The 16-Year Wedding Anniversary

My wife complains that I’m not particularly romantic.  Actually she’s never used those exact words, but she does like to remind me that I don’t send her flowers anymore (I used to do this much more often).  Of course I jumped on that immediately and downloaded the song ‘You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore’ onto the iPod (the Barbara Streisand/Neil Diamond version . . . you’d be surprised how many versions of this song there are) but she was not amused.

At the end of the day she’s probably right, some of the romance that we used to have is gone.  It’s not that I love her any less, but I think it’s just part of life, and that is to say that “LIFE” seems to get in the way of your relationship.

It’s like the whole date night thing.  Before we had kids my wife and I wouldn’t even schedule anything, we’d just go out.  Drinks.  Dinner.  A movie. Sometimes drinks, dinner AND a movie.  Whatever.  Basically, we’d just go out and play the whole night by ear.  We didn’t care whether we got home at 9:00 PM or 2:30 AM.  If the plan was to see a movie, and yet for whatever reason we didn’t catch the movie, who cares, we’d just go see it the next day or the next weekend.  We seldom had a “date night agenda.”  Maybe we’d see a movie, and maybe we wouldn’t. Maybe we’d meet up with friends, and maybe we wouldn’t.  It didn’t matter because you knew you could do whatever it was that you missed out on the very next day.  Worst case scenario you’d do it the following weekend.

Of course date night, like a lot of things, changed as soon as we had kids.  And I’m not talking about the little baby stage where you were too damn tired to even go out in the
first place.  Where catching up on some much-needed sleep was your idea of a good Saturday night, or where you’d rush through dinner just to get back home because you weren’t sure the babysitter could handle the baby if he woke up and needed to eat (you know because feeding a baby is rocket science, and my wife and I were the only two people who could get this done . . . our first child ate anything and everything. . . he
literally would have eaten a spoonful of dirt had you fed it to him . . . and yet on more than one occasion I know my wife and I rushed back from some date night just to get home in time to feed him).

And I’m also not talking about the transition from using a “real babysitter” to using your 12-year old son who may or may not lock his little brother in a closet just for shits and giggles.  For at the end of the day kids themselves don’t ruin date nights, it’s all the stuff that the kids do that ruins date night.  Baseball and soccer games.  Ski trips.
Sleepovers.  Stomach flu.  Colds.  And so on.

My wife and I still go on date nights, we just don’t go on nearly as many as we used to, and more often than not we find that our date nights are cut short in some way, shape or form.  Rarely do we “do” both dinner and a movie.  And we almost NEVER do drinks, dinner and a movie.  Long date nights have definitely become a thing of the past.

So I decided I was going to put a little romance back into our relationship, and turn our 16-year wedding anniversary into one, big, long date night.  Nothing over-the-top special (I wasn’t going to whisk her away to Paris for the night), but something that
would rekindle our “glory” days before we were worried about making an 8:00 AM
soccer game in Elgin on Sunday morning.

First things first, I did a little research into the significance of celebrating your 16-year wedding anniversary.  What’s the traditional gift?  What type of flower do you give?  Is there anything extra special about this year?  I did a fair amount of Internet research, and realized that wedding anniversaries are a lot like birthdays . . . there are certain ones you get excited for, and celebrate, and there are other ones where you just basically pat yourself on the back and keep grinding away.  The 16-year wedding anniversary is sorta like turning 23 . . . no one cares.

According to multiple websites that are dedicated to wedding anniversaries the traditional gift for your 16-year anniversary is NOTHING.  The modern gift is silver hollowware (like I know what that is, though I did find some for sale on eBay), and the
traditional flower is . . . again nothing.

The next order of business was finding someone to take my kids for the night so that my wife and I did not have to rush back from whatever exciting activities that we were doing.  I was able to find friends willing to take the boys, though I did have to call in my mom at the last minute to stay with my oldest son who unfortunately developed a cold just days before our anniversary.  I think it goes without saying that kids can develop colds and flus in a matter of hours if they have a test the next day or if their mom and dad want to go out for the night.

After that I started looking for restaurants in the downtown area.  Though I’m not a big fan of traveling downtown (the big city scares me), I know it’s where she’d want to go, so the big city it was.  So I went to Yelp.com and started searching good restaurants.  The top five restaurants that came up were Alinea, Chicago Pizza Tours, Les Nomades, Next and Girl & The Goat.  So basically I had:

#1 – A restaurant whose name I can’t pronounce.

#2 – The CLEAR front runner, but probably not something that will earn me the kind of brownie points I’m looking for.

#3 – Another name which I can’t pronounce.

#4 – Next . . . . . right, Next.

#5 – And something that sounds an awful lot like a bad porn movie I saw awhile back.

