‘Lucky Thirteen’

This month I speak to you as a survivor of thirteen years of legalized couplehood. (Marriage has such a bad name these days.)

I’d like to be able to say that somehow that fact entitles me to spout great wisdom about the art of living intimately without gunfire. But it doesn’t. Truth is: the longer I’m married, the less I seem to know about it.

When I was nineteen – I was one of those who married during recess – I knew without a doubt that marriage was a partnership founded in love and committed for life. Now I think that life is committed to love and marriage is founded on partnership. But even this view is subject to change without notice.

Another thing I have learned is that every marriage is unique. We might all exchange similar vows on the wedding day but from there on it it’s strictly – write your own memoirs. Of course, we all take some instruction from our parents’ relationships if only through osmosis, but don’t expect them to have any answers when THEIR grandchild is about to make it’s debut and Daddy-to-be is golfing.

Fortunately I didn’t marry a golfer. However, he is a ‘workaholic’ so we decided early on to work together from our home. That way we get to see each other. This is one absolute requirement to any healthy marriage: you must have close enough proximity to see the whites of their eyes. I don’t mean to infer that marriage is a battleground but it sure enhances the possibilities.

A friend used to say, “Familiarity breeds contempt… and children.” That of course is another aspect to marriage. To many, a marriage without children is like a picnic without an anthill. It’s expected that children will naturally follow and they, like the anthill, can be absolutely fascinating if you take the time to study them. But if you’re just intent on picnicking well then, that’s another matter. However, I feel it is my duty to warn you that picnicking has also been known to lead to children.

Although I can say unequivocally that our children have deeply enhanced our relationship they have also at times been referred to as the quintessential stress test. As when my three year old finally decided to engage us in full sentence conversation, his repertoire included: “I don’t like it.”, “There’s a hair in it.” and my personal favourite, “You inhuman slime!”

Suffering can illuminate the strengths and weaknesses of a marriage if delivered in small doses. You can learn a lot about each other under pressure. I remember one particularly peaceful afternoon at the cottage when hours had passed between us without having uttered a word. He was sitting on the couch apparently enthralled with the prospect of untangling a wad of fishing line while I crocheted in a nearby chair. In an abstract way I noticed an unusual sight: a small ‘throw’ rug had been jammed into a heating vent (how’s that for housekeeping?). Curiosity led me to enquire awkwardly, “Why did you take the pipe and stuff it?”

“Why don’t you!” came his hot reply.

Fortunately, we both know that humour is the mainstay to every marriage.