My husband is a smart, opinionated guy, given to expansive
lectures on any number of topics and a soft spot for knowing the most and being
the right-est. His brain is probably what did me in, what feels like ages ago,
since I’ll admit that I originally thought he was too pretty to be all that
smart. Being way, way wrong was one of the most pleasant surprises of my life.
At any rate, we’re a lot alike, and that means we butt heads
sometimes. We should really know better than to schedule date night at the end
of a long week, when we’re both tired and a little more touchy than usual.
I fled for Richmond and a much-needed girls’ night the next
morning, and Seth went hunting for the millionth time that week. (Fighting
traffic and deadlines while he gets to hang out in the woods perhaps,
sometimes, maybe contributes to a shorter-than-usual fuse on my part.) I hadn’t
seen Heather in ages, and the original plan for a wild night on the town gave
way, predictably, to leisurely shopping, a manicure, and drinks at the bar on a
Noah’s Ark-kind of rainy day. We went downtown for tapas and wine, and were in
bed by midnight, which we decided was the new thing: the “grown up girls’ night.”
Heavy on the sleep. After a stupendously relaxing massage and a mimosa brunch Sunday, I headed home, with
a plan to stop at Wegman’s, change into sweats, consume a few mimosas on the couch while pretending to care about whatever playoff game was on TV, and
forgive my stubborn husband for being a know-it-all.
And of course it was a terrific time. I’m a reasonably good shot, but Seth is encyclopedic about
guns and shooting and anything related to either. Plus, he really enjoys
shooting, which is contagious, and is particularly adorable about how much fun
he has shooting with his wife. I think he thinks it’s the ultimate couples
activity. I can think of a few that top it, but we had an excellent afternoon.
And I still got my mimosas on the couch.
At any rate, we’re a lot alike, and that means we butt heads
sometimes. We should really know better than to schedule date night at the end
of a long week, when we’re both tired and a little more touchy than usual.
We checked out a new place on Friday, the Tower Oaks Lodge in Rockville, after a week of horrific
weather and worse traffic and a lot of late nights working on a huge 62 appeal
(me) and grad school admission packets (him.) We loved the place, all lit up
with Christmas lights and decorated with big wood beams and rustic accents,
with canoes hanging from the ceiling and ducks tacked to the walls. Still,
halfway through dinner Seth (inadvertently, he claims) insulted me, and I
pouted, and we endured a silent ride home.
I suppose that’s what marriage is all about. Knowing each
other, and your collective strengths and weaknesses, and when to push, and when to
shelve your feelings, and when to just stay home in sweats. We’re working on
it. I suppose most married people are. It feels like one of those "work in progress" things.
I fled for Richmond and a much-needed girls’ night the next
morning, and Seth went hunting for the millionth time that week. (Fighting
traffic and deadlines while he gets to hang out in the woods perhaps,
sometimes, maybe contributes to a shorter-than-usual fuse on my part.) I hadn’t
seen Heather in ages, and the original plan for a wild night on the town gave
way, predictably, to leisurely shopping, a manicure, and drinks at the bar on a
Noah’s Ark-kind of rainy day. We went downtown for tapas and wine, and were in
bed by midnight, which we decided was the new thing: the “grown up girls’ night.”
Heavy on the sleep. After a stupendously relaxing massage and a mimosa brunch Sunday, I headed home, with
a plan to stop at Wegman’s, change into sweats, consume a few mimosas on the couch while pretending to care about whatever playoff game was on TV, and
forgive my stubborn husband for being a know-it-all.
Halfway there, he texted me with some sort of harebrained
scheme that involved me meeting him at a Virginia gun store so we could
circumvent Maryland gun laws by my signing for whatever his latest purchase
was. He thought he’d sweeten the pot with the offer of some couples’ range
time. I can’t say I was thrilled about the prospect, but figured I owed him for
my desertion.
And of course it was a terrific time. I’m a reasonably good shot, but Seth is encyclopedic about
guns and shooting and anything related to either. Plus, he really enjoys
shooting, which is contagious, and is particularly adorable about how much fun
he has shooting with his wife. I think he thinks it’s the ultimate couples
activity. I can think of a few that top it, but we had an excellent afternoon.
And I still got my mimosas on the couch.
And because a happy husband is apparently a really helpful
husband, after a painfully long Monday, I came home to this. Homemade pizza,
with tons of veggies. And wine. We may butt heads from time to time, but I definitely
can’t complain. Life is good. And well-timed girls' nights are invaluable.
And
Seth makes really, really good pizza.
Picture of the week is of our adorable (and so grown up!) niece,
Natalie, with the stir fry set we got her for Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment