Absence Does Make the Heart Grow Fonder

I met my husband Daniel about two years after my first marriage ended. Since then, we haven’t been apart for more than a few days at a time.

Until now.

He’s been gone with our son at a fancy soccer training camp for the past 8 days. And they won’t be home for another 2.

For us, it’s a long time!

And I’ve come to really enjoy and appreciate our division of labor. He is very happy to do the kid driving, handle the school responsibilities, do the dishes, take out the garbage, do the grocery shopping (we kind of split that one) and all the kid-activity planning and transportation. There’s a lot more that he does but those are some highlights.

He also handles the mouse problem we sometimes have because I am super lame and have a literal phobia and they completely freak me out. Like stand on the chair freak me out. Pathetic I know. This is relevant because they’ve made a comeback since he’s been gone. Blecht. I’ve had countless sightings and disposed of two dead ones using salad tongs (yes, they are in the trash now). I wish he was here.

Of course with him gone, in addition to dead mouse disposal I do the rest of it — my 7-year old daughter is home with me so of course I’ve got all the regular responsibilities there — school drop off/pick up, activities like soccer and swimming and singing lessons. Then there’s the garbage, cooking (I usually do that, actually, when we do all sit down to dinner together), bed time, reading time, laundry, dishes. . . you get the point. Nothing so hard. All the normal stuff. I’m not complaining. I just don’t usually do all of it or at least not the items that happen during work hours. Which of course I’m also doing. Working, that is. Work is pesky that way. It just keeps coming whether or not your husband and son are out of town.

I’m happy to work and support our family. And keep the house clean. And cook Shabbat dinner. And do the kid driving assigned to me when my son and daughter have overlapping activities. It’s a nice and very even trade we have going, I think.

In my first marriage, I once asked my stay-at-home husband to pick up my dry cleaning while I was at work. He said: I don’t work for you.

You get why this new arrangement is a much appreciated blessing.

After a relationship where I did the working and most of the house/kid stuff and then a period of separation then divorce where I was on my own on the days they were with me (at which time I was never not stressed, I was never not late to get them, I was always panting and my heart was always racing and I felt like I was failing at everything — working and parenting and obviously marriage-ing), I’m very grateful to have someone interested in sharing the responsibilities involved in getting bills paid and raising children. In doing it with me. Dividing it up. No one’s tasks more important than the other’s.

I also feel much less guilty than when my older boys (ages 23 and 20) were little when I felt I had to do it all. Work more than full time and do all the kid stuff. It was the height of the mommy wars when stay-at-home moms criticized working moms for neglecting their kids and doing the work thing out of ego and selfishness; and working moms criticized stay-at-home moms for being weird retro anti-feminists who were too hyper-focused on their children (the beginning of the helicopter parent phenomenon). So to avoid criticism and guilt I just figured I would do all of it. If I didn’t do it all or at least try to, I felt like a bad mother.

I don’t suffer from that affliction anymore. I’m happy to let him take the reins on certain aspects of our life. He loves being a stay-at-home dad. It was his dream and it’s come true. There is nothing I could ask him to do as it pertains to handling our lives that he would say no to. Can you take this shoe to the cobbler? Sure! Can you pick up my prescription? No problem! Will you get us tickets to see Shane Gillis? Why not!?

Add to the fair division of labor which is quite pleasing for both of us, we also do pretty much everything together. I’m relatively new in town here in Denver and I don’t have many friends and I definitely turned inward during covid and haven’t quite turned back out yet.

But beyond that, he kind of just does it for me. We can discuss books and politics, he indulges my love of stand up comedy (both live and on TV), we enjoy the same kinds of movies (in the theater or at home), we go out to eat, to museums and basically do everything together — above and beyond the activities we do with our children.

If you described the marriage I’m in now to me back in 2009 when I was in the throes of a failing and very unhappy marriage, I’d have scoffed. I’d have said, yeah right, that’s co-dependence right there. Or you’re full of it, no one has a relationship like that. Relationships are hard. That’s the point. They’re pretending. All that insisting on how great the relationship is . . . all that doing everything together . . . sounds a bit *thou doth protest too much.* Blah blah.

When I met my husband he described his parents’ marriage to me. How they were best friends after 50+ years. They preferred to do everything together. They had fun, they challenged each other, they somehow managed to prioritize their children (when they were raising them in the 70s and 80s) and their marriage. They were each other’s favorite person. (I’m paraphrasing.)

His two siblings’ marriages could be described similarly.

When his sister came to visit us one day with her kids not long after we’d met, I asked her where her husband was and what he was doing that day. My now husband chuckled and acted as though I’d asked why they hadn’t walked the 14 miles to our house for a visit.

Then my then-boyfriend-now-husband said: He’s parking the car. Why would he not be here? They’re a family. It’s a family visit.

I don’t know. Married people do stuff apart?

And they do. But some prefer doing most things together. I had not been exposed to this particular variety of marriage before.

My now husband had been holding out for this because it was his model. A spouse who is a best friend, an intellectual equal, a romantic partner. A soul mate — a word I used to laugh at.

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Not long after we met, I told him: “I don’t mind cleaning. I like the house clean and it’s rewarding to make it clean. I like doing the dishes because the empty sink is satisfying. But I hate unloading the dishes. There’s just something annoying about it to me.”

Since I told him that more than 10 years ago, I can count the number of times I’ve had to unload the dishes on two hands (maybe one foot of toes as well). Many of those times have been in the past week that he’s been gone. I said it once and he has unloaded the dishwasher from then on out.

He wants to make me happy. He wants to make my life easier. We go to bed at the same time every night. He takes my hand — every night — while we’re lying there drifting off to sleep, and says “I love you. You’re the best, love.”

I know. You want to vomit, right?

It’s not that we don’t argue. We do. He can be a little hot-headed. But he is quick to apologize and does it well. I can be grumpy and a little bitchy when I’m stressed. And I’m less good at apologizing than he is. I can turn inward, even away from him. But he coaxes me out. And he takes my hand. And he says “I love you. This is everything I ever wanted. I’m so grateful.”

I can’t wait until he comes home.

Now I have to go unload the dishwasher.

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PS. For anyone who reads this thing that cares, I’m sorry I’ve been lagging in posting. I’m gearing up to launch my new business/brand (this month!) and just haven’t had the brain space. Thanks for sticking with me, if you have. I’ve got lots of ideas in the cue and of course, stay tuned for news about my new endeavor. Thanks for reading.