Romance vs. Reality

Today is our eighth anniversary. We should be getting ready for a romantic evening out. We should be anticipating candlelight and roses and soft music. Instead, we stand in the middle of our kitchen while our eyes roll back in our head. Pandemonium surrounds us. A five-year-old chases the dog through the house, whooping like an Indian. A four-year-old screams - that kind of scream that only bats can hear (you know what I'm talking about) - because Daddy won't let him play on the computer anymore. A one year old throws food on the floor so the dog can eat it. And the baby sleeps through it all - while sitting on the table in his bouncy seat.

This is reality for us today.

We should be going out to celebrate but we're not. And that's okay. Instead we're going to feed the kids and put them down early. Then Ashley will run out to Olive Garden (in the ice storm) and pick up dinner. We'll start a fire in the fireplace and eat our dinner on the living room floor while we watch a movie.

As parents of four boys under six, much of our day to day life revolves around reality, not romance (perhaps a good thing since we've yet to officially "close up shop"). And yet, as I watch this scene unfold before me I can't help but smile. My husband has somehow managed to get all our children seated at the table. He is supervising while they slurp soup out of spoons. (Side note: our four-year-old just fell out of his chair and dumped his soup all over the table. My husband didn't even yell.) He is refereeing a discussion about whether that green stuff in their bowls is in fact zucchini (it is). And I love him more in this moment than I ever have before.

It is a different kind of love than I experienced eight years ago today in Nashville. There is a different sort of flutter in my stomach than there was at our reception when he whispered in my ear that he called the limo to pick us up early. It's different. And it's better. Deeper and richer. Oh, we lose sight of that most days amidst the diapers and the tempter tantrums.

Our marriage isn't perfect. It's not without our share of arguments and misunderstandings. We often crawl in bed waaaayyyy too tired to have sex...or pray together...or even spoon (another dangerous proposition when you don't want to have any more children). We snap at each other at the end of long days. We're in process.

(It took me five minutes to finish that last sentence because our one-year-old grabbed his big brother's soup bowl and dumped it on the floor. Which means that big brother -who had gotten up from the table and was "jacking around" as Daddy calls it - now has to brush his teeth and go to bed. And of course it was Maggie the Wonder Dog who came to the rescue and cleaned up the mess).

Ashley and I are fond of saying that "we're in the same box." We're in this thing together. For better or worse. As I write that, I fear someone will think that we've got it all figured out. Far from it.

I heard recently that "The grass isn't greener on the other side. The grass is greener where you water it." We've been watering our grass this year and we're seeing green.

All that said, Ashley Wayne Lawhon is still the best thing that has ever happened to me. Our life - with all its ups and downs - is still the life I want to live.

(Another side note: I started writing this post over two hours ago. The kids are now in bed and my husband just got home with our dinner. And he set a lit candle on the coffee table, so I guess I'll get that candlelit dinner after all. Yes indeed, I love my life)