In Defense of Love

When things are good, they’re great. When things are bad, they’re horrible. Maybe I’m that little girl with the little curl right in the middle of my forehead.


I wonder if I’ll ever achieve the balance I seek in my life. Last spring I trained for a half marathon and then triathlon, I managed to keep the kids from going feral, actively keep the romance alive with Steve, keep the house well maintained. But I bombed in my classes. Because everything else got in the way.

This fall I’ve maintained an A average, but at what cost? The past two months have been miserable.

It’s not that I sacrificed one for the other in either case, but it just seems that when my plate is slightly unbalanced, something falls off. The problem is, the load on my plate never lessens.  Because I don’t let it and don’t really want it to.

I need race goals – half marathons and marathons and triathlons – I need that the stay focused and to feel strong and to exist outside everyone in my house in a way. I can’t give that up.

This HR Certificate will be another 15 months of balancing child care and school and home days with the kids. I can’t give up on it.

During those home days there is laundry to be done, tubs and toilets to be scrubbed, vacuuming,  sometimes even mopping and dusting.

Steve is a priority that is high on the list. Because relationships take active commitment so they don’t turn stale or boring or full of distance and loaded pauses.


In the middle of the night last night, Steve reached for me and pulled me close. Our bodies fit together like they always have and his heat seeped into my back, against my legs. Like it always has. I think he was mostly asleep, but it had woken me and I laid there, letting his body warm mine, feeling his breath against my hair. And I was thankful, so very thankful, that even when distance seeps in and those loaded pauses between words seem heavy enough to knock you over, that he pushes past them.

With insistence that I talk about it, instead of leaving me to stew in my own self-destructive thoughts. With the warmth of his body at night. With the words, over and over and over again that he loves me, respects me, wants me and will fight for me. For us.


That’s what commitment is.

Fighting for love.


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