my jar of marbles

Monday morning as I rolled over and looked at my snoring husband, examining the "flesh" colored breathe-right strip across his nose, I remembered that there was no one else in my house. Not a soul other than me, my husband, my Bub, the kitty, and the ghosts of our histories. I sighed and kissed him gently to wake him up.

We've had house guests since last Monday, so to finally have our house back, our quiet back, and our noise back, was so... relieving. When my friend was here, I wasn't as worried that she would hear something or that we would bother her, but out of respect and decorum we refrained. With his parents in the house, no swear words could be uttered, no bitchy words about work or life could be spoken, and by no means could they hear any sighs coming from the bedroom. It made for a very long week.

When we first got married, we would make out for hours on the couch, like teenagers, and make love like bunnies in the spring every day. We couldn't get enough of each other; we had to breathe each other in, take our time, linger, pause to examine each moment, like there was nothing else in the world but the two of us. But there are other things, other places to be, responsibilities and stresses and even mundane things like televisions that steal your attention away from the most vital things.

I heard once that if you were to put a marble in a jar every time you made love your first year of marriage, and then in your second year you begin taking a marble out every time, you'll never remove all the marbles from the jar. What a terrible thought, what a loveless way to live your marriage. And you do live your marriage.

This is one case where you want your glass to be half empty, or all empty if you can manage it. I'd say we've long ago emptied the jar, but we're slowing on removing those imaginary marbles. We talk about it. We've had several conversations about how we don't want it to be this way, that we want to spend an hour staring into each others' eyes, like we used to, stroking naked skin with no intentions other than the feeling of that one finger on an arm or neck or leg or back, swaying in each others' arms, loving. But the conversations aren't quelling the disquiet, aren't turning off the tvs and cell phones, don't take our attention away from our jobs or our families, and can't stop the noise inside our heads caused by it all.

How do you get back to that place? I love him, obviously. And he loves me. We're the wonder twins, best friends, we complete each other in that cheesy movie way that no one thinks is real, but it is. It can be. Nothing is perfect, of course.

I hear relationship "experts" (can you really be such a thing?) say that we should make date nights, we should schedule sex into our busy lives so it's not missed, we should strive for regularity so we don't forget each other in our crazy little world.

"Honey, don't forget, it's Tuesday. At 8 pm I'll meet you in bed."

Where's the romance? Where's that sweep-me-off-my-feet, adore me and cherish me feeling? Should we just feel lucky enough to have earned that half-hour on a calendar? Could one night a month of total dedication to each other be enough, one date over candlelight and wine to inspire 30 more days of self-interest and "quickies" squeezed in between morning showers and rushing to work, between the 6 pm news and our dinner plans?

The longer I go without him, the weaker I feel. Having him back yesterday morning was like waking up on that first warm spring day after a long and bitter winter. Rejuvenating, but over all too quickly, before I know it fading again into cold days with falling leaves and gray clouds.

If I could live in an eternal spring with him, just the two of us, like it was when we were new to each other. As it is, we do the best we can, reaching out for each other in the dark as often as we can, like a light bulb to be turned on to illuminate the corners of our lives. We're better off than so many people, and happier than so many people. He is so important to me he's like an extension of my own body, and I count him at the top of my blessings every day.