Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [88]
Instead of delaying at the dinner table in hopes that Michelle would do the dishes, I sprung into action. Before she had a chance to lift a finger, the kitchen was clean. Then came the myriad of activities that surround putting young children to bed; any non-parents out there should imagine cattle herding on a tricycle. Our routine is complicated by Kelsey, who is now physically a teenager but remains an infant developmentally. Her activities of personal care require time, a strong back, and patience. But I was up to the task. Finally, there was the postbedtime downtime. Generally this consists of literally falling on the couch, remote in hand, and eventually waking up with drool running down one’s cheek and an infomercial blaring. On Day 1, however, I made some effort to see to my spouse’s comfort before my own. A cup of herbal tea and an offer of whatever else she wanted. I was solicitous.
{ A single man has not nearly the value he would have in a state of union. He is an incomplete animal. He resembles the odd half of a pair of scissors.}
And I could tell it was appreciated. There were no outward displays of gratitude, but certainly there was a general sense of calm where normally there might be the stress and conflict of the children’s bedtime ritual. Maybe Franklin was on to something here. I decided not to press my luck on the first day. Day 2 would be telling.
Red, Red Wine, Goes to My Head
Day 2 provided a strange twist in my week of Chastity. I had nothing special planned. In fact, planning would be almost an impossibility. There were conflicting schedules—Michelle going somewhere one night, I somewhere different the next, soccer for the girls, a soccer skills and drills session on the weekend, a promise to do yard work for my mother-in-law. It seems that in the modern family, there is very little time that is not scheduled. This, of course, is part of the problem with maintaining a positive relationship with a spouse. The second night of this virtue seemed to present just such a problem. My wife reminded me that we had agreed to talk about finances and home renovations—hardly a task that inspires romance. Bemused expressions and occasional angry words maybe, but usually no romance.
On this week of Chastity, however, a strange thing happened on the way to our conversation—we actually talked. After the kids were in bed, my wife produced a bottle of red wine and said, “I thought this might help things run smoothly.” Indeed it did. Instead of the rancorous, vexing, anxious conversation that often accompanies the subject of money, we had a long, pleasant, calm conversation about everything from the actual topic at hand to how people achieve happiness and my wife’s plans for the future.
This was the type of communication on which studies of successful marriages place such emphasis. This was real talking. It reminded me of how we talked when we first became a couple—like two explorers planning a grand adventure. And isn’t that the spirit of hope and dreams that should pervade a marriage?
And I wasn’t the only one who appreciated the tone of our talk. At some point Michelle made the comment that it was nice to just talk and that we didn’t do it enough. Now, I am not suggesting that every conversation between husband and wife should be lubricated by red wine or should be about life’s grand ambitions; there are dogs to walk and dry cleaning to be picked up. It’s just that in between the dogs and the errands there has to be something more.
Despite my pleasure at the evening’s conversation, I found myself slightly suspicious at my wife’s motives. She knew nothing, I thought, of the particular virtue of the week, but this seemed almost too coincidental. Could she have seen through my Day 1 activities? Or was she reading my virtue diary?
Finally, I dismissed my suspicions. Coincidence or