Long Relationships

The summer before our senior year of college, JG and I were apart for the first extended period in three years. He worked at the summer camp, which was actually in his favor as a math education major, while I was back at college at an internship doing technical writing with the civil engineering department. We had sporadic cell phone calls featuring bad service and voices that were all too distant, but we talked and planned about getting engaged nonetheless. I thought of it as our last trial, the final hurdle.

At his physical that summer, JG was told that the lymph nodes in his throat were swollen more so than was normal. He told me all of this calmly over the phone. “They need to check it out because my both of my parents had cancer.”

I was lying in the backseat of my car with my cell phone pressed up against my ear. I swallowed hard. “Okay. That’s probably for the best.”

“Are you okay?”

Of course I’m not okay! We’re talking about getting engaged soon! We’re talking about getting married! Isn’t that crossing your mind?

“I don’t know,” I said. “How do you feel about it?”

The voice I heard was irritatingly breezy. “Well, I’m sure it’s fine and the doctor isn’t worried, so I won’t worry until I have to.”

Oh. Then I shouldn’t worry, either.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not worried. No need in wasting the energy, I guess.” I sighed.

The subject turned and I was left with the thought of cancer snaking through my brain. He sounded so at ease over the phone. How could I say that the idea made me draw my breath in all at once? That the thought of a future of chemotherapy and hospital visits flipped my stomach over? That I wanted to get married right then so we could at least be together in the end? I couldn’t.

A few weeks later, I visited him for the weekend. I helped out the staff with cleaning and other weekend chores, but we spent the evening alone. We sat on the rocking chairs that lined the wraparound porch on the dining hall, overlooking the lake. Crickets chirped and fireflies glinted here, then there. JG turned to me and said, “So, I heard back from the doctor and the swelling is definitely not cancer.”

I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. “That’s great. I’m really glad to hear that.” But the tears welling up in my eyes belied the happiness I tried to convey.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just – I was really scared for a while back there and I didn’t know what was going on with our plans if you were sick or something or how to tell my parents or if we would end up getting married…” I felt like an idiot, babbling so incoherently. How could he be so calm about this?

JG held me closely and stroked away my tears. He said in a low voice, “I didn’t know you were scared. I wasn’t too worried, but I didn’t want to make you nervous.”

“I didn’t want to be nervous,” I sniffed. “I wanted to be strong, but I was actually just freaked out. I didn’t want to tell you because you seemed fine with everything.”

“You could have told me, though. It would have been okay. But everything’s okay now. We’re going to get married. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too.”

And we were both okay.

couples, relationship, cancer, scare, communication

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When I found out that John Edwards intended to continue his campaign toward the presidency, I was indignant. “He should stay home and take care of his wife! What if he’s left with two small kids? He can’t be running the country then!” My response was not so much borne of political persuasion but of a knee-jerk reaction of what I’d want my husband to do if I had cancer. Take care of ME. Don’t put the country’s welfare over ME.

But John Edwards is not my husband.

When I take a step back, I can see both sides. On the one hand, since Elizabeth Edwards was such a strong player in his campaign behind the scenes, losing her to treatment and days for rest would most likely hurt the whole operation. She might be tired and less able to contribute, especially with the added burden of comforting their children. I imagine that John depends on her for moral support, but to expect that she could be that support when she is receiving treatment could be unrealistic. He would lose a significant part of his support network. It is not to say that cancer automatically renders its patients sickly invalids, but I would hope that John would not sacrifice his wife’s health for the betterment of his career.

On the other hand, public statements show that Elizabeth strongly devoted to this goal, perhaps as much as her husband, so to take that away could have been seriously disappointing, even in light of her cancer. I also wonder if being the reason he stepped down from the campaign would have resulted in a lot of guilt for Elizabeth alongside the illness. Besides, wouldn’t it be helpful to have something to work toward, rather than simply focusing on being sick? It shows optimism and courage to look to the future rather than accepting a bleak fate. Perhaps persevering in the presidential campaign is part of fighting the cancer; in both activities, John and Elizabeth can be a team.

