Content

I have been promising my husband, since writing the post on love several months ago, that I would write a flattering post about him.  Here it is!

Yesterday was Valentine's Day and I got nothing.  To be fair, he did give me a card he made out of printer paper on which he drew a heart.  In the past I've gotten flowers or my favorite Dove chocolates.  Or, a million years ago, a weekend away somewhere.  But this year I'm perfectly content with my printer-paper card.  No, seriously, I really am.

I don't need Valentine's Day to know that my husband loves me.  I don't need flowers, or fancy dinners, or jewelry or candy.  Because, everyday, I get so much more than that.  I get respect.  And security.  And comfort.  Wade has given me a family and a house and the ability to stay at home, in said house, to raise said family.  And he also gives me independence and encourages me to do things outside of him, like writing.  Or flying to see my brother or sister. Or spending three days walking around Minneapolis and St. Paul to put an end to breast cancer.  Or to get away with my girlfriends for an evening.  Or a weekend. He knows when to stand back and let me have my way (tiling the floor twice in one year) and when to put his foot down (tearing our house apart so that I could have main floor laundry).  He puts the kids to bed almost every night because he knows that it's my least favorite part of the day. 

Rosanne Barr was on Oprah yesterday, and while I never would have thought of her as some kind of relationship guru, I actually found her rather insightful.  When asked if she's happy with her life partner, she responded that she doesn't like the term happy because it implies that you have to come down from feeling that way.  She said she's content.  I like that.  I am often happy in my marriage.  Rarely, I'm frustrated or hurt.  Or even a little bit bored.  But the vast majority of the time, I am content. 

I hate that being content is looked at as being less than happy by so many people.  I don't see it that way at all.  Once upon a time I was in a relationship that was all ups and downs.  It was understood that the ups made up for the downs.  Made the downs acceptable.  Made it okay for me to be treated poorly.  Because the next day I might be treated like a queen.  At first those grand gestures, all that being swept off my feet, was thrilling.  But then, once I wised up and saw what was really going on, once I understood that the up was only paving the way for the next down, I realized it was exhausting.  I think, as women, we are led to believe that being "happy" is what's important.  But what's "happy" if it's not contrasted with the opposite?  And if you're reasonably happy most of the time (if you say you're happy all of the time, you're lying), if there's nothing more you could want in a marriage or partnership, isn't that being content? (It is, I looked it up on dictionary.com)   I'll take steady, stable, satisfying contentment over that terrifying roller coaster ride any day. 

I don't mean to imply that Wade is boring.  Sure, sometimes he brings me flowers or takes me out to a nice dinner downtown.  But that's not what shows me he loves me.  He shows me he loves me when he unloads the dishwasher or makes me popcorn after the kids are in bed.  I suppose, by most standards, we're both pretty boring people.  Most evenings will find us watching television.  And an exciting night out for us is playing a board game with friends.  But, honestly, I don't need or want anything more than Wade's company.  My perfect evening would be going out for sushi (or better yet, getting take-out sushi and bringing it home) and then curling up on the couch and watching Modern Family with my husband.  Heaven on Earth!

In full disclosure, I should say that I didn't even give Wade a card yesterday.  I bought him a pair of socks and a box of Dots (which he promptly opened and ate, except for the yellow and green ones).  Then I left for the evening.  Without him.  Valentine's Day came and went and I'm still content.  I don't love my husband any less today than I did yesterday and I know the same goes for him, too.  As a matter of fact, I think he might love me a little bit more.