Newlyweds seek the secrets of successful marriage.
Starting our journey…
Everyone goes into marriage with the best intentions, so why doesn't it always work out? In our first year of marriage, we are intentionally seeking ways to make our marriage last a lifetime.
Matt Damon recently shared his feelings about marriage with Hollywood Reporter.
HR: Has marriage changed you?
MD: Yeah, I think so. Somebody said to me recently, “Wow, you really love marriage,” and I said, “No, I think marriage is ridiculous; I think it’s a totally ridiculous idea.” I love being married to my wife — she’s the best thing that ever happened to me, but if she ever left me, I wouldn’t do it again. Because it’s crazy — to spend your life with one person and not be totally driven crazy.
When I read this, it makes no sense at all to me. Why would you get married if you think marriage is ridiculous? And why do you say it’s so ridiculous if you love it so much? Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, or maybe I’ve just been conditioned to accept marriage as a social norm, but I see nothing weird about marriage. Well, at least nothing that’s any weirder than anything else we do in life.
If you think about anything too long, it becomes weird. Owning pets, for example. That’s kind of weird. Having children is really weird. But they are normal parts of life. What if the conversation had gone something like this:
HR: Has having children changed you?
MD: Yeah, I think so. Somebody said to me recently, “Wow, you really love your kids ,” and I said, “No, I think my kids are ridiculous; I think having kids is a totally ridiculous idea.” I love being a father — my kids are the best thing that ever happened to me, but if they ever died, I wouldn’t do it again. Because it’s crazy — to live your life for completely dependent people and not be totally driven crazy.
The thing is, it’s only ridiculous to be married or have kids if you hold independence as an ideal, or if you want no-strings-attached love.
The truth is, marriage requires a selflessness that goes against our selfish instincts. When we’re “in love,” selflessness comes easily, but once that “in love” phase fades away, we revert back to our selfish desires. This is the point in which we might start to be driven crazy.
But the fact that marriage requires us to be better people doesn’t make it ridiculous. It just makes it hard.
This year, Matt and I are filing taxes together for the first time. What fun!
So last week, Matt decided to sit down and start tackling the taxes. I know him well enough to understand the rules of survival in a situation such as this.
Limit communication. A simple “How’s it going?” may illicit violent responses that are likewise ambiguous, such as fire-breathing and self-flagellating. Silence is best.
Do not venture within 10 feet of the Work Area. And, if you do cross the boundary, offer a simple, silent gesture of affection. A kiss on the cheek, slight tousling of the hair, or a pat on the back. Then, nonchalantly exit the Work Area.
When not in the Work Area, engage in a quiet activity, such as reading. Make sure it is not a funny book, lest you laugh out loud. But don’t read anything morose, either, or the gray cloud suspended above the work area will expand into the Living Area, threatening a dour downpour that will ruin the evening for everyone.
Ignore all grunting, moaning, and occasional expletives. They are a natural part of the process.
If at all possible, slip into another room.
Somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00 I, slipped into the Sleep Area and tucked myself in for a good night’s rest. The dogs followed suit and, after their routine circling and fluffing, settled into their beds with a sigh.
I was lost in dreamland when I heard my husband faintly call my name. I felt his hand at my knee, gently shaking me awake.
I opened my eyes and gave him a squinty, confused stare as he asked me a tax question. My brain, still clinging to the remnants of a pleasant dream, attempted to grasp the sense of his question. I mumbled a reply and plunged my head back into my pillow as Matt walked back to the work area.
A minute passed, and I heard him trying to transmit questions from the Work Area to the Sleep Area.
It became clear to me that my husband was not aware of his rules of survival in a situation such as this:
When your wife is in the Sleep Area, reasons for disturbing her may include: fire, flood, medical emergency, or giving her a massage. They most definitely do NOT include strokes of genius, laundry, tomorrow’s errands, or tax filing.