If I look at both sides next to each other, I’m glad I didn’t have to make this decision. I’m glad that it took time and consideration for John and Elizabeth Edwards to make theirs.

marriage, cancer, decisions, career

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Call me old-fashioned, but I secretly enjoyed it when a guy paid for a date. It was a way to make me feel special, like I wasn’t just one of his pals. A return to chivalry, I thought. I was torn because I was afraid that enjoying the free meal wouldn’t help women break through the glass ceiling, that maybe it was a subjugating force. Then again, it made me feel special, and I gauged a guy’s interest in me by how readily he paid for something.

On a few doomed occasions, I paid my share of the tab to make it perfectly clear to my unfortunate date that I did not feel a strong connection. Sometimes, I’d rush to get to the movie counter first so I could say breathlessly, “One, please.” Or I would quickly snatch the bill from the waiter and say sweetly, “Let’s see what my share is…” It was admittedly mean, perhaps, but it sent a clear message.

JG and I were friends for a year before we dated, so we went Dutch all the time at diners or pizza places. When we were finally dating, he pushed for the transition toward him paying. “I don’t mind,” I’d protest, “and we’re both poor, so it doesn’t make sense.” He insisted, so I gave in.

I tried to find the cheapest things on the menu to minimize any financial pain, but JG saw through that one quickly. “Eat what you want,” he’d urge me. “I know that you really want the steak, so don’t just get a salad.” It was true. I loved a good steak and I still do. It’s not that I had a great yearning to be a cheap date, but I didn’t want to be the demanding girlfriend who insisted on champagne when her boyfriend had the budget for a soda.

What was I clinging to? If I was all Miss Independent, should I be in a relationship where we were learning to lean on each other? Shouldn’t I just take my slim wallet and pay for my own fries? I had to face the fact that my so-called independence was sheer stubbornness and determination not to be beholden to anyone for something I could afford myself, which wasn’t even the point. JG wanted to give this to me. It wasn’t some manipulative system.

Eventually, I learned to relax and order what I wanted. JG doesn’t take me out if we can’t handle the bill, so I don’t need to worry about it. As far as that glass ceiling goes, it’s my money, too. It just so happens that it comes out of JG’s wallet.

dating, going Dutch, chivalry

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Prompted by Zandria’s insightful post regarding interracial relationships, I mulled over my own marriage of Asian/Caucasian consistency. Does race play a big part in our relationship? How do others perceive us? Do we have any particular hardships?

In our daily lives, I would say that being an interracial couple does not have a significant effect on how we function. I was not raised in an Asian community, so I admit that I am pretty far removed from the cultural aspects, but that doesn’t remove me from the effects of simply looking the part. At times, JG’s students will look at the picture on his desk and realize that I’m not the wife they pictured. Occasionally, I will feel a person’s eyes travel up and down me before making eye contact with JG and shaking hands. Generally, I get the feeling that we trump people’s expectations of who usually marries whom; it’s not that our relationship is wrong, it’s just surprising. Does that offend me? Not really. I probably wouldn’t expect it, either. I am grateful that JG and I don’t need to worry about our neighborhood or workplaces in regard to snide remarks or ignorant comments.

The aspect in which being from different cultural backgrounds most affects us is our families. (more…)

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JG and I hadn’t started dating yet when he first met my parents. It was the first summer that we were working at a summer camp and my mom and dad came for a visit to look around the camp, take me out to dinner, and do general parent-type visit things. Since JG and I had been talking about starting to date, I asked cautiously if I could “bring a friend along,” and I’m thankful that I didn’t see the dubious look that undoubtedly passed between my parents. They assented and the big meeting was on the horizon.

I took it upon myself to brief JG on what to expect from my parents, who are very reserved by nature. I coached him to stay away from sports as a major pastime, inquire after my parents’ recent vacation, and be extremely polite, in general. The plan was a round of miniature golf after lunch, so JG asked if it was okay for him to win. I considered it. My dad isn’t very good at mini golf, but I knew that it would be irritating to him for JG to beat him, so I said, “It would look weird if he won really easily, so just beat him by a little bit.” The plan was set.

