365 Nights (12 page)

And after only a few months, I
knew
I was on to something. I was grateful for my small cadre of supporters. Perhaps it doesn't matter if you work or stay at home, send your kids to private or public school, or belong to the country club or the YMCA, intimacy is a common experience—and apparently, a frequent dilemma—for all of us. Sometimes the things that are the most intensely personal are the things that happen to us all—or at least a lot of us. Like negotiating sex with your spouse. Intimacy is the great equalizer . . . whether we're rich or poor, black or white, educated or not, city dweller or farm girl, intimacy is the glue that binds a relationship together.

In contrast, Brad told
no one
. Not even his best friend. I was surprised.

Oh,
riiiggght.
I forgot. Women talk about the intricacies of their lives all the time—husbands, kids, sex, neighbors. And men talk about . . . heck, I must not know the first thing about what guys talk about because I thought they talked about
sex
!

NOVEMBER

Blessed Be the Ties That Strangle . . . I Mean Bind

“That's ridiculous,” Brad said. “You never had trouble telling
me
no.”

Well, he had that one right.

Why is it that I, and many women I know, can't say no to the PTA, church, children's theater, neighborhood association, or soccer club, but we can say no to our husbands day in and day out? My girlfriend says she wakes up each morning and has to decide who she's going to be today—PTA Mom, Carpooler, Designer and Small Business Owner, Laundress/Maid, Cook, and so on. “I never wake up and decide, ‘Today is the day I'm going to be a Wife.' ” In the era of Wives Who Do It All, many of us are not doing “It” at all. Instead, we're overextending ourselves with work, school, church, synagogue, garden club, and so on.

But here's the truth, at least for me: Everyone knows when you're
not
volunteering at school, driving your kids to choir, or getting a covered dish to the neighborhood picnic. You're either doing it or you're not. But no one knows if you're
not
having sex with your spouse (except for your spouse, of course). You can be the most admired person on the block for spreading good deeds and goodwill from one end of town to the other, but few husbands are going to ask for volunteer help to get their wives back in the mood and back in the bedroom. Can you imagine the e-mail? “Hey, everyone, we're looking for one or two folks who can spare a few hours for a great cause—Phil needs some help or suggestions on how to get Jennifer in the intimacy groove. If you have experience falling off the intimacy horse and can help, e-mail me today! Thanks and have a great day.”

For a long time I put things that were important, but never the most important, ahead of my relationship with my husband. Serving as chair of the board of the weekday school. Teaching Sunday school. Planning neighborhood socials. Drafting the newsletter for the elementary school. Juggling client demands. Staffing conference calls from home while fixing dinner and folding laundry. Calling my mother . . . my best friend . . . my sister-in-law . . . my old babysitter to check in. Hitting the “refresh” button on my e-mail about, oh, 258 a times day. Baking cookies for . . . (well, nothing really, I just like to bake cookies). Certainly these things are not unimportant—in fact, I consider cookie baking to be very important! But so is Brad. While I would have told any telemarketer who called to poll me about my marriage that on a scale from 1 to 5, with 5 being
very important
, my marriage was, indeed, a 5, I wasn't living that affirmation out day to day.

I realized that the bustle of my daily life was fraught with missed opportunities to connect with my spouse, and when I layered on the added chaos of the holidays, getting up close and personal was even more of a challenge. So in this season of Thanksgiving I realized that I needed to slow down and reorder some things. While I was thankful for school, church, my neighborhood, and so on, what I needed to be most thankful for was all that resided inside the four walls where I lived—my children, my husband, and the gift of intimacy, which has been a gift to us both, really.

I decided to try my best to say yes to all that this holiday represents and to actually enjoy this time of Thanksgiving— leisurely time spent with family . . . and with Brad. I would relax, kick back, and focus on those quality activities that used to bring me so much pleasure. Yes, the national pastimes of the Thanksgiving season—watching television, grossly overeating, and napping.

I recently met a woman who doesn't have a television and I wondered how on earth she would be spending her Thanksgiving. No Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? No football? No
Sound of Music
? She is not some weird freak lady (at least I don't think she is, but we did just meet). She's nice, attractive, and married with children. I mean, she
seems
normal. She joked about how much she doesn't know since she doesn't watch television and I thought, “Dang straight, how do you get through the day?” But then I reconsidered all the absolutely ridiculous, bottom-of-the-barrel television drivel that won't taint her brain and take up her leisure time, which does taint and take up mine.

A few years ago, I was addicted to two kinds of television. The first was bad television, and I mean really, really
bad
television that had absolutely no redeeming social value. The kind of television programming that when it was over made me feel slightly queasy. You know how your mother used to tell you, “If you get that funny feeling inside when you're doing something, it probably means you shouldn't”? Well, that's how I felt when I watched that kind of television. I knew I shouldn't be watching it. I didn't even laugh or learn anything, save for how depraved television is these days. This is not art or high-concept television—it's low-brow television programming that neither my children nor your children should ever, ever see. Mostly they were reality shows about washed-up celebrities, washed-up relationships, weight and self-image issues, surviving in the Everglades with only a paper clip, raising dysfunctional families, or people simply acting like fools because a camera was pointed at them. In fact, half the time I was sitting there watching it thinking to myself, “I can't believe that this trash is on regular cable! I mean, really!”

