mar-a-thon (n): something (such as an event or activity) that lasts an extremely long time or that requires great effort

I’m not a huge Gwyneth Paltrow fan.

I don’t dislike her, but I find her a little bit unrelatable.

Except for this one thing.

A while back, I read this quote from her about marriage. She had asked her father how he and her mother had managed to stay married for so long.

Her dad’s response?

Well, we never wanted to get divorced at the same time.

That Bruce Paltrow was a smart man.

Last week my husband and I had a fight.

A big one.

A really big one.

Huge.

And, to be honest, I was done.

The stress of it all — the difference in our parenting styles, the difference in our methods of communicating, the money,

or absence of it,

the kids, the exhaustion…

Everything just came to a head for me.

But not for my husband.

Now let me be clear, I don’t talk much about my husband on here.

And on Facebook, I never talk about him.

Quite frankly, I think most people who go on and on and on,

and on,

about their spouses, and how amazing they are, and how perfect they are, and how blah blah blah they are…

Most of those people?

I think they are full of crap.

I think that shit is for show.

I think their marriages probably suck worse than the rest of ours.

And I said most.

So if you happen to be in that one percent of annoying people who are so in love and married to your best friend, well,

keep your comments to yourself.

And if you are in the first two years of marriage,

well,

just wait.

You’ll see.

Anyway,

out of one of the worst fights I have ever had with my husband came this.

The realization that he is a fighter.

Such a fighter.

And not a fighter in an instigator kind of way.

But in an I’m-going-down-swinging kind of way.

An I’m-never-ever-ever-throwing- in-the-towel kind of way.

I’ve always known this about him, but not to the extent I saw this weekend.

This weekend I saw a side of my husband that I’ve never seen.

There is no one like my husband. No one.

Sometimes this is cause for frustration.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes, it’s really, really not.

Last Saturday, I fell in love with my husband all over again.

Big time.

I know.

Cliche.

And cheesy.

But true.

I have spent the last three days missing my husband while he was at work.

Waiting for him to come home.

Wanting to hug him. Kiss him. Just physically be touching him in some way.

This has not happened in a long, long, looooong time.

This weekend is my marathon. I shared a while back that someone has graciously offered to pay for a hotel room for me on Saturday night.

Now, 2 months ago, I would have viewed this as an opportunity to get the hell away from my husband.

But not anymore.

My parents are going to come babysit the kids overnight.

And I get to go into the city with my husband alone.

I get to be with my husband.

Just the two of us.

For my first marathon.

Ha.

Marathon.

Nothing like a metaphor to put things in perspective.

Sometimes the universe sends you a message exactly when you need it most.

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