Unfortunately this whole 16-year anniversary thing was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated, and maybe 15 years ago I would have kept banging away until I got it absolutely perfect.  But the fact of the matter is life just gets in the way, and sometimes you don’t have enough time to get it all done, or get it all done the way you had hoped.  So I did what any “normal” person would do, and sent my wife the following email:

Babe,

I wanted to do something really special and fun for our 16-year wedding anniversary, but I’ve failed miserably.  I’ve been unable to set up a single thing, so I need you to put this together.  I’m open to pretty much anything, but just in case you, too, are struggling to come up with ideas, here’s what I DO NOT want to do for our anniversary:

• Sky Dive
• Bungee Jump
• Sing Karaoke
• Have Sex With a Man
• Have Sex With a Farm Animal
• Couples Massage
• Wine Tasting
• Ride a Roller Coaster
• Deer Hunt from a Tree Stand
• Watch Movies Pre 1985 (other than Jaws or Star Wars)
• Pedicure/Manicure
• Couples Paddle
• Shopping for Home Decorations
• Spend Time in a Car With Our Youngest Son and His Friends

Love, me.

P.S.  I’ve managed to invite my mom to spend the night at our house on our anniversary, so we may want to think about spending the night elsewhere.

My wife, of course, can plan events in her sleep, and it took her all of five minutes to make hotel, dinner and brunch reservations.  Champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries were waiting for us in the room.

I, of course, forgot the flowers.

Ravinia – The Agony of Compromise

At the end of the day, marriage is all about compromise.  You must learn to get along and to co-exist with your spouse if you are to have a successful marriage, and in order to do that, you must be able to compromise.  And in fact, even if you are getting along with your spouse, and even if you are successful “co-existing” with your spouse, you STILL probably need to compromise in order to get some of the things you want.  And of course those things differ.

For instance, my wife is more than willing to compromise on certain things and certain issues in order to get me to go out and be social or in order to get me to green light a little shopping, while I am willing to compromise on certain things and certain issues in order to get more sex.  And sometimes we can work together to kill two birds with one stone. 

Take Ravinia for example.  Now, I hate Ravinia.  I’ve made no secret of that right here in this blog.  If I never go to Ravinia again I’ll be a happy man.  However my wife loves going.  She could probably go to Ravinia once a week.  She loves everything about it:   The socializing.  The music under the stars.  The picnic dinners and cocktails that she packs.  I, on the other hand, hate all of it.  However, I do love sex.  Unfortunately, as fate would have it, my wife doesn’t seem to love it as much as I do (seriously this is the cruelest part of my entire life), so a joint compromise occasionally needs to be worked out to satisfy both parties.

The compromise is simple . . . I go to Ravinia once a year (and I get to pick the show), and she has to have sex with me BEFORE we go (yeah, I’m not bright, but I’m not THAT dumb. . . . I get payment BEFORE I fight the masses for a 10’ x 10’ patch of grass where I set up shop for the next three hours, only to be trampled by a bunch of strangers looking for the rest rooms).

This year, one concert peaked my interest more than any other.  The B-52’s and the Go-Go’s were coming to Ravinia.  A blast from the past.  A way to relive my youth while fighting the malaria-spreading mosquitoes that were sure to swarm after the extremely wet spring we’ve had here in Chicago. 

So we got the tickets, invited a handful of other couples to join us (misery loves company), planned an elaborate picnic basket, and of course, per the compromise, a few hours before we left for the concert, we had sex. 

It wasn’t until we had fought the traffic just to enter the concert grounds, and then elbowed our way past hundreds, if not thousands of people just to reach our small plot of grass, that I started to wonder whether I was actually getting the short end of the stick here in regards to our joint compromise.  The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I had in fact been cheated.

Here is a transcript of the night’s texts:

Me – Music hasn’t even started.  I’m miserable and cold.  Fucking awful.  Though I did have sex four hours ago.  That’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.

My Friend – That’s old news.  How are you going to get thru the next four hours?

Me – Not sure, and now that you mention it four hours ago suddenly seems like an eternity.

My Friend – Still cold?

Me – I’ve lost feeling in the lower part of my body.

My Friend – Hang in there. 

Me – Okay B-52’s just started playing.  There are some seriously weird people here dancing.  I don’t know this song.  I’m 0-for-1 already.

Me – Three songs into it and I’m 0-for-3, and I think I just felt rain.

Me – Good news, that wasn’t rain.  The guy behind me just spilled his drink on me. 

Me – Okay I’m now 0-for-6.  I need Love Shack or Red Lobster.

Me – No wait, not Red Lobster.  Rock Lobster.  I think I ate at Red Lobster once.