The day came and I recall that JG did very well, all things considered. My dad is quiet to the point that it makes people nervous on a regular basis, but JG wasn’t visibly unnerved while we ate lunch. He did well with my mom’s usual line of conversation about how she wishes the kids she taught would read more; at the time, he was considering changing his major to math education, so that was very intriguing for my mom. I was more of an observer, prodding conversation along and leading with graceful lines like, “Mom, why don’t you tell JG about how you and Dad hiked on Mt. Rainier?” All in all, the meal was only slightly uncomfortable, which was much better than I expected.

At the mini golf course, I was terrible as usual, but I’ve accepted the fact that one of my functions on this earth is to make people feel athletic. My dad and JG kept trading the first-place spot; however, at one point, my dad had such a commanding lead that I motioned to JG and whispered, “You don’t have to make it that obvious.” He looked at me with panicked eyes and replied, “I’m not trying to lose! I don’t know why I’m so bad today!”

Incredibly, after we finished the eighteenth hole, the my dad and JG were tied for first place. My dad nudged me and said, “I guess the winner is the one who gets the free game, huh?” Oh, dear. JG smoothly putted the golf ball right into the clown’s mouth and the challenge was laid. I was sure that my dad was going to choke, but he got a free game, too! The round ended in a tie, through and through. I couldn’t have orchestrated that if I had tried.

dating, in-laws, parents, mini golf

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Here is how I see it. When two people are:

Seeing each other
There have been a couple of dates, but there is no commitment. It would be okay for either or both of them to see other people with similar lack of commitment.

Exclusive
They have decided to only date each other. Occasions like friends’ parties or sporting events are fun to attend together. Synonyms might include going steady or dating.

Official
There is a certain level of commitment. Labels like “girlfriend” or “the boy” might be applied to individuals; collectively, they are a “couple.” Expectations for semi-regular nights out may come at this stage.

Long-term
The couple starts attending family functions, weddings, and graduations together. Family members assume that the significant other will come to major events as is reasonable and rumblings about the future start. Enough time has gone by that there is a sense of security in the relationship. Breaking up would be painful.

It seems like everyone has their own spin on the stages of a relationship and what everything is called. What do you think?

dating, relationships, communication, significant others

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A Ladies’ Home Journal article featured on MSN.com, “Innocent Crushes,” describes the positive effects that can come from a secret, unfulfilled crush.

Experts do not say that this kind of crush — the kind that’s your own little secret, the kind you certainly don’t act on — is “harmless.” Rather, they say it’s better than harmless! Why? Even an inconsequential crush, says Beverly B. Palmer, PhD, professor of psychiatry at California State University Dominguez Hills, “adds a little something extra to your life that is pleasurable and makes you happy — people see you smiling more!”

While perhaps anti-intuitive, sources claim that a crush can trigger biochemical reactions that remind a woman why she fell for her significant other in the first place, which can prompt intimacy.

Kristin, 35, of Pittsburgh, had a crush on a higher-up while she was in medical school. Even during — and after — long, grueling days in the hospital, “it gave me that nice excited feeling that revved me up when I got home to my then-fiance,” she says. “You know: crush leads to sexy feeling, outlet for sexy feeling is sexy fella at home!”

Carol Rinkleib Ellison, PhD, author of Women’s Sexualities: Generations of Women Share Intimate Secrets of Sexual Self-Acceptance (New Harbinger Publications, 2000) and a sex and marriage therapist in Oakland, California, agrees. “An innocent crush gives you a little spurt of arousal, or turns up your pilot light — but you know that’s going home to your partner and will enhance the fun you have with your partner.”

Lest the message here is imprudently absorbed, the article warns against crushes that are destructive to actual relationships, citing behaviors like telling a crush something hidden from a partner. Due in part to the largely female audience, there is no specific statement regarding men’s crushes, though the article says sheepishly, “Well, let’s just say that their crushes — and ours — are reminders that we are, at very least, human.”

Well. When I started to read this article, my brow went straight to furrow. I hmm-ed to myself and sighed periodically. Something didn’t sit right with me. I swiveled the computer and said to JG, “Could you skim this? What do you think?”

I watched his eyes move horizontally across the screen, like a typewriter. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I wouldn’t like it if you had a crush on someone.”

