Laughter and Marriage

Last week Adam and I celebrated seven years of marriage. I attempted to write this post all week long but I wasn't sure exactly what to say. I felt the need to share tips on what we've learned or how we've grown or what we know for sure after seven years of marriage and twelve years together. But the truth is that we are still learning together and growing together. Years seem to pass very quickly, and (as I do in other areas of my life) I sometimes treat my relationship in measurable goals. I set out tasks that I want to complete and ways to improve our communication in the following months. But I'm (finally) seeing that the day to day makes all of the difference in these goals and that perspective is everything.

It's the digging deep and being grateful for the moment when both kids are screaming and I haven't showered. It's looking at my husband and remembering that he makes me laugh harder than any other human being ever has when everyone has fallen asleep before me and the sink is full of dishes. It's intentionally making time with Adam to talk about how amazing our children are and what funny things they are doing lately when they aren't around. It's writing down what makes me grateful each day. The little things improve my relationship and my attitude making my home and myself happier.  

You would think that patience and perspective come naturally to a teacher and social worker. But they don't. I tend to be hardest on those that are closest to me. So instead of looking at what we've learned or how far we've come, we decided to open a bottle of wine and watch our wedding video. After watching, I was mostly struck by the poem that Adam's sister read at the service. How true it has been throughout our entire relationship. So instead of sharing tips, I'll share the one thing I know for sure and that is that laughter makes everything better.  

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
— Your Laughter by Pablo Neruda