parens binubus

more than you want to know about a law school graduate/bar examinee who is also raising two children and doing her best at being a partner to her love.

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  • Sunday, August 12, 2007
    I am not really a romantic person, as the term is generally understood. If Beloved wrote me poems, I would be uncomfortable and squirmy, and it would be too intense for me. I would run away or giggle and generally react badly. I don't think diamonds are a good gift idea. I don't feel that I need flowers, or cutesy notes around the house.

    However. When we returned from Europe, and I spent a little time reflecting on our time together, I decided - that was a romantic trip.

    It was just the two of us. We had nothing pressing on either of us. We enjoyed each other's company, we had plentiful and enjoyable conversations. We explored new places together, we were flexible together, and we were tired together. We had a few moments where we sniped at one another, but we quickly returned with apologies. I know we both were very conscious of the other's needs and quirks and weaknesses. We sat in cafes, sipping coffee, or wine, or nibbling on crepes. We visited some funky coffeeshops, and sipped cokes and fresh squeezed orange juices, and giggled our asses off. We made plans for our future - our future trips, our future homes, our future lives, our kids' futures.

    We had a blast.

    Coming home and being back in our apartment, in our town - the bubble shrunk, if it didn't pop quite yet. The empty fridge that needed filling, the cats that needed feeding, the air conditioners that wouldn't turn on, the mail that (still) hadn't been delivered, the girls' impending arrival -- all of that came in on us pretty quickly, and already, there was a wee bit less forgiveness, flexibility, tolerance. I tried hard to hold onto it. I wanted our vacation selves to stick around.

    Now the girls are home, and man, the bubble is popped. It's just hard. We can't focus on each other the same. There's the girls to focus on. It's their needs that we both dance around and accommodate, rather than our own or each other's. I miss it. I think, Europe or not, I miss it every year. I will find solace in knowing it's there, waiting for us, and will be there for the rest of our lives, ready to come out when the opportunity arises.

    And geez ... X has clearly never heard of a bedtime. These girls won't go to bed before midnight, and Beloved and I are trying to get up at 8 and get to the gym in the mornings - how the hell can we have sex if we fall asleep before the kids?

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