I was out shoveling for the first time this winter season. Afterwards, my first thought was that if we had a winter home in Australia it would be summer time. My second thought was that marriage hurts.
Big leap there, I know.
How did I learn that marriage hurts while shoveling snow?
The calloused blister on my hand taught me. That blister was caused by my wedding band while I was shoveling the driveway at 6:30 am so DW could drive to work.
That’s how I know.
It’s the kicks in the night from the restless spouse. It’s the cold feet put on your warm body because your partner wants you to warm them up. It’s the snuggling in such a way that your arm or leg falls asleep and gets that pins and needles feeling.
It’s the working around the house attempting to get the “honey do” list done. “Honey, do move this over there. Honey, do fix this and this and this. Honey, do figure out what’s going on with this and that.”
There will be injuries with each of those honey dos. At least, there will be they way I do handyman. Banged a finger with the hammer. Cut myself on/with something – chances are I won’t remember how. Burned myself. Fell down the stairs getting the tools. Fell up the stairs carrying an armful of whatever needed to be moved because I’m too stubborn to make more than one trip.
Then there are the “smacks”. Okay, perhaps I shouldn’t have scared DW while she was in the shower. I deserved that punch, but it was totally worth it.
I probably shouldn’t have hit the brakes in the truck while she getting a
drink, either. I deserved that smack, too. Again, it was funny as hell. I know it was asshole thing to do and she told me so. The three year old then says, “Yeah dad, don’t be an asshole.” To which the seven year old replied, “Great! Now you got him saying asshole.” We were laughing far too hard to discipline anyone.
Then there are the arguments – or heated discussions if you’re in our house. They hurt, too. But not the kind of hurt you can typically see. It’s no fun arguing with the one you love. But when you share absolutely everything – a dinner table, a bed, a toilet, responsibilities, kids – there’s bound to be an argument or two. Just because two people argue doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. But still, it hurts.
But, you know what?
We wouldn’t have it any other way. This little thing called love binds us together. Sure we drive each other batshit crazy. Isn’t that the fun part? And I’m pretty sure it was in our vows to love each other in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, for sanity and insanity…
So, with a calloused blistered hand, I will continue to shovel the snow in the driveway because I don’t need to say I love you in order to show that I love you.