If fire, flood, or medical emergency are to occur between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m. anywhere outside the Sleeping Area, you must handle the situation quietly and efficiently without waking your wife. Use an extinguisher, fill sandbags, go to the hospital, but DO NOT DISTURB THE SLEEP AREA.
Under NO circumstances is the sleeping wife to be called out of the Sleep Area between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m.
I rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock across the room. Just after midnight.
He asked me to exit the Sleep Area to travel to the Work Area. To file taxes. REALLY?
I stepped over a half-circle of paper piles on the floor and looked at something he was pointing at on the computer screen. He needed a number. On autopilot, I pulled out file and fingered through it, not making sense of anything I saw.
He needed information from me and wanted me to find it and get it for him. Now. After midnight.
“I’m so close to being done!” he said, pointing a the progress bar on the screen.
I went back to bed. Later, as we lay in bed together in the wee hours of the morning, I woke Matt, kicking and whimpering in the throes of a bad dream. In my nightmare, the government hadn’t received my taxes. They chased me, attempting to kidnap and enslave me, or just kill me outright.
Husbands, DO NOT DISTURB THE SLEEP AREA. Especially for taxes.
I am going to propose that the Seattle Public Library system be re-named the Seattle Book and Media Lending Lottery.
Before I moved to Seattle, I had never given the library system much thought. Which, I think, is the sign of a sufficiently functioning system. If there was a book or movie I wanted, I could go to my local branch and find it, or simply look it up in the catalog, have it sent to my local branch, and enjoy. Heck, I could even renew materials if I needed to, and have them for weeks, even months on end. Free of charge!
At my first visit to the Seattle Public Library’s online catalog, however, I was confronted with a simple fact and its repercussions: Seattleites read. A brief search through the library’s catalog reveals that there is a waiting list a mile long for practically any item. Upon discovering this, I was as indignant as a tourist slapped in the face with a fish at Pike Place. So Seattleites read. Can’t they accommodate by getting more books? But apparently the budget is in crisis or something. Bah!
So startled was I by the unavailability of library materials that I actually did a live chat with a librarian. (How nice of them to provide a convenient chat box in the catalog so I can complain!)
Me: Surely these hold numbers are not correct. Can there really be 1,593 holds on a movie that hasn’t been released to DVD yet?
Librarian: Yes.
Me: Ok. Well.
I decided to place a hold on something and just see how long it took to get the item. I still haven’t gotten it. But I’m getting closer! Only 1,023 patrons before me!
I will not be deterred. I have actually gotten my hands on some library items in reasonable time, and I continue to place holds on items that I want. In fact, I immediately place a hold on something that I even think I might want, as I can always cancel the hold later. And just think how happy the person behind me in the queue will be when they see they have moved up! I bet it will make their day. Won’t that be great?
Actually, I do keep an eye on the status of my holds, checking the numbers like an anxious gambler clutching a crumpled lotto ticket. I think the library, as long as they are resigned to the current lending situation, could at least make the queue experience more fun by treating it like a game. Now, library holdings are not something to be taken lightly. It’s serious business, I know. But wouldn’t it be more fun if it seemed a little more competitive?
Patrons jockeying for better hold queue positions could sign up for notifications when they reach certain milestones.
Congratulations, you just moved up 12 queue positions!
Or perhaps…
Good news! You will receive this item 23.4 times faster than patron number 592!
And when your item finally becomes available, they could send you an e-card with confetti and music that says
Your wait is over!
Hooray for you!
Maybe if they did that, it would justify the sense of accomplishment I get when I see that I am number 21 in the queue and some poor soul is at the end of the line, number 573.
Booyah!
Now off to the library to pick up a book that just became available. (Mrs. Wonderful FTW!)
Is it stealing if you take a flower from the yard at your apartment building?
Yesterday I took the dogs outside and stood staring at a shrub while the dogs sniffed the grass at my feet.
How could I have missed it before? It was as big as a tree and covered in large, lush leaves and plush round, creamy flowers. Gorgeous.
