Marriage is Bliss?

My news feed as of late has been clogged of wedded-bliss bloggers and their counterparts--the sarcastic and sassy singles.  Another current trend is the reposting of tragic love stories: one person dies and then their spouse soon follows, or even worse, a tragic ending of a married couple who never really revealed how much they truly cared for their partner until it was too late, leaving them single, empty, and harboring negative feelings. I naturally read all of it, amidst the occasional eye rolls and frequent tears.

But I have to admit: I don't believe it.  I'm not a psychologist by any means, but is it possible that blogging about how great your marriage is or how great being single is, is really you convincing yourself that your lifestyle is valid?  I would certainly hope your self-worth isn't measured by the marital status question you check on your income tax forms, but typically, I digress.

If you feel inferior as a spouse or a singleton, you are not alone.  Society has painted a beautiful Thomas Kinkade painting of a white picket fence, an over-sized dog named Buck, and a happily-ever-after family of a mom, a dad, and two kids--one boy and one girl, naturally.  The dad works 9-5, the mom stays home, and the kids both play soccer on their beautifully manicured lawn.  In the summer, they go to their lake house for two weeks, and for Christmas, they host a perfect party for their perfect friends who all have perfect teeth.The singletons scoff at this picture but lay awake wondering: when is it going to be my turn?  Those that are married wonder, how did I get so off track?

But then there is the other painting.  The one with a girl far skinnier and prettier than we want her to be, who is on some remote beach in a teeny, tiny bikini, surrounded by hot, abbed men, serving her fruity drinks with umbrellas adorning the top accompanied by an exotic cheese tray.  And they are all laughing at something that we are not privileged enough to know the humor of.  Worst of all, this painting is taken during the work week in the middle of winter.  I look at this picture, quickly turn away, and then find myself looking back at it hating each of them, their abbed and tanned bodies, and their fruity drinks.  I secretly want them to get stuck on the island...forever, all while gaining an obscene amount of weight.

What is the lesson to be learned in these hypothetical paintings that we tend to obsess over?  That, quite frankly, I'm not sure.  Maybe it's our desire to want more.  Maybe we want what don't think we can ever have.  Maybe we thought we wanted something and now we want something else.  Maybe we think that everyone else's life is better than our own.  Regardless if you are single, married, or "it's complicated," relationships are tough.

I have only been married for seven months and I am the first to admit that I find the wedded-bliss bloggers completely full of it.  Why?  Because marriage is hard.  The happiest time of my life was the year I was engaged.  Joe and I got to plan our wedding together and we had something to look forward to all year.  Then, suddenly, everything changed.  You're married and all of your guests go back home.  Your milestone was just another event to your guests to cross off the calendar.  So there you sit...both of you... together...forever.  I for one felt completely overwhelmed by that very thought.  Even though we dated for six years almost to the date we got married, things change.  I wish there was a handbook for this "forever" nonsense.

One of my favorite movies is Riding in Cars with Boys starring Drew Barrymore.  In one scene, she is crying to her toddler son.  She says, "I'm a terrible mother," and then the young boy starts crying and simply says, "yeah."  That conversation was similar to one I had with Joe in which I said, "I'm a terrible wife."  His reply, slightly reassuring was, "You'll get better."

The hardest part for me is that he is always there.  I know, a shocking line to type, let alone admit to.  This really is a good thing, unless you're an only child, and an independent (bossy) woman, such as myself.  I would go to the craft store, and he would call.  "Where are you?"  Joe would ask.  "Why?"  I would quickly snap back.  "I just wanted to see if you are ok," he replied.  That is so nice and many girls probably want this out of their own relationship.  But oh no, not me.  I was wondering why he was "spying" on me.  Until one day, he didn't call.  I was gallivanting about for hours.  So I called him.  "Don't you want to know where I am?"  I questioned.  "No," he said, "it seemed to bother you."  So then what did I do?  I got mad at him for not wanting to know where I was.  See? I'm a terrible wife.

And then there are taco days.  If it's a special event or a particularly rotten day, tacos are always in order.  One such "taco day," Joe said that he didn't want tacos.  "What do you mean you don't want tacos?  We always have tacos!" I screamed.  "Exactly," was his reply.  He wanted to eat something cooked, at home.  Tacos were not on his menu, so now they should be used sparingly on mine.  He loves to cook, or have me cook, and eat at home.  I prefer going through a drive-thru and eating in front of the television watching something terribly smutty.  This is where I consulted my mom.

She told me about give-and-take and letting things go.  If he called to check up on me, I should be thankful that he cares enough to see how I'm doing.  If he wants something other than a drive-thru grease pit, that is also a good thing.  It's a time to cook together and eat together and talk about the day.  Since then, upset, sick, tired, or whatever, we eat dinner together, at home, every night.  But if it's a taco emergency, I make sure to place the tacos nicely on our dinner plates!

And then Joe got sick.  He was in so much pain and missed several days of work, not because he wanted to, but because he got sent home.  One Sunday night in particular, there was a terrible snowstorm, our power was flickering, and Joe was huddled on the couch in pain.  "Do you need medicine?"  I asked, trying to be as caring as possible.  Joe said he did.  I was in shock at first.  Joe has always taken care of me.  Now what do I do?  He isn't possibly asking me to be the strong one, is he?  So I got in my car, pajamas and all, and went to four different stores to get him just exactly what he wanted.  I was missing The Real Housewives, but I felt good about what I was doing.  This was the right thing, but more importantly, I wanted to do this for him to make him better.  He loved me.  He always took care of me.  This was my chance to prove that I felt the same ways since I sucked at it every time before.

When I came back from my adventure, Joe was nearly asleep.  "I can't believe you went all over for me," he said.  "You do the same thing for me all of the time."  And with that, I'm becoming a better wife.

Sure, there are those times when I skim a blog about how perfect their family is, and I think, gag me, they are lying.  There are also those times in which I look at the teeny, tiny girl in the bikini sipping fruity drinks amongst hotties, and wonder, "Why can't that be me?"   But our dysfunctional relationship where I am an awesome wife a whole 27% of the time is our painting, and we are adding value to it every day.  Marriage isn't bliss.  It's hard, it sucks, and it takes a lot out of you.  As does being single, or anything else we face in our lives.  But it is our job to work at it and make it something we are proud of and something we can hang on the wall, even if it's to throw darts at.