Me – 0-for-7.  I’m starting to wonder whether I’ve confused the B-52’s with another group.  Hell this may not be the B-52’s.  The stage is like a mile away from where I am sitting.  Who knows who’s on stage?

Me – I can’t take the cold anymore.  I’ve literally lost feeling in my extremities.  Going to buy a Ravinia sweatshirt.

Me – Just played Love Shack. 

Me – My wife just spent $51 on a Ravinia coat for me.  It is truly the ugliest coat in the world.  I think it’s the same coat the female security personal are wearing.

Me – Just played Rock Lobster. 

Me – I think someone just snapped a picture of me in this stupid coat.  I fear they’re going to post it on their Facebook page under the heading of “Weird dude at the B-52’s concert trying to impersonate a female security guard.”  It may make more sense to be cold.  I may have to take this coat off.

Me – The B-52’s are going all Grateful Dead on me.  They’ve been playing the same song for over 10 minutes.  I’m miserable.  Get me out of here.  I’ll pay you $100 if you come and get me right now.

Unfortunately, I realized that my friend had long ago lost interest in my situation and had stopped texting back hours earlier.  I was alone in my misery with no chance of rescue.

Finally, after a long wait, the Go-Go’s played for about 20 minutes, and the night was thankfully over. 

There were, however, a few saving graces:

• Some of the ladies took pity on me and actually brought food that I liked. 
• We had a great parking spot thanks to my mom’s parking pass.
• I did have sex.
• I don’t have to go to Ravinia again this year.   And maybe never again.

Playing The Percentages

They say the only two guarantees in life are death and taxes.  I disagree.  I can pretty much guarantee you that I’ll get every red light if I’m in a rush.  And I can pretty much guarantee you that I will put my serve into the net on set point in a paddle match.  And I can pretty much guarantee you that my kids will dislike whatever my wife is making for dinner.

However, even I will admit that my own personal “guarantees” are not as, well, guaranteed as “death and taxes” as I do occasionally get a green light, and I have been known to hit a serve in during a key point, and every so often my kids will agree to lasagna or grilled chicken. 

So maybe death and taxes really are the only two real guarantees in life, but I think I can attach percentages to other aspects of life and figure out how “guaranteed” certain things are.

For instance if my son is downstairs playing Call of Duty and my wife calls him up for homework I think I can say that there is a 95% chance that he’s going to lobby for at least 10 additional minutes to finish his game, and after those 10 minutes come and go I think there is a 90% chance that my wife will threaten to take the game away unless he turns it off and comes up stairs immediately.

I think there is a 98% chance that my younger son will try to get out of taking a shower, and that kid seriously smells.  Literally my eight-year old needs strong deodorant.  There’s something not right there.  We’ve actually talked to the doctor about it, who simply warned us that “it’s only going to get worse.”  I’m convinced we’re going to need industrial-sized fans to air out the kid’s room once he hits his teenage years.  And yet he’d rather smell than take a shower.

And I think I can attach a percentage to how likely I am to get sex on any given night.  It’s actually becoming a science for me.  Friday night with two glasses of wine there’s a 60% chance I get laid.  Believe it or not, three glasses of wine on a Friday night actually lowers the percentage to about 45% as that third glass of wine simply knocks her out.  Remember it’s Friday night and she’s had a long day of work.  Don’t let the “Friday night thing” fool you.  She’s been at work for at least nine hours.  Friday night is NEVER any better than 60%. 

Now Saturday night is a different story.  Saturday starts at 60%.  The day could begin with the dog puking on the floor and her car running out of gas while she’s en route to an indoor soccer game, and I’ve still got a 60% chance of having sex later that night.  Saturday is my best chance period.  Date night with just me and a few glasses of wine and it goes to 75%.  Date night with a few other couples and a few glasses of wine and it goes to 85% (yes, my percentages go up as long as my wife doesn’t have to spend the entire evening talking to just me . . . six days a week I’ll avoid getting together with people like I avoid the bubonic plague, but Saturday night comes around and I’m inviting perfect strangers to come and join us for a cocktail).   

And the percentages sky rocket to an all-time high of about 95% if we’ve actually shipped our kids off to other houses for sleepovers.  If I can come home to an empty house after a Saturday night out with friends and wine. . . . 95%. . . . and it’s never better than 95%. . . . in fact if any guy tells you he’s got a better than 95% chance of getting laid. . . . he’s not only lying, but he’s actually got NO CHANCE of getting any action that night. 

Now a weekday night after my wife’s had a long day of work and comes home to cook dinner and help our boys with homework . . . 0% chance.  I would literally have a better chance of getting sex if I hit her in the face with a shovel.  So it’s during these week nights where I “push the envelope.”  I will say and do pretty much anything during the week knowing I had zero percent chance of getting lucky anyway.