I stepped closer to examine the flowers, already imagining it sitting in a glass of water on our dining table. Glancing around at the nearby sidewalks and up to the open windows of the apartment building, I wondered if it would be wrong to take a blossom. I live here, I thought. If I can’t take one, who can? I looked at the abundance of blossoms on the plant. No one would even notice.
I wouldn’t feel guilty for taking one. (Ok, maybe a little guilty.) But I didn’t want to get caught. So I left them alone.
That night after dinner, Matt walked out the door with the dogs and a pair of scissors in his pocket. I had told him of the plant and the flowers. He returned minutes later with a bloom sprouting from his coat pocket.
What I find interesting about these flowers is that they are so full and flush with petals for having grown on such a large plant.I wish I was better at identifying plants. I still am not sure exactly what these flowers are called, but the closest thing my Internet research pulled up was Japanese Camellia.
How could we read a dozen marriage books and not include this one? If you were breathing in the 90′s, you’ve heard of this book.
The only reason I did not react to this book with vehement hostility is because I have grown up hearing my parents refer to principles in this book, so I know that it is sometimes applicable. This prevented me from throwing the book across the room every time Gray talked about cave-dwelling Martians with their stupid telescopes spying on the beautiful, but needy Venusians.
I have a general distaste for any philosophy that is based on the differences between men and women. Mainly because I think we generally have more in common than we think, and because it’s possible to discuss communication differences without ascribing them to gender.
When authors try to ascribe certain behaviors to gender, they lose credibility with me. Because what if you say, for example, that Irene likes apples because women like apples, and men like oranges. Then Roger comes along and he likes apples and not oranges? What does that mean for Roger? You can’t say that he likes apples because he’s a woman–he’s not. And you can’t say that he’ll like oranges because he’s a man, because he doesn’t like oranges. So how does your gender argument work now? Wouldn’t it be more useful to simply say that some people like apples and some people like oranges, and some people like both or neither? That’s a truer statement.
In our case, I think Mr. Wonderful and I have some serious apples.
As I read about Gray’s theories that men retreat into their caves and act like rubber bands and such, I kept thinking: Matt is not like this at all. When Matt is under stress or has a problem to solve, he doesn’t become silent and retreat to his cave and come back later. Just the opposite: if there’s something going through his head, I’m going to hear all about it.
In fact, one of the most difficult parts of our relationship was before we were married and we weren’t able to spend as much time together, so most of the time our conversations took place over the phone after he got off work. Inevitably, he had gotten off work late and went straight from “Hello” to telling me all about the stress and frustration of his day. I ended up exhausted and a little depressed after hearing him vent, because there was nothing I could do to help. But I learned that he needed to be able to talk about it to de-stress. I was the only one he felt like he could talk about his troubles with, and he needed my listening ear. Today I’ve gotten more used to just being a sounding board and not taking his venting so personally. And I know that if he’s upset, I just need to get him to talk and eventually he’ll feel better. That not necessarily Venusian, it’s just his communication style.
Overall, if you can see past the gender-specific references in the book, there are some helpful nuggets in there. Matt and I found some of what Gray has to say in the section on motivating the opposite sex helpful. And I hardly disagree with Gray’s suggestions on how to “score points” with women. In general, it’s a book worth giving a shot. Take what you can use, leave the rest.
Mr. Wonderful and I don’t fight very often, but when we do, it’s tough.
We don’t fight like most couples. In fact, I even hesitate to call it fighting. We don’t really yell at each other. Instead of fiery anger, our fights are characterized by heavy disappointment. Don’t underestimate how damaging disappointment can be. It’s quieter, but it burrows itself in your heart and settles there. Then it stakes in a big “No Trespassing” sign that keeps even loved ones at a distance.
Fighting with Matt is unlike any kind of fighting I’ve ever experienced. Even when I’m disappointed in him, or when I feel hurt, I want to air my grievances, but I don’t want him to become angry at himself and be miserable. I simply want him to understand, feel remorse for his part, and move forward. I don’t want to dwell.
