I was perched on the end of our bed relaying the day’s events with my husband. He had just finished a full day of teaching and I had endured what we now refer to as Flupocalypse 2018.

Four sick kids. Dropping like flies with high fevers, coughing and extreme lethargy over a period of 48 hours. There was a bit of an epidemic in our community and we were not spared despite our best efforts.

Matt was putting layer upon layer of clothing on, preparing for his least favorite house related job. Going under the house. This job was awful, at best. With sub-zero temps in previous days, a frozen drain pipe and a sump pump stuck in the ON position, it ratched the awfulness up ten notches.

As he threw on his old work jeans, an insulated flannel with a torn collar and a Carhartt jacket much older than our love, we commiserated about the current state of affairs. The crappy weather. The partially sick/ partially-energetic-enough-to-be-mean-to-each-other-again kids. The messy kitchen. The lengthy tap sheet listing every household project yet to be completed. The drudgery and lackluster parts of married life. I glanced above his shoulder, now covered in that familiar, tattered, plaid shirt, and noticed a framed picture hanging just behind him.

Our wedding photo.

I mustered up my best high-pitched, young and ditzy voice. The one reserved for mocking myself. I looked at Matt, pointed to the picture and said, “Oh, Matt, we’ve got the world by the tail!” To which he responded, with his best low-pitched and manly voice, the one he reserves for mocking himself, “Oh, yes. LOVE! Love will fix it all. We can conquer anything.“

We chuckled as he put on another layer and headed down the stairs. As I watched him go, I looked at those young fools in tux and silk tafetta and wondered whether they had a clue what they were doing that spring day in 2004.

The answer a solid no.

Who would willingly sign up for much of the stuff we deal with as married people? Few, at best.

Fortunately, it seems if two people are really committed to one another and do the dirty work of keeping open lines of communication, you make it through the muck and get to enjoy the high points. But I still wondered what would have better prepared us for marriage. Real marriage. Not the stuff we thought we were getting when we posed for that picture amidst the trees. Pristine gown, fresh flowers and even fresher faces.

Clueless.

I thought back to our premarital counseling, conducted by our pastor and dear friend. We took all the quizzes and read the book and had the sessions.

We were likely still clueless.

I began to think about the life events we’ve endured and how ill prepared we were. How would we have responded in 2004 had we been asked to:

• House four children, all battling the flu, for 96 hours.
• Complete taxes together. Sans alcohol.
• Discuss politics with every future in-law who has opposing views.
• Have a 6 year old ask detailed questions about sex. Answer him/her appropriately without freaking out, passing out or running out.
• Organize a closet together.
• Renovate a kitchen.
• Hang pictures together. Lots of them. Gallery style.
• Determine who you’ll spend the holidays with for the first four years of marriage. If both families are local, determine how you’ll divide up each day.
• Agree on air temperature in your home.

There are ulimited areas for which you simply can’t prepare but rather learn as you go. Finances and sickness and death and grief and scheduling and career changes and aging parents and disappointment and differences in spiritual growth and sleep habits and dishwasher loading habits.

Limitless.

We’re celebrating 15 years of marriage on May 15th. 15 years on the 15th. Should be some sort of extra special anniversary but I use the term celebrating loosely. Anyone married for more than a minute knows anniversaries eventually slide over to make room for life. In our case, a seven year old’s soccer game.

This span has felt at times (for both of us) like 15 minutes.

And other times like 15 minutes under water.

The difference depends on the season. In hindsight, when I think on all we could have known, should have known, should still know or should be learning, I’m thankful for the core known that got us here. 

Shared faith and the committment to put on the grungy clothes and do the dirty work.

The proverbial crawling under the house to fix the problem. A willingness, albeit often begrudgingly, to face a frozen underbelly to do what needs to be done. Fighting through the struggle to get to the other side. Biting your tongue, often until you taste blood. Tenderness when it seems the hardest to grasp. Patience when short temperedness would be easier. Kindness when your partner didn’t lead off in the same way. Working to realize which hills are worth dying on and when to lay a battle down.

Ultimately, the realizition we are fighting the same battle. In the same war. From the same side. 

If you’ve read this post in its entirety waiting for ten steps, please accept my sincere apology.  If life was really that simple, I promise I would have shared any knowledge I possessed in full. The fact of the matter is marriage is much like anything else that requires extensive work and change and shifting and flexing and grace. It’s eventually a messy and beautiful and disastrous and glorious masterpiece. Worth it.

Even in the under the water and under the house times, still worth it.

So worth it.

Here’s to all of you who have layered up and done the gritty tasks in marriage so you can more thoroughly enjoy the thawing and beauty of spring.

Matt,

Happy anniversary to the only man who can deal with my brand of crazy and keep coming back for more. It hasn’t always been rainbows and butterflies but I’d pick you again. And again. There’s no one I’d rather make mocking voices and ridicule our younger selves with than you. Thanks for being the primary initiator of doing the dirty work, whether real or proverbial. I love you.