometimes it starts feeling like it’s all been said. Every emotion that we are capable of having… well, haven’t we had them all already?

He gets wrapped up in his golf and softball and I am wrapped in my writing and my music and it’s like we work around each other sometimes. Does that mean I don’t love him? No. Do we take each other for granted? I’m sure we do.

It’s hard. Love is a great thing, it is, but being “in love”… I kind of miss it.

So does he.

Last night, he was hopping into the shower after a softball game and asked me to join him. It was late and I hate going to bed with wet hair, but I went in anyway. While it wasn’t like the shower scene from any smut movie, it was nice to spend the time with him. Afterwards, we lay in bed talking for a long time about a lot of things and I think it was the first time in a long time that either of us felt that emotional connection.

Day to day, we’re going to have to find those ways to reconnect. The fact that we are so different and our interests lie in completely different arenas makes it difficult. That our only common ground seems, most days, to be our children sometimes it gets tough to find where our paths intersect.