That’s how I felt, too. What if JG went rock climbing and saw a cute girl at the gym? I would be none too happy if he thought she was attractive and experienced a biochemical reaction as described in the article. I appreciate being affectionate, but I don’t relish the idea that the affection might be motivated by another person. To me, this article seemed to provide an excuse for straying emotions. I’m pretty old-fashioned and I know the crushes mentioned did not trigger any unfaithful action, but just because something isn’t explicitly wrong doesn’t make it a good decision.

crush, Ladies’ Home Journal, MSN, jealousy

At work, I have four different calendars. My big desk calendar gives me a long-range view when I talk to prospective clients, my smaller day planner is for everyday to-do lists, my Outlook calendar tracks meetings, and my PDA helps me bridge the gap between professional and personal appointments. At home, I cross-reference my PDA to the small calendar on the fridge for outings and activities that JG and I do together.

On the other hand, JG has one calendar that he “sort of uses at school.” For the rest of his exciting social life, he turns to me. I am his calendar.

Whenever anyone asks JG if he’s free to, say, come over and grill something, he catches my eye. “The 24th? What are we doing on the 24th?”

I thumb through my mental calendar or pull out my PDA and say, “You’re free in the evening, but you wanted to go pick up mulch in the morning the next day. So it’s up to you.”

He thinks. “Okay, that sounds fine.” He turns to me and asks, “Could you add that to the calendar?” I’m already jotting it into the PDA with a note to myself to add it to the fridge calendar when we get home.

I don’t really mind this role in our relationship. It’s in my nature to be organized and know how the week will unfold by the time Sunday comes around; plus, I have this eerie talent of knowing what day of the week a given date in the upcoming month will be, so it works out in the end. It’s just a little weird that I know his personal schedule in addition to my own for work and life. Isn’t that weird?

The majority of couples we know operate under the same structure and go through the same song and dance whenever the guy is asked about an event in the future. All of the girls eventually got into the habit of e-mailing each other to plan something because it became clear early on that involving the guys just meant that the e-mail would be forwarded to one of us, and no one needs that lag time.

Is this phenomenon simply due to an general tendency in women to focus on details while men view a larger picture? Does it balance out because they know how the mortgage is amortizing over the next year, but we know that we signed up to bring a veggie platter to that Final Four party?

Well, that’s how it works for us.

couples, appointments, calendar, planner

Sunday morning: I rubbed my eyes, squinting in the dim daylight. JG was reading next to me. “Hi, there,” I mumbled.

“Hey, cover-stealer.”

Ouch. “What?”

“Last night, you kept saying ‘I’m hot’ and yanking the covers away from me. Three times!” He seemed disgruntled.

“Oh. I remember being hot. Did I actually say out loud that I was hot?”

“Yeah. It was really annoying.”

I tried to play it off lightly. “I can see that this is a sore subject for you, so I’m going to go back to sleep.”

I expected more banter as a sign of good will, but when there wasn’t any, I actually did fall asleep. JG got out of bed for some breakfast and didn’t say a word to me, which did not bode well, in my mind.

Okay, I thought, maybe I was too flippant with my response. I didn’t even apologize. I should have said sorry right from the beginning. But I felt attacked as soon as I woke up! That’s not fair, is it? How responsible can I be for what I say in my sleep? It’s not like I meant to steal the covers and I didn’t even know I was doing it. I was barely awake when this whole thing started, so I couldn’t have responded well in that situation anyway. I should have said I was sorry, though. Yeah. He’s probably mad at me, so he didn’t say anything when he went upstairs. Maybe I should go up there and see if he’s okay. But why can’t he just tell me if something isn’t okay? I don’t think it’s my responsibility to check just in case. If he really is mad, then I don’t even want to go up there and have awkward silence. I’d probably just come back to bed and feel miserable. Yeah. I shouldn’t even go up there.

Trying to put my mind at ease, I read for a half hour, delaying the inevitable confrontation. When I couldn’t put it off any more, I got up and took a long shower. I trudged up the stairs.

“There you are!” JG said brightly, hearing my slippers on the floor.

I came right over to the couch and snuggled up to him. “I thought you were mad at me about the covers.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know, it was the first thing you said to me this morning. I thought you came up here because you didn’t want to stay with me.”

