OPPOSITES ATTRACT

Lately Philip and I have been reflecting on how we've evolved as individuals over our eight years of being a couple — and how it seems either one or both of us has lost interest in many of the pastimes that first brought us together (live music, church leadership, theme parks, etc.). We have drifted apart from some of our mutual friends from the early days of our relationship, and we've made many new friends (some together but many individually). We've also picked up new hobbies that don't always overlap — Philip's interest in craft beer has increased exponentially, while I've gotten into, well, crafts. And it seems that with even the little decisions in life, we often don't align. I want to walk around the lake; he wants to run. I want pepperoni on my pizza; he wants a pile of veggies. He votes The Wire; I vote The Good Wife. He wants to try a brand-new restaurant; I want a meal that's tried-and-true. You get the idea.

So as our six-year wedding anniversary approached, I wasn't sure what we should do to celebrate. I contemplated taking a trip — travel continues to be the one shared interest that has brought us connection and renewal again and again. But with our anniversary sandwiched between two work trips for Philip, it seemed like too much.

Then I tried to guess things he'd like to do — activities that aren't necessarily my thing, but that I could psyche myself up to participate in for his sake. But that seemed a little martyrish, and besides, it's hard to truly enjoy something with someone when you know they're not really into it. And I didn't want to drag him along on what was solely my idea of a good time either.

So I had an idea: He can make a list of things that sound fun to him, totally putting out of his mind any thoughts like, "I shouldn't include this, because Erika may not like it." And I would do the same. Then we'd compare notes, see if there was any overlap, and come up with a plan. Even if our lists were completely opposite, we'd each get to do something we like individually, and we'd promise to have an open mind and good attitude about the other activities.

Philip, always wanting to please me, was skeptical. "I don't want to make a big list of things you don't want to do," he said. But ultimately, he played along, and here are our lists.

Erika:
- Rock Springs Run
- community pool
- Canaveral National Seashore
- massage
- get pizza from the food stand outside Redlight
- boat ride
- sleep in and eat cinnamon rolls
- watch our wedding video and read our vows

Philip:
- float down the springs
- relax with a massage
- head out to Canaveral National Seashore for some sand and sun
- enjoy a cocktail and some conversation @ Ravenous Pig
- check out volunteering @ the SPCA
- share a lunch at Pine 22, Social Chameleon, or Casa de las Empanadas
- nap!
- watch Verlander dominate on Sunday afternoon (translation: watch the Tigers baseball game)
- make like Clive and Juliana and stay the night at the Hard Rock Hotel (If you don't get this reference, you need to start watching Modern Family.)

It was pretty exciting to see how many ideas were the same or similar on our respective lists! Maybe we're not so different after all. Maybe sometimes it takes a little autonomy to uncover how much we really have in common.

We don't have a game plan yet, but whatever we end up doing, I'm pretty stoked for a chill "staycation" weekend in Orlando with my husband!

MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

Two weeks ago, Philip and I headed up to my hometown for a Larson-family visit, an emotional three days during which we spent a great deal of time with parents, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and so on. We hadn’t been to Rockford since Thanksgiving, so my relatives were eager to bend my ear with their latest news.

Amid the family whirlwind, there was hardly time for Philip and I to talk, let alone have sex. He patiently allowed me to split my attention 15 different ways, but by the last night of our stay, I suspect he was feeling a little neglected. As we were preparing to leave for a community-theater presentation of Phantom of the Opera, in which my sister Sarah was starring as Meg Giry, Philip and I got into an argument about what he should wear, or rather, my lack of interest in what he should wear.

The tension between us was high as the show began. I don’t know if I started during the first song or if I was able to hold out until song two, but I started weeping. Like, really getting hysterical. Phantom is a sad, haunting story with heart-wrenching music to begin with, and seeing my talented sister onstage was quite moving. On top of that, I was bearing the weight of my family’s recently shared burdens — health problems, addictions, loneliness, money stress. And I think I was crying for the general state of my relationship with Philip lately — our bickering, our lack of tenderness and enjoyment of one another. I sobbed straight through until the chandelier crashed at the end of Act I. Philip fed me tissues, and by the curtain call, our tiff before the show was forgiven.

The weekend following our intense Illinois visit, we had blissfully nothing to do. After sleeping in on Saturday, we got a call from Danny and Jodie, the couple who mentored us when we were engaged and who performed our wedding ceremony. In their decades of marriage, they had been through it all — cancer, loss (and recovery) of faith, business scandals, and the ups and downs of raising three kids, the youngest of whom was an underdeveloped toddler from El Salvador whom Jodie adopted 20-some years ago without first consulting Dan! We hadn’t seen them in months, and they were inviting us to lunch.

