Real Life

A few weeks ago

Paul and I packed up the boys

and hit the highway

for a family road trip

through Arizona.

1,500 miles.

6 days.

Magical.

Dreamy.

We floated through days;

laughing, hiking, catching fish.

The boys swam in a creek,

played in a summer storm

and fed their great-grandfather's horses.

We sat on a country backporch

and watched lightening fill the night sky.

We saw miles and miles

of desert and forest,

red rock and sunsets,

with a Grand Canyon

exclamation point.

Total sighheartburstmagicpeacejoyfest.

I fell in love with my children

and Paul

all over again

and floated home

on a game of ABC Band Names

(I still hold strong to the belief that

Ziggy Stardust counts for Z).

That was Monday.

The high lasted

about 2 days

and then like a plane

whose engines suddenly seized;

I plummeted to earth.

By Thursday I found myself irritated

by laundry and dishes

and work
and just the god damn

drudgery.

I know living with me

can be a nightmare.

I'm a neat freak

and

I'm controlling

and

I'm pretty sure

if everyone cooperated,

our home would possibly

look like a museum,

but instead it looks

like people actually live there

and sometimes that makes me crazy.

When James was a baby

I'd have to literally pep talk myself

into leaving the dinner dishes in the sink

until after the boys were in bed.

I still struggle with this.

Busy, busy, busy...always doing

nonstop...go, go, go.

And since I am like this

I unintentionally expect my partner

to be the same,

and because he is not,

bing! Bang! BOOM!

HELP ME!!!!!!

So that's a point of contention for us.

Which please don't even think

for a moment that I am alone

in the managment of our home.

This is the guy who goes grocery shopping

every week,

makes marinara and hummus from scratch

because he knows I love it,

cooks dinner half of the time,

schleps our boys around,

works overtime hours

and then spends his days off

designing furniture for our home

that he then builds.

Great man?

Yeah I'd say so.

Perfect?
No.

Me neither.

In addition to my neurosis

in all things housework,

I also battle my head.

30 plus years of rolling stages

of depression, anxiety.

A life lived sober now

but not in the past

and the work

that goes with that.

The struggle that still exists

behind that.

Sometimes things are very...

intense.

Angry.

Sad.

Difficult.

It's been shocking to me

how much work is involved

in the care and maintenance

and survival of a partnership.

With kids and a home to spare.

I spoke with one of my best friends

Sunday morning as I cried into my coffee.

I was super angry with my beloved

and

"I know relationships are full of highs and lows 

but the lows suck."

sobsobsniffsniff

And she let me cry

and she heard me out

and then she delivered

some hard earned gems of marriage advice:

"It's just one day.
It'll get better.
It always does."

and 

"Yes the lows suck,
but they'll make you

into a better, healthier person
if you stick it out."

And it wasn't better right away.

But it's better now.

And we spent last night watching

a documentary with Lucas

and then snuggled on the couch

eating blueberry pie.

And every day I learn more

about what it is to love someone

and keep a relationship alive.

To decide every day,

yes I want to be here

with you,

doing this.

Because I don't know

what everyone else's partnership is like

but I can tell you mine is 

full of love
and joy
and laughter
and WORK.

It takes work.

Wayyyyy more work

than I had ever imagined.

Work that is worth it to me

because these boys

and this man

are my greatest loves.