Mismatched Sets

We have two sets of sheets for our bed, one robin's egg blue, one white. At some point in the distant past, whether due to a sick child or a particularly sweaty hot flash, the set became separated. A top sheet thrown in the wash, a mismatched sheet put on the bed. When I strip the bed, it's now blue and white, when I make the bed, the same.  

It's a small thing, really, and no one has noticed but me. Every once in a while I will think, "I'd like to get these sets straightened back out," but then I'll toss the mismatched ones in the wash together and put the other mismatched ones on the bed. I do this for the sake of expediency and to conserve energy, because everyone knows if you don't dress a bed right away, you're likely to find yourself at 10:30 pm looking at a bare mattress pad and choosing a fitful night's sleep over having to do ONE MORE THING. It never seems like the right time to deal with it.

I think my sheets are a bit like relationships. 

Something can be out of whack, and instead of addressing it, we keep doing the okay-but-not-quite-right-things again and again. Maybe straightening it out takes too much energy when we are already depleted. Maybe the mismatch has become comfortable or almost imperceptible. And in relationships, unlike with a bunch of balled up sheets, we run the risk of finding out that a simple fix might not be simple at all, and that's frightening.

In life we often take care of the day to day: getting to school and work on time, making sure most boxes are checked and the car registration is renewed. But there are the other things, both tangible and intangible, big and small, that pile up on sticky notes, or in sacred rooms of our brains and hearts, that we just can't seem to tackle. We put them off for another day, hoping for a burst of energy, motivation, or inspiration. We wish we could summon a laundry fairy, a relationship guru, or a virtual assistant to take care of them for us, and do what we can't seem to do for ourselves.

Birthday Season

 This is my birthday week, and birthdays invite contemplation.

I'm in a weird in-between place. Trying to make friends 15 years younger than I am, while also maintaining relationships with old friends who have moved to the next stage of life. New friends may not think I can relate to them. Old friends can love me and wave to me in the rear view mirror, but we just aren't on the same path. 

It's hard not to think of what life would look like if our nest had emptied in 2019, as was our plan. Would Tim be able to work less without the financial pressure of expanding our family? Would I be able to work more without the emotional pressure raising a child right now entails? Would both of us feel like we "fit in" a little better in our worlds? Would we be more rested? 

I'll be six years older than my mom was when she died. In many ways I still feel like the 18 year old whose mother went to heaven on a hot May day. I'm so proud of myself for all I've made it through: grief upon grief, difficult relationships, and feeling on my own much of the time. 

When my mom and Jack died, I was so hurt and angry for all they would miss out on. My mother never got to travel, enjoy an empty nest, or grandparent. Jack? Well, there are so many things you don't get to do when you die at 12. 

Over time, I've come to believe they are missing absolutely nothing! First, because I know the veil is thin and even though their physical bodies are dead, their souls are alive and right here with us. Second, because I believe there is no LACK in the afterlife. They are MORE than okay!

So today, as the weather grows cooler and I grow a year older, I miss them. I miss them for what they could be, physically, for US, more than for them. I miss Jack most of all for Margaret. And my mother? I miss her for myself. I miss the vast, accepting love of a mom who knows you and loves you regardless of where you fit in, even in middle age.

 Deep down, I think perhaps I just want to be mothered. 

Mid-Life Marital Musings

Shortly after Tim and I started dating at Wake Forest, he had to get his wisdom teeth pulled. I set myself up as his nurse, making sure he took his medicine on time and had plenty of soft food to eat. It was my pleasure to help him in his doped-up state, and I even bought his favorite pudding flavor-- pistachio. The little pistachio bits were not safe for him to eat, so I sifted through the powdery mix, picking out each one before preparing it, chilling it in the fridge, then feeding it to his adorable, grateful self.

Twenty-three years later, I am guessing that I would not jump at the chance to spare his gaping bloody tooth sockets from wayward pistachio slivers as I once did.

Why is that?

I think years of busy-ness and scorekeeping and nurturing the heck out of small children somehow leave little room for thoughtfulness for each other. I think people are generally wired selfishly, and each day is a struggle against a me-first attitude. And our culture leaves us asking every day, "What's in this for ME?" rather than "What can I do for others?" So when we feel spent, as we often do, we don't go around looking for ways to serve our spouse.

And before I get mean comments about what a terrible, horrible, no-good wife I am, I'd also venture to guess that the same guy who used to show up at my apartment window, rapping on the glass with a box of my favorite Little Debbie Swiss Cake rolls, also left the building quite a few years back.

The truth is, it's easy to forget about the little things that make our partners happy, especially as the years pass. But life really is about the little things, rather than the grand gestures, not that grand gestures now and then hurt.

As parents, we quickly learn what it's like to put someone else's needs above ours, and we are glad to do it. It springs from our deep well of love for our children. And as we pour ourselves into them, we have no guarantee that our efforts and love will come back to us in any measureable way. But we do it anyway. We can't score-keep in parenthood, because the scales would never be balanced, and we don't expect them to be. I don't mean to imply that parents don't need to nourish and take care of themselves, but that giving of ourselves to our children, although challenging, feels good, and right, and holy.

In marriage, however, we wonder if giving to our partner first will in some way diminish us and our claim for fairness or personhood or...something.

In the clunky yet thought-provoking movie Fireproof a few years back, I saw how one spouse lavished love and thoughtfulness on another with humility and without agenda, and the relationship thawed and blessings followed. Problem was, I wanted to be the one being lavished upon, not doing the lavishing. And Tim had fallen asleep on the couch, so he missed that part.

I know I could do that more, not in my own strength, but with God's help.

But most days it seems so risky to put myself back in those early days and ask myself, WWTTYAD? (what would twenty-two year old Anna do?). Because, well, what if it requires more than I want to give?

One day our house will be empty except for the two of us. It will be even quieter than it is now, and believe me it's quiet now.

And as we age, and more things fall apart, sag, disappear-- and dignity and bravado give way to need and struggle and illness-- we will be presented with many more opportunities to show each other help and grace in the smallest ways, serving each other.

It reminds me of how my grandpa used to use a curling iron to curl the back of my wee grandma's hair. Not too far removed from how Tim already colors my roots for me, right?

I don't know where this post is going.

I just know that our hours on earth are numbered. And I'm thinking I'd like to be remembered as someone who loved-- someone who would pick out pistachio slivers for her partner-- rather than someone who is worried about what's in it for her.