Valentine's Day for the Married

Married couples with children occasionally start to wonder about all this romance business. For example, a coworker approached my husband and asked, “Where are you and your wife going on your hot date this week?”

“Well,” my husband answered, “we haven’t decided yet whether to go to Barney’s Food Basics or Stan’s Grocery.”

Becoming a parent has a way of making romance a little more difficult and complicated…but not impossible. After a few years of marriage and more than a few children, I’ve found that love has a way of showing its head at common but unexpected times.

I used to love my husband for the way he looked in his pink Quicksilver shirt w/ his backward baseball hat. Now I love him the for the way he looks in his sweats after being up with a sick baby all night.

I used to love my husband’s strong muscles from his high school sports, football, snow skiing and water skiing. But now I love his muscles best when they’re used for carrying laundry to the washing machine, or the kids to the roof each year to hang Christmas lights, and Howie when he’s too tired to walk anymore at Disneyland.

I used to love my husband for taking me out to fancy restaurants. Now I love him for making us a snack to eat while we watch the ten o’clock news.

I used to admire the way my husband washed and polished his new car. Now I admire the way he washes our children at bath time and the way he always carefully polishes the counter tops with the kitchen towel "for me".

I used to admire my husband’s latest intellectual recital from his vast store of knowledge. But now I admire him most when he’s crawling on all fours and acting like a goon to get Brynn to laugh, attentively listening to the kindergartner tell knock-knock jokes without punch lines, helping our oldest with algebra, or telling made-up bedtime stories to the girls.

I used to admire my husband’s courage to travel to exotic foreign lands. Now I admire his courage to stay home, get up every morning, and face the work world, only to come home to sticky kitchen chairs, a pre-teen with a writing block, last-minute peanut-butter-and-jam dinners and after-dinner children who explode with “Daddy-do-this” energy.

My husband spends his free time fixing holes in the dry wall directly opposite the doorknobs, leaking faucets, lint filters, hair driers, clogged toilet, squeaky doors, the sheeted big screen, and runny noses. He takes time to build pine wood derby cars, good work ethics, a 401K, and our children’s memories.

I used to think the greatest show of romantic love was a passionate Hollywood kiss and embrace followed by an expression like, “Oh my darling, I cannot live another moment without you.” Now I feel the greatest expressions of love sound more like “Snuggle up and I’ll get your feet warm.” Or, “I’ll take care of the kids. Why don’t you get out and do whatever you want for the day.” Or, “Why, this casserole hardly tastes burned at all.”

Fourteen years ago, my husband and I knelt across a lace-covered altar and gazed into each other’s eyes, believing our love was complete. Now we gaze across a crumpled bed with bloodshot eyes at six in the morning while one child crawls across my stomach, another is perched on my husband’s nose, and one is ready for a jet landing on our shins. The others are spilling cereal and throwing oranges in the kitchen. Another crying to get into the action from the crib in the bathroom.


And that, in spite of the constant chaos we call family life, is why marital romance just keeps getting better and better.