JG gave me a funny look. “I just thought you wanted to sleep.”

Oh.

Well, never mind, then. I was relieved not to have made JG mad, but at the same time, I mostly felt sheepish. All of that worrying over nothing …

couples, disagreement, angry, confrontation, worry

During the summer after our freshman year of college, before JG and I started dating, we worked at a camp as lifeguards and adventure program facilitators. Together, we earned lifeguard certification, learned how to climb and belay, and made friends with fellow staffers. The friendship we brought into that summer was strengthened through hours of scrubbing canoes and cleaning bathrooms; the job was devoid of glamour, but it was so much fun. That summer holds special significance to me because I realized then that JG was the guy for me.

In a typical week, a portion of the staff would be assigned to be counselors for the group at the site. The rest of us, the week’s “program staff,” would take care of cleaning facilities and running all of the other activities for the campers, like archery and crafts. As a lifeguard, I was always a program staffer and there were usually about a dozen of us. Sometimes, we could even double up on things like ballfield games and we would play frisbee with the campers.

One week, there were six program staffers, including JG and me, and to say that we were strapped would be a gross understatement. We lost so many people because we had so many campers, so there was even more work for fewer people. I remember long days, nonstop activities, a crowded waterfront, and mornings that came far too early. There was no time to be tired because we simply did not stop.

Toward the end of the week, I found a notecard in my mailbox. JG had written out a few lyrics from “Pressing On,” a song by Relient K. The lines were all about persevering and knowing that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The note was exactly what I needed. For the rest of the week, JG and I referenced the song to cheer each other up, but the words also hinted at how our relationship was on its way to something new. We just had to keep pressing on.

I think we’re going somewhere.
We’re on to something good here.
Out of mind, out of state.
Trying to keep my head on straight.
I think we’re going somewhere.
We’re on to something good here.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Drop all I have and go with you.

Somewhere back there I left my worries all behind.
My problems fell out of the back of my mind.
We’re going and I’m never knowing where we’re going.
To go back to where I was would just be wrong,
I’m pressing on.
Pressing on, all my distress is going, going, gone.
And I won’t sit back, and take this anymore.
‘Cause I’m done with that, I’ve got one foot out the door.
And to go back where I was would just be wrong,
I’m pressing on.

[complete lyrics]

dating, summer job, inside joke, Relient K, Pressing On

I’ve accepted that there will always be things that I won’t understand about JG, like why he would prefer to flip through channels rather than just pick something to watch, already. On the other hand, if there is something he likes that I could possibly understand, I try my best to do so. College football is one of these topics; we bought season tickets last fall at our alma mater and I learned about about tailgating and being a fan. Eventually, I got to the point where I knew enough that I could have fun, so JG and I were able to enjoy the games together.

Well, it’s not football season right now; it’s time for March Madness! In the past, when I watched the tournament, I would ask JG who I should cheer for in each game, figure out which color the team was wearing, and watch contentedly. This year, I decided to throw my hat in the ring in our friends’ pool, but I had never filled out a bracket and I haven’t watched any basketball, so far. JG gave me a few tips:

“The most upsets will occur at the first round. Not all four #1 seeds will make it to the Final Four. Try not to be biased about teams that are not that good. If you were to fill out a bracket with no upsets, you would do okay, but you would never win.”

Whoa. Okay. My team-picking strategy consisted of whether or not I liked their colors, if I knew someone who attended the school, or if their mascot appealed to me, so all of this stuff about the seeds, records, and upsets made my head spin a little. As a Connecticut native, I had planned on relying on my Huskies, but they had the gall not to make the tournament this year. Perhaps I shouldn’t have waited until the last possible day to make these decisions.

We logged me in to the group’s pool and I clicked and dragged my bracket around. I didn’t want JG to watch me put it together because I was afraid that he would laugh at my choices, so I made the mistake of asking how teams were placed in each bracket (”Florida isn’t in the midwest!”). If the rules of thumb were too much for me, the smoke and mirrors around the brackets went way over my head. Guys seem to enjoy all of these ratings and stats, even if it’s shrouded in mystery. I’ll put that on my list of Things I Don’t Need to Understand.