Don’t believe me; well let me ask you this, have you ever said to your wife “Can I stick my sex monkey into your hot butter hole?”  Well, I have.  Do you know why?  Because there was as much chance of her saying yes to that absurd comment as there was of her saying yes to a hand written poem titled “The 101 reasons why I’d like to make love to my wife.”  ZERO PERCENT CHANCE. 

Now of course that particular comment backfired slightly when she turned around and told me not to talk to her for the rest of the day, but I made that comment on a Tuesday, so I have until Saturday to make it right. 

Trust me; I’ll be back to 60% come Saturday morning.

So on second thought maybe there’s death, taxes, and my wife’s complete disinterest in weekday sex as the only guarantees in life.

It Doesn’t All Change

From the get go kids are taught to aim high and to dream big, and I think as parents we have an obligation to encourage that, while also reeling in their expectations a bit.  I don’t mind it if my 11-year wants to play professional baseball when he grows up.  In fact I will encourage that goal, and will do what I can to help him achieve it.  Yet at the end of the day I know my son won’t be knocking balls out of Wrigley Field or Yankee Stadium for a living, so I will continue to make sure that he tries other things and has other interests. 

My motto is “aim high but have realistic expectations.”

The car you drive is a perfect example of this motto.  Growing up all you want is a sports car.  You pour over the pages of Car & Driver magazine memorizing the 0-60 speeds of Ferraris and Porsches and Lamborghinis.  It’s not a question of whether you’re going to get one of these cars; it’s simply a question of what color you’re going to get.  But at some point your plans for that foreign-made sports car are ditched for a more realistic car like a four-door Honda Accord.  The Honda is a reliable car that gets good fuel economy and can get you from point A to point B with no hassles.  Hell you’re living the dream if you can get heated front seats and satellite radio.  You don’t need a twin turbo V-12; you need trunk space for a Costco run.

Your house is also another great example.  When you’re younger you assume you’ll have a big house complete with a backyard pool, a three-car garage, and cable TV in your bathroom.  But years later you’re absolutely thrilled with your three-bedroom two and one half bathroom house.  The backyard pool is a slip ‘n slide.  Your three-car garage is a one-car garage that holds everything BUT your car.  And your cable TV in your bathroom is your iPod and some portable speakers, which you sometimes turn on when you shower.  But this is fine because soon after you buy the house, you quickly realize just how hard and expensive it is to maintain it.  Another 1,500 square feet is the farthest thing from your mind.

Yet another example is doing a better job raising your kids than your parents did raising you.  When you were growing up you promised that when you had kids you would raise them “the right way.”  You swore that the mistakes your parents made raising you would not be duplicated, because in high school you were sure they did everything wrong.  And yet years later you realize that for the most part your parents did a half-way decent job of raising you, and even the mistakes they did make weren’t entirely their fault.  You were a difficult kid and frankly raising kids is just freaking hard.  There’s no instruction booklet on how to raise them.  No one has that sure-fire, can’t miss method. 

The list of examples goes on.  And I don’t know if you can ultimately chalk it up to lost innocence or adulthood.  Maybe both.  But at some point your expectations drop, and you go from aiming for the moon to settling for reality.  Like I said . . . “aim high but have realistic expectations.”

In fact thinking about it the only thing that doesn’t fit this motto is date night.  At least for guys, date night is AND ALWAYS WILL BE about getting some action at the end of it.  That’s why dudes go out on date night.  We aim high, but age has NOT lowered or changed our expectations.  When I was in my late teens and early 20’s date night was about going out and getting some action afterwards.  And almost 20 years later date night is about going out and getting some action afterwards. 

I can’t explain why our expectations regarding date night have not changed over the years.  All I know is that date night is a smashing success if it ends with sex, and it’s a freaking debacle if it ends with nothing more than a “Thanks, that was a nice night, honey” and a goodnight kiss. 

Sure the actual date night itself has changed since I was younger in that the old dinner at Chili’s followed by a movie has been replaced by cocktails at a friend’s followed by a nice dinner at a fun, yet quiet restaurant.  What I used to be able to do for $40 is now often times $140 (excluding babysitting).  But when all is said and done if the evening doesn’t end with some sex it’s a disaster, and expectations for date night NEVER waver. 

So sure my Ferrari is now my Honda.  My 5,500 square foot mansion is now my 2,200 square foot house with a one-car garage.  And my kids are as out of control as I was when I was there age.  Those youthful expectations have been shattered, and I’m okay with it.  But by God if my date night doesn’t end with sex, I will complain for a week.  That youthful expectation never goes away.