So, it occurred to me that, in the written world of LATLW anyway, Mr M gets a bit overlooked. Sure, he gets a mention here and there, but between the children and my own ramblings, he is often passed over.
To rectify this, and because he is one very equal fifth of our whole, I thought I would start this little series on marriage. It isn’t a how to, or a guide in how to do it right – my goodness we can have fights like the best of them – it’s more an appreciation, I guess, of all the tiny things that make us ‘us’. Putting some importance on the insignificant. The routines and the oddities that have become normalities for us over the years.
For I’m certain that this man I chose, that chose me, is as perfect a match as I’ll ever find. And that’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?
Marriage is… Making the tea
Before the Mr was a Mr, way back in our school days, he and I met at our Church Youth Club. When I think about it now, I do cringe a bit, for when we met we weren’t much older than my own eldest daughter is now. As ever, I fear that the teenage years with our own children might be our biggest challenge yet.
We were pretty inseparable through our school days and on into the Uni years. Other friends met people, had dalliances, broke up, but we were always the constant. Our names merged together in conversation, almost as if we were one person.
Like Brangelina. Just in Fruit of the Loom sweatshirts and with bad nineties haircuts.
Being together for such a long time means that certain little rituals have made their way into our ordinary. He calls me Emmie, but only in private, in the real world I’m Emma or Em. I know he gets cross when he gets too hot- we call it the ‘hanger’ (heat induced anger, lovelies)- and we play Russian Roulette with the heating controls frequently.
And then there’s the tea.
From the moment we were old enough to appreciate the Tetley, we have had the hour of tea. Truly. It’s like folklore amongst our friends.
Every evening before bed, no matter how late it is, we have to sit down together and drink the tea. Honestly, I’m certain more marriages would be saved if tea-drinking was made compulsory.
It’s a time to chat and catch up on our day. To have a moan. To despair. To plan, and reminisce, and settle each other when the waves of panic rise up, about this or that (me, more than him).
It is sacred, special alone time. Quiet moments in the midst of our everyday crazy.
Without them, I’m sure I’d go insane.
But then I think that has an awful lot more to do with the person beside me on the sofa. The one who calls me Emmie.
The one, no matter what the hour, who brings me tea.