We are one. What hurts me hurts him, and vice versa. Last weekend I felt hurt, but seeing Matt beat himself up for his behavior only made my heart ache more. Him dwelling on his mistake would not heal my hurt. I only needed apology and reassurance of his love to heal.
They say that marriage is supposed to bring you closer to God. In our fighting over the weekend, something of the nature of God was revealed to me.
When I fall short of the goodness of God, when I disappoint Him and sin against Him, He is hurt, but He doesn’t want me to wallow in despair at what a weak, horrible person I am. Jesus loves his people, and He wants to see them vibrant and full of the life He gave them, not mired in self-hatred. All we can do, and all He expects, is to feel remorse, apologize, and move forward.
Dwelling does not help or heal anyone. Love moves forward.
Last weekend Matt and I tried out a new church in Seattle. If you’re like me and you’ve done any sort of church search, it always comes with just a little bit of dread.
As much as the church is supposed to be grace-filled and welcoming, churches are families. (That’s why congregations are often called “church family.”) You have a rough idea of how service is supposed to go, but just like every family, there are unspoken rules. And you don’t know what they are until you break them. And if you break them you will go to hell.
Well, not quite. But it can feel like it.
We decided to try a Methodist church, partly because it was familiar, and partly because it was a change from where we had been going. I went to a Methodist church when I was a kid, and I have never felt quite as at home at church as I have at that one. Maybe it’s because I was born into it. Or maybe it’s because I was a kid when I went there, and what church doesn’t dote upon children? Regardless, I had a really hard time feeling like I fit in at the next church we went to, and at all subsequent churches I never felt like I had become an essential part of the church family—like I would be missed if I left.
This was particularly true at the last church we went to, which was a big, slick, and evangelical. Matt and I both tried to connect there, but it just didn’t work. At one point, I did feel like I was gaining ground, becoming truly part of the church, but then they changed formats and I lost any ground I had gained.
Having thriving youth and young adult groups is fantastic, but perhaps infusing church leadership with nothing but youthful dreams and schemes isn’t the best way to form a rich faith community. It was tumultuous. In thinking about what we want out of a church, Matt and I realized that we want something a little more stable and a little less commercial (for lack of a better word). We didn’t want to be ignored, forgotten, or left behind at church again.
We went to a Methodist church, which had a service that was much more traditional than I had experienced in a while. There were no projection screens with video of singers raising their hands and furrowing their brows. No coffee shop in the lobby. No church store. Just people who greeted us, introduced themselves by name, and handed us a program. Hymnals in every pew. Yes, pews (!) instead of stadium seating. Scripture reading several paragraphs long, printed right in the program, instead of served up in easily swallowed bits on screen.
Old school? Yes, and refreshing.
But what came as the most surprise to us was the message, titled “Embrace Your Sexuality.” It’s part of a healthy relationships sermon series. And, for once, I heard a church sermon about sexuality that wasn’t the restrictive or prescriptive message I was used to: “Woe to you if you have sex before marriage! But if you’re married, you’d better jump in the sack! (And that means you, wives.)”
I’m not going to re-hash everything he said here, because it wouldn’t do the message justice. But in general, the pastor talked about how the church often embraces two kinds of love and refuses to acknowledge the sacredness of the third. The two it readily embraces are the Greek philia and agape love. That is, the familial, brotherly love and the self-sacrificial love. But the other kind of love, the eros love, is what encompasses romance and sexuality. He talked about how the church often creates this notion that sexuality and spirituality are separate, that sexuality is to be repressed for spirituality to be heightened. Instead, he said, we should recognize our sexuality as an incorporated part of our spiritual self.
On top of this refreshing message, I noticed half way through the service that the couple in front of us was gay. I don’t know why it took me so long to register this, because I was sitting directly behind a man with his arm around another man. But as soon as I realized it, I smiled. I was excited and joyful to be in a house of worship where this kind of acceptance is possible.
It struck me how backwards it is that just a few miles away there is a mega church that is progressive in every sense except its beliefs, and these men would not be welcome there, even if they were greeted with smiles. Yet there, in this traditional service, with hymns and scripture reading, they fit right in.