So, now my bracket is done and I have no idea what my chances are. JG and I picked two different winners, so we’ll see who ends up ahead in the end. We won’t cheer for the same teams for all of the games this year, so I hope we don’t end up March mad!

NCAA Basketball, March Madness, bracket, pool, couples

Happy Pi Day!

In case you don’t celebrate this major math holiday, I’ll fill in the details. Today is March 14, 3-14, which is close to 3.14, a popular approximation for the lowercase Greek letter we all know and love for calculating the area of circles or the volumes of spheres. At least, we all knew it. At some point.

Having a math teacher for a husband means that Pi Day is kind of a big deal for us, partially due to the overflow of excitement from the festivities of JG’s department at school. All of the teachers wear pi-themed regalia; JG’s shirt is like an “I Love New York” shirt, except with pi, of course. I’m convinced that all of the hoopla is really for the teachers since the kids seem to be neither here nor there about the whole thing. It’s a fun excuse to flex some nerdy muscles.

As much as I enjoy the geekiness inherent in celebrating this holiday, it’s not exactly marked off on my calendar. So when I got an e-mail on Monday from JG about Pi Day asking if I could bake cookies this year, I was kind of taken aback. I love to bake, so I didn’t necessarily mind, I just wish it had been on my radar earlier. Ultimately, my desire for the students to view me as Mr. JG’s supercool wife won out over the preference for relaxing, so I agreed.

I managed to make pi-shaped cookies by piping a reliable sour cream cookie dough out of a snipped-off corner of a large food storage bag. The going was a bit rough. I was tired from the workday and I sort of resented that JG was just sitting on the couch, even though he would have been more of a hindrance than a help in the kitchen. I knew that I had agreed to make these cookies of my own volition and that JG wasn’t pressuring me to do this, but the short notice still rubbed me the wrong way. But I had before me a chance to provide an act of service that I knew JG would appreciate, so I did my best to be graceful about it, even though I admit that I was somewhat cold to JG’s attempts at conversation during the baking process.

I had to estimate baking time, so a few had browner “legs” than others and the proportions were totally inconsistent, but I squeezed 57 cookies out of just one batch of dough. Fortunately, JG only has about 50 geometry students, so it worked out in the end. With a healthy sense of satisfaction, I packed up the cookies in a purple Pyrex container, hoping that the kids would like them.

Every year, Pi Day is a fake holiday that’s fun to celebrate, but this year, it meant a little bit more to me. In this small way, I had to push myself to go farther to do what was loving for JG. I wasn’t perfect - I was definitely snappier than I needed to be - but I tried my best to follow through and leave the kitchen nice and clean. Today, the only evidence of the effort is a box of small, sweet, pi-shaped cookies and that’s just how it should be.

From a blurb in Slate Magazine, I stumbled upon an article in The New York Times focused on a trend among married couples to sleep in separate bedrooms. I had heard snippets about this phenomenon on the news or the Today show, but I hadn’t thought through this subject until I had a chance to read this article.

Amidst persuasive statistics such as rising percentages of couples building more than one master suite in their new houses, sometimes with far-fetched nomenclature (”owners’ suite”? couple’s realms”?), this article consults with couples, builders, and psychologists to put together a picture of a new marital bliss. Downplaying a social stigma attached to sleeping separately, there is more focus on an individual’s pursuit of comfort, especially in an empty nest.

In St. Louis, Lana Pepper, a light sleeper who battled for years with her husband’s nocturnal restlessness, reconfigured the condominium they bought recently, adding walls to create separate bedrooms. Mrs. Pepper said the advantage to separate rooms was obvious: “My husband is still alive. I would have killed him.”

“It was more than snoring,” she said, recounting the bad old days of a shared bed. “He cannot have his feet tucked into any of the covers; I have to have them tucked in. So I took all the linens and split them with scissors. Then I finished the edge so that half of the sheet would tuck under and the other half he could kick out.”

There is admitted stigma, however, brought to light in the construction of these new homes.

