I'm not gonna pretend I like the beach

Cruises are a big deal in the middle class right now. So is misusing prescription drugs, but I digress. Stereotype: middle-aged parents, teenage children, newly-weds, retirees trek to the coast from our landlock, board an insanely large vessel (Titanic is leaving Netflix this month--catch it before you book), float away to somewhere foreign, and instagram our brains out. I see these pictures and, depending on my mood, think either "how nice that you get to take a vacation" or

"I'm not gonna pretend I like the beach. Do you really like the beach? Sweat and sun and sand where not even daylight belongs. The salt wrecks my hair, the tan sunburn lasts a week, the shopping sucks. Don't pretend you like that t-shirt you paid $25 for that cost 50 cents to make. Why do we do this to ourselves, America? Is this to fulfill some weird desire to step outside your life here in the deltamountainsontheriver where you have to watch the news to know how to dress your kids tomorrow? Do you need to feel exotic? That's a lot of money you just promised to Capital One for some crappy instagram pictures. You can't really like the beach..."

Mister Kidd and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this week, and as usual, we spent a lot of time reflecting on our marriage.

[Implied Reader: But, weren't you just talking about the beach...? What's that have to do with your marriage?]

Hang on. I think I have a point around here somewhere.

Four years and two days ago, I became legally attached to the person I had been figuratively attached to for the four years before that. It was great and wonderful and fun to finally be able to have sleepovers with my best friend. The "honeymoon phase" was filled with so many new things. I thought, "If the first year is the hardest part of our marriage like everyone says, we'll be ok."

But over the past four years, we've learned that "everyone" don't really know what they're talking about. The hardest part of your marriage is not the first year, not a period of time at all. The hardest part of your marriage is fighting.


Fighting to love your spouse well.

Fighting for intimacy when you can't stand to see his stupid face anymore.

Fighting for joy when you want to take all the bill money and run away.

Fighting yourself and your pride when you want to rule him but you know it's his job to make the best decision for you, and he actually wants to, and he does. Every time, so far.

Fighting to keep him first in your heart after you create some people out of thin air and let them live inside you for the better part of a year.

Fighting to please God in your marriage rather than yourself. Or even him.


I've learned over the past four years of marriage (an eternity to some, a week to others) that the "honeymoon" not only doesn't end, but it doesn't even have to exist. You can always be enamored with each other. You can always be friends. You can always have the "spark." Culture doesn't think so, but culture wasn't told that it would be hard work, so it settled for unhappiness and unrest. It goes to the beach once a year for satisfaction, to feel fulfilled, renewed, young.

I have resolved to make the beach out of my little lot on a busy avenue in the suburbs. I don't have to board a ship to get that fleeting feeling of adventure and youth--I feel it every day at about 3p when I hear a truck pull in the driveway. I will seek God and choose to find my fun and rest in my husband.

But, y'all. Those towel animals. Am I right?

[Disclaimer: I am not condemning those who actually enjoy the beach as a vacation. I do challenge you, however, to make sure you actually like it and not just go because you think you should.]