Surprising things happen when you open yourself up to them.
Weekend plans were minimal. I was hosting a girls’ night at the apartment Saturday night, and Sunday morning we would try out a new (to us) church. The rest we would improvise.
When I mentioned on Facebook a while back that Matt and I had learned how to make baked chimichangas, my friend Courtney proposed that we have a girls’ night and have chimichangas and margaritas. Sounded like a great time to me, so everyone pitched in for our Mexican-food fiesta.
Matt helped make the chimichangas and then left to get pizza and catch a movie with one of his friends. We popped in a movie and ate from the generous spread. The margaritas only had a teensy bit of tequila in them to ensure safe travel home. Unfortunately, the girls’ couldn’t stay very long because of the hour-long drive back from Seattle.
After all of my friends had gone, I guessed that Matt would still be gone for a couple hours. Bored and somewhat lonely, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The stillness of the apartment was somewhat eerie. A book couldn’t keep my focus. I wasn’t tired enough to sleep.
I made another margarita. Then I turned on the XBOX and pulled out Fable II.
Matt finished Fable II probably a month ago. While he was playing it, he could hardly be pulled away. When he proudly proclaimed that he had finally bought the castle, I just patted him on the head and said, “That’s nice, dear.”
By the time Matt rolled in the door sometime shortly after midnight, he found me there on the couch, squinting at the screen. If you had asked him before he came home what he thought his wife would be doing, he probably would have guessed that I was doing aerobics naked before he would have ventured that I was drunk and playing Fable II.
I have tried making chocolate-covered strawberries before, but with disastrous results. I took the shortcut and tried to melt the chocolate in the microwave. It works for the meltable candy wafers, right? It should work, even if you have to do it at low-power.
But it doesn’t. I couldn’t get the chocolate to melt evenly, and it seemed like it even got dehydrated in the process.
So this time, I did it exactly as I saw on the YouTube instructional video. I got out a pot of water, poured the chocolate chips into a Pyrex bowl and started the slow melting process.
I was thrilled as I dipped the spatula into the bowl and stirred around the smooth, creamy melted chocolate. It was the perfect consistency for dipping.
I inserted a toothpick into the top of the strawberries and rolled the berry from side to side to coat the entire berry. When I lifted them out of the chocolate, it was thick enough that there wasn’t any dripping. I placed them on a cookie sheet covered in wax paper, and the chocolate started to harden before I even put them in the fridge.
While the chocolate-covered berries were setting in the fridge, I melted some vanilla candy wafers in a Ziplock bag in the microwave. When it was nice and gooey, I reinforced a bottom corner of the bag with transparent tape and used some scissors to snip a tiny hole to drizzle the melted candy out of. Because of the consistency of the candy, I had great control as I drizzled it over the chocolate-covered strawberries. I was able to start and stop on each individual berry, instead of having to do a more continuous motion like I would if it was any soupier.
I am so happy with how they turned out. They looked great, tasted even better, and the process was easy and soothing. I think I’m definitely going to have to make more soon!
On this Valentine’s Day, I thank the Lord for the wonderful man I married.
Every morning I wake up to the sound of the radio and look across the pillow to see my husband’s peaceful profile. I throw an arm and a leg over him and we look at each other and break out into giggles.
The alarm is set to go off a full 45 minutes before we actually have to get up. We spend that time waking up slowly, basking in each other’s presence before we have to face the day. We chuckle at the morning show on the radio, share our bizarre dreams, or just lazily lie in each other’s arms. These moments are sacred to me. Every morning, I rediscover the joy of being with my husband. It as though past and future do not exist, and all that matters is this present waking moment when I can look into the eyes of the man I love.
I found my lifelong best friend that July day when we met. My heart is at home with him. I don’t know if I believe in soul mates, but Matt is the closest to being my soul mate I could ever imagine.
I feel supremely blessed to be with my husband. He makes my heart happy.
