joshua · marriage

Mardi Gras, Aqua Notes, and Marriage

Last week I told you what’s saving my life right now. This week there’s a “holiday” around the corner so I thought I’d tell you what’s saving my marriage.

Not that it needed saving per se–but a good marriage is like a faithful car. It needs a little maintenance and every now and then, deserves something more exciting than the same mundane trip around the block.

Photo courtesy of Kimberly Brown, The Northeast Georgian.

Enter Mardi Gras. Now, we’re not French. We don’t live in New Orleans, and we’re good Southern Baptists who usually don’t make a big deal about Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday ushering in the season of Lent. (More on that later and how we’re invoking some of our own family traditions.) But our little hometown, that reminds an awful lot of Stars Hollow most days, has a big fundraiser every year. Proceeds support the Downtown Facade Grant for improvements to small businesses, and you know we love to support a small business. It’s kind of what Joshua does all day long and why he sometimes can’t answer my text messages about potty training in a timely manner.

We have friends who own small businesses and sponsored some tables for this year’s event and invited us along for the fun. Here’s the part about marriage: he didn’t want to go. Fancy dinner and dancing and socializing are not high on my introverted husband’s list of a good time. But he knew I wanted to go, and he figured it was a good excuse to see me wear something other than my favorite tunnel-neck sweatshirt.

Marriage is so often about compromise and sacrifice. Even if all you’re sacrificing is another night of Netflix and take out Chinese.

Then the worst thing possible happened to the man who is a self-proclaimed wallflower. That Mardi Gras tradition of finding the baby in the King Cake making you king of the feast? Yup.

Photo courtesy of Kimberly Brown, The Northeast Georgian.

He tried to trade it out with a friend who instead convinced him it would be fun (and I’m pretty sure mentioned something about how it would make his wife happy.)  Here’s the thing–I would never have asked him to keep it. I know he hates spectacle and attention and he’s no good at accepting compliments. But he decided publicly making me his queen was worth the embarrassment. And the front page of the newspaper.

That’s when I know we have something special. He tries so hard to put my needs, wants, and desires above his own. Which makes me wonder? How often am I reciprocating?

It’s so easy to get caught up in my everyday chaos of our four kids and doctor appointments and chorus rehearsal and impossible 3rd grade homework. It’s so easy to feel like I’m giving it my all while he’s trooping off to work everyday in a quiet office where no one uses the juice box as a weapon. It’s so easy to forget the man he is when I’m just focused on myself. 

It’s so easy to lash out instead of take a deep breath.

I firmly believe it’s not money or relationships or decisions that tear marriages apart. It’s communication. It’s like we forget how to navigate and listen to one another, so we bottle up frustration and pretend we’re keeping the peace, when really all we’re doing is getting ready to blow.

I’m a pursuer of words, a writer, a reader. But I’m not always a good listener. I miss the cues among the conversations because I’m so busy moving on to the next thing. I’m too busy thinking about myself. And add four really loud kids to that mix and we’ve got a recipe for communication disaster. Conversations start and stop because someone needs juice or toilet paper or a signature. We forget what we haven’t said and don’t always have the time to say what we really need.

He bought me these for Christmas.

Click image to purchase via Amazon.


 Aqua notes–a waterproof notepad for the shower. He found them on a list of great gifts for writers, and he got them because he knows the shower is my quiet place. I get fifteen minutes to shut out the world and think. Then I forget the plot points or the dialogue I’ve composed because I didn’t write it down. Voila! Now I can.

But these notes have morphed into something else for us. I’ve started scribbling down my worries and fears–mostly about our daughter and the unknown journey we’re on–but also the stress points that have pushed me back to medication. I write down the words I can’t quite say, and I leave them for him to find.

He writes me back. We make decisions. We breathe a little easier. We communicate a little better.

Marriage maintenance shouldn’t be like taking in that faithful car and discovering a host of problems you didn’t know existed. It should be like getting the oil changed and hearing the engine purr again.

Then you can leave a love note in the shower and take that marriage out for a night on the town.

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