by Jessica Aimone
“I met an old lady once, almost a hundred years old, and she told me, ‘There are only two questions that human beings have ever fought over, all through history. How much do you love me? And Who’s in charge?’”
–Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
I’ve been married to my husband for seven years, and yet I still struggle with who I am – some days more maid than wife, more mother than self, more employee than family. And my husband is an opinionated, stubborn person. (He’s also charming, funny, and smart, but that’s not relevant to this story.) Our relationship is … challenging. There’s a lot of calling each other on our bullshit. There are a lot of power struggles. Add in a toddler who still doesn’t sleep through the night and there’s a whole lot of grumpiness.
But my husband, inevitably, will do something so sweet, so tender, that the frustration falls away. He’ll spontaneously clean the bathroom. He’ll whisk our son off so I can rest for a few hours. He’ll tell me that I’m a great mom.
And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? In the long, slow haul of a marriage, those moments of kindness, those stops in the road where you hold hands and grin – those shimmery moments melt all the frustration away.
This Midsummer is my love letter to my husband. It’s about taking a moment to realize when you’ve gone too far just to prove a point. It’s about not letting the power struggle get in the way of the happiness. (It’s also about butterflies and falling in love and sex, which I vaguely remember from our pre-parenting days.)
So, enjoy! And tonight, when you get home, give your beloved a squeeze and a kiss and a moment of tenderness. And put your dirty juice glass in the dishwasher where it belongs.