Last night I came home in what would have been a foul mood, had I mustered the energy to be actually foul. Instead, I was merely overwhelmed, standing in the middle of our dismantled apartment (which looks like we took every drawer and cupboard in the place and upended it in the middle of the living room, because this is more or less what we’ve done) dripping rainwater on the wood floor, sighing.
Eventually, the sighs gave way to frustrated tears, at which point Mitch was good enough to shuffle me off to bed and lay there with me, listening, while I divulged all of my worries and concerns for the next three years, wiping my nose often and sniffling.
A few years ago, he would have tried to reason with me, but he knows enough now to let these things run their course – my mind, when it is in such a state, cannot be turned to appreciate the finer points of logic, and we both learned the hard way that attempting to make it do so only results in me becoming furiously, irrationally angry.
After many hugs and crumpled tissues, I banished myself to bed with a book and Mitch’s promise that “Tomorrow will be better.”
And do you know what? It is.
I woke up this morning after a remarkably restful night to find a card from Mitch (that I almost missed – he had to subtly direct my groggy, disoriented self to where he’d hidden it, since I was too sleepy to catch on), saying in the sweetest of ways that he loves being married to me, which is wonderful, because today is our fifth anniversary.
A few weeks ago, a recently married friend asked the guys in Mitch’s study group, who have been married slightly longer than he has, what it is about marriage that’s just better. If you’re single, he said, you’ve got the freedom with your money and time to do what you like – you don’t have to consider anybody else when calculating what to do with your day. So, he asked for some tangible examples of what it is that’s, well, better about marriage.
After a pause, the other guys thought and thought and then said, Everything. Everything’s just better.
At a loss for anything obvious to share, one husband piped up finally and said, “The food. The food is definately better.” And everyone launched into descriptions about all the awesome meals their wives had prepared lately, how their freezers were stocked with soups and sauces and cookies, and how they never went to bed unfed – if they forgot to eat, their wives remembered to feed them.
When Mitch told me this story, my response was exactly the same – everything is better. But also, the food is notably better. Cooking for somebody else always trumps cooking alone, just as sharing a meal with someone always beats eating alone, particularly when that someone is as entertaining, appreciative and all-around great as Mitch is.
(That said, while Mitch off taking his last final for the quarter, I’m procrastinating on making the fabulous anniversary brunch I promised, mainly because the kitchen also looks as though every dish in it has been dumped on the counter, dirty.)