When I first started dating my husband, I could not get enough of him.  Weekends were absolutely sacred between us since we were traveling long distance to visit each other.  Making plans never involved one of us – we always shared plans and spent each night on the phone.  No one else seemed more important.

I’ll never forget one weekend my then-boyfriend had to work the third shift which meant an overnight stint.  At the time, we both lived with our parents, so we also spent time getting acquainted with each others’ families and adjusting to their household personalities and lifestyles.

Well, B had to work Saturday night into Sunday, so I chose to leave Saturday afternoon.  Even though we’d only been dating four months, he was unhappy, almost annoyed, that I wouldn’t stay at his house despite the fact that he wouldn’t even be home.  After 15 years together, he still mentions it, telling me I should have stayed.

Of course, now we live together and see each other every night and on weekends.  We speak at least once daily.  He’s my best friend, but now I don’t feel like I must spend every waking moment in his presence.  I like seeing my own friends and spending time with my kids solo.  Occasionally, I’ll pop out of the house to do an errand and leave everyone else at home.  I look forward to uncluttered, quiet weekday mornings and dark, silent nights spent by myself.

But I do admit, I sometimes use my husband as an excuse to avoid something I don’t want to do or if I’m too tired or just don’t feel like it and want to bail on another activity.  In fact, I even blame him or claim I need to ask his advice first or for “permission” when buying something or going somewhere.  And he does the same.  Sure, I do have to coordinate my schedule with his, but, for the most part, he’s flexible about me going out with friends or to an appointment.  I usually tell him I’m doing whatever it is I’m doing.  Rarely, do my plans interfere with his or encompass anything crazy enough to test our marital boundaries.  Sometimes, though, he’s a wonderful, readily available excuse. [Read more...]

For over a year, I’ve been lamenting, bitching, joking and pondering over the fact that I turn 40 at the end of January.  Many people I know, including my husband B, already faced their fourth decade without fear or frustration, maybe even fanfare.  It’s only another birthday, and, hey, I’m fabulous and 40! Why can’t I embrace life and celebrate how much I’ve accomplished and the memories I’ve made in the past 40 years?

All year, while I grumbled that my 30s are over, I’ve secretly feared what they will bring.  Of course, with aging comes health concerns, but my tainted view of the fourth decade distracts me from enjoying what is now.  I’m relatively healthy with a few minor quirks, am married for almost 12 years to my wonderful husband and treasure my daughter E and son J.  After a too-long hiatus, I started writing again which brings me creative satisfaction and hope.  Slowly but surely, we are improving the interior of our home, whether we move or not.  And I’m lucky enough to enjoy the support and amity my friendships bring.  But instead of contentment, an underlying feeling of dread slithers up and grasps me with icy fingers.  It’s as fleeting and tenuous as a child’s nightmare – I can shake the fingers away, but they’ll creep up on me when I least expect it. [Read more...]