Not everyone wants to talk about it. Many architects and designers say their clients believe there is still a stigma to sleeping separately. Some developers say it is a delicate issue and call the other bedroom a “flex suite” for when the in-laws visit or the children come home from college. Charles Brandt, an interior designer in St. Louis, said, “The builder knows, the architect knows, the cabinet maker knows, but it’s not something they like to advertise because right away people will think something is wrong” with the marriage.

Professionals claim that nothing is actually wrong with a marriage with partners who have separate bedrooms. Times have changed, they say, and the modern marriage can necessitate a separate living space.

“Couples today are writing their own script, rewriting how to have a marriage,” said Pamela J. Smock, a University of Michigan sociologist. “The growing need for separate bedrooms also represents the speed-up of family life — women’s roles have changed — and the need for extra space eases the strain on the relationship. If one of them snores, the other one won’t be able to perform the next day. It’s nothing to do with social class, and it’s not necessarily indicative of marital discord.”

Smock even predicted a logical profession from separate sleeping spaces, saying that she’s spoken to women who “fantasize about living in the same apartment building as their husband — but in a separate apartment.”

From my relatively newlywed viewpoint, this article surprises and saddens me. I can’t imagine voluntarily sleeping in a separate bed than JG. That’s one of the big things that changed once we got married, so I wouldn’t give that up in a hurry. We’re both right there if one of us needs the other, which is especially necessary in times of sickness or sadness. I’m not a very brave person, so I find a lot of comfort when I reach out with a finger or a foot and realize anew that JG is right there next to me. It helps me sleep more easily.

Maybe this trend is simply about getting better sleep, which I can understand. We don’t have to deal with severe snoring or other sleep disorders, so I know that we’re fortunate in that respect. Perhaps I’m unsure of how to process this information because I can’t get away from the sense of companionship I get from sharing a bed. Yes, a lot of the time, the sheets aren’t as I’d like them, or JG runs into me in the middle of the night. But when I’m traveling and I have a bed alone, I know I don’t like it as much. So, it’s not so much that I think sleeping separately automatically indicates a malfunction in a marriage; I just don’t understand it.

couples, sleeping separately, New York Times, Slate Magazine

On Saturday, JG took me out for my birthday-weekend dinner and it was fantastic. The process of getting to the restaurant, however, was slightly less so. JG has a very good sense of direction, so I rely almost wholly on him whenever we go somewhere because I have a terrible sense of direction. If he says he can get to a destination, I don’t bother to take down an address or phone number because I trust his confidence.

On our way to dinner, we came within about a mile of the restaurant before taking a wrong turn due to poor signage. JG was pretty sure that he could recover without making a U-turn, so we pressed on. Gradually, the landscape transitioned from commercial to residential to urban and I got nervous. I didn’t see any familiar roads, but I didn’t bring it up because, well, I’m usually wrong.

Five minutes before our reservation, JG asked me if I recognized anything. Unfortunately, I didn’t. “The fact that the streets are getting numbered is making me nervous,” I said. “I feel like we’re going downtown.”

“I was afraid of that,” JG said grimly. “Take a look at the map if you can, but don’t hold it up too high.”

We made our best guesses on how to turn, knowing that we wanted to go north in general and toward a major road. With each turn we grew more desperate and JG began to apologize in advance, in case we missed our reservation. Outwardly, I tried to appear cool and collected, not wanting to be prematurely disappointed. I knew that JG was getting frustrated with the time deadline and the lack of direction; this wasn’t like him at all. We only talked to discuss where to go next and what the time was. It was pretty tense inside the car.

I called Information to connect to the restaurant and found out that they held reserved tables for twenty minutes, so we knew we had some borrowed time. Finally, we managed to wind our way to the interstate and get to the restaurant only five minutes late, at least according to us. Rushing in to the lobby after me, JG breathed, “Hi, we were the ones running late.”

Thankfully, the hostess whipped out two menus, gestured, and said, “Right this way.”

Once we were seated, the tension melted away and we were able to breath easily. Our waiter was helpful and entertaining, the food was wonderful, and we really had a fun night out together. I ordered a bright red martini and JG made me feel like a princess the whole time.

We spent an hour in the car on the way to dinner, but it took us less than half an hour to drive back home! Oh, my. At least now we know how to get there.

couples, getting lost, directions, tension