We caught up over burrito bowls and guacamole, and being around them seemed to unearth some long-latent loving feeling between Philip and me. It was like we were transported emotionally to the time prior to our wedding, long before mortgages, jet-setting jobs and fertility charts. And Dan and Jodie were truly delighting in us — not in me or Philip individually, but in us as a couple: our stories, our style of relating, how we teased one another. They saw something we’ve been calling into question lately — that we are good together — and Philip and I responded to each other likewise.

It was also beneficial to hear their latest tales — how they went to Hawaii on a luxury vacation and didn’t get along the entire time. As they laughed about it later, it was clear to me that Philip and I have a long time to wax and wane. I was encouraged to see that other couples, even ones who have been married for decades, still have unexpected meltdowns (even in paradise) and then deal and heal.

The lunch opened the door for a truly lovely weekend for Philip and me. We both sacrificed some priorities in order to spend time together, running errands, dining out and going to the movies. Instead of feeling edgy and irritated, we were relaxed and affectionate, and that opened the door for some fun, stress-free, passionate sex that had nothing to do with anything but enjoying each other.

I’m still charting and trying to understand my fertility signs, but I have officially sworn off pushing sex when we’re just not there emotionally. And I’ve sworn off all the little recommendations I’ve read (e.g., don’t use lubricant; don’t have oral sex; missionary position is best; lay there for 30 minutes afterward …), as while they’re well-intentioned for couples trying to conceive, they were only making sex more weird and awkward (and didn’t seem to help last month anyway).

Overall, I’m feeling tons more peace and am very thankful for caring mentors and plans-free weekends at home.

AT LEAST WE KNOW

This past weekend, we got our answer, and it wasn’t what we wanted. I had a good cry in Philip’s arms (he was so very tender and comforting), felt better, then had another breakdown later in the day.

Later, reflecting on how upset I got, I came to two conclusions. 1. I must actually really want a baby, or else I wouldn’t have had such a guttural reaction of disappointment when that wasn’t the outcome. 2. I cannot continue to get this upset every month or I will give my self an aneurism.

It is a relief to have an answer and know how to feel. For about 10 days I thought I could ovulate at any moment, and then for 14 I had to wonder if we had succeeded — the longest two weeks of my life, it felt. I vacillated manically between wild hope/excitement and preparing myself for the worst. Not knowing is crazy-making, so now I feel like a normal person again. I am not pregnant; that makes me sad; okay, back to everyday life; time to try again.

I’ve also been trying to delight in the simple pleasures in which I’m allowed to indulge as a non-pregnant woman: wine, caffeine, soft cheese. This weekend at my parents’ house, I can soak in their hot tub, and I can jog around the neighborhood without fretting that I’m going to overdo it and overheat myself. Of course, I had to mourn the loss of my fantasy of announcing to my loved ones this weekend that the family was about to expand, but at least when we visit New Glarus Brewing Co. tomorrow, I can freely sample all their fruit beers.

EVERYBODY LOVES BABIES

Over the weekend I finally watched the film Babies, directed by Thomas Balmes. My friend Amy M., who knows way more about babies than I do and is actually having one in a few days (at home!), sent me the trailer a year ago with great excitement, and I finally found the time to watch the documentary — instantly no less — on Netflix. (I also watched Hot Tub Time Machine, but that is neither here nor there.)

Babies follows the birth and roughly first-year development of four little ones in vastly differing cultures: San Francisco, Mongolia, Tokyo and Namibia. There’s no dialogue, but the way the footage is edited together is artful and compelling.

Some of my favorite scenes included:

- The scene in which the Mongolian baby is sitting on the bed petting the cat (and by “petting” I mean grabbing and violently stroking), and the cat doesn’t flee; it just takes it. The cat might even be enjoying it. I can only hope our two kitties are as accepting of a grab-happy baby one day.

- The scene in which the San Francisco baby is with her parents at some kind of hippie baby class. The adults are chanting, “The earth is our mother,” and the baby stands up and makes a waddling beeline for the door, like, “Get me out of here!”

- The suggestive scene in which the Japanese baby is trying to fit a wooden toy stick into a hole in a round disc. She grows so frustrated at her inability to line up the stick and the hole that she flings her body onto the floor and cries.

Overall, the scenes of the Western family, with their mountain of gear, passive parenting style and baby-yoga classes, left me cold. And I was extremely encouraged by the scenes of the Mongolian and African babies — crawling in the dirt amid the livestock, being washed by spit and breast milk, and being entertained by millstones and tin cans. Not that I intend to do any of that stuff with our future children, but I found it reassuring that people raise kids just fine in humble circumstances; they can figure out how to care for an infant even without running water, diapers and high chairs. It made me feel like, if these women can successfully wrangle their newborns in these rustic environments, I’ll do just fine with a bit of help from modern invention.