I loathed myself when it was over because I could not ever get that time back. It was lost forever into that diminishing black hole called Charla's Brain. What kind of great artwork could I have created during that time? Could I have taken up a musical instrument, or finally read
War and Peace
, or learned more about climate change, or invested wisely in the stock market? Really, I understand why Jane Austen was able to write all those great books—no TV! But I rationalized that I needed my downtime, those moments when I could take off my Supermom cape and hunker down into some mindless television. And after some seriously tedious numbing, I realized that I needed to go to sleep, but my head was spinning and I was overdosed on what not to wear, how not to walk down the runway, or how not to get picked for a date. Sadly, it did not occur to me that I was trading an opportunity to hunker down with Brad.

Then this sensory overload came to a head and I had to stop the madness! I was not getting to the important things: reading books and magazines, doing my homework for my Bible study, sifting through my favorite cookbooks, scanning the paper. I realized I really had to exercise some discipline and curb my television time—it was taking up valuable time, if not a wee bit of energy flipping around to all those channels. And it wasn't like I was bonding with Brad over some weepy Hallmark movie or discussing Tim Russert's guests. I had gotten lazy and complacent with my evenings and it needed to end. And so I went on a bad television strike. While I did cross the picket line once or twice (hey, a girl's gotta have a little
American Idol
, right?), I was feeling less disgusted with myself, and found that I was more sociable. The only drawback I worried about was that this might compromise my ability to dish pop culture with friends. But then I discovered a little secret: You don't have to
watch
television to know what's happening
on
television. Guys, by the way, have known this for years—hence the advent of
Sports Illustrated
and
ESPN The Magazine
. You can read who just got voted off an island/out of the house/out of the kitchen/etc. on the Internet. You can pick up
People
magazine to read about the latest plot of the hot network shows.

My girlfriends didn't believe me when I announced I had gone on a televisions strike as I could still chitchat about it with authority. “Don't hand me that line about not watching television! ” they would exclaim. Peruse any tabloid magazine in the grocery store line, friends, and you, too, can be an expert on bad television without actually watching bad television. I kid you not. I realize that I have transferred my problem instead of really solving it, but it works for me. Now, I'm spending time with Brad, reading more, and sleeping better than I ever have before.

The second kind of television is happily enthralling programming that I do advocate—and still watch—cooking shows. They are a tiny little sweet spot in my day. Cooking shows are the antithesis of junky television. I adore them, I relish them (ha), I bask in them. Cooking shows make me glad, sometimes very nearly giddy. And they occasionally make me laugh. Cooking shows are like
Leave It to Beaver
: Everyone is happy and cheery (granted, some are ingratiatingly happy and cheery) as they prepare gorgeous food in well-lit, beautifully decorated kitchens. Everything they need is at their fingertips—
they are never without
(again the opposite of reality shows where everyone seems to be in want of something—money, love, peace, fame, a new living room, or beauty). Somebody has bought all the food, probably without two grumpy and hungry children in tow, pre-prepped the herbs and vegetables, and within minutes they are creating sustenance with grace and ease.

These cooks and chefs are showcasing their talents instead of revealing their deepest darkest flaws and secrets (and we're all better off, don't you think). The impressive knife skills when chopping an onion, the quick flick of the wrist when handling a crepe, or the ability to pinch the perfect piecrust. I DVR my cooking shows and watch them often—my kids watch them with me and they know by name the hosts of my favorites. It's one of the few things on TV that we can watch together and everybody is happy. Because on cooking shows, everybody wins. And unlike bad television, cooking shows are inspirational—I, too, will be serenely happy once I can roast a side of lamb on an open pit for twenty of my closest friends. I feel like I am a better person having watched them . . . well, at least a little.

But in November I get less time with my cooking shows, because the Sports Mafia has shanghaied my television, my house, and my marriage. Not to mention, I'm cooking like a fool anyway. To my dismay, the DVR (and I love you, DVR, but please, I need more from you!) can tape only two shows at the same time, or else Brad would be taping golf, NFL,
and
baseball. The real problem here is there aren't sports
seasons
anymore. Nearly all professional sports run year-round. Baseball is not just in the summer, and the NHL is not just in the winter. Heck, the World Series is in November! And ice hockey is in June? Golf is year-round and the NBA? Don't get me started on that freak show. So Brad's living vicariously through his sports teams, and I'm busy aspiring to be the next Ina Garten, and we meet in the middle, at our kitchen table.

As a result of less television and more intimacy, I was sleeping better, feeling better, and watching my happy cooking shows at my leisure on my DVR. I couldn't believe my good fortune: It was as if I had discovered the Holy Grail. Intimacy Every Day — Junky Television + My Favorite Foodies on DVR = Better Sleep and a Happy Spouse. Hurray for me!

Thanksgiving is really a fantastic holiday for us: me as a food lover and Brad the sports fan. I love to entertain. I love it, love it,
love
it. (Luckily Brad does, too, or does now after ten years of being with me.) The cooking component didn't always come easy to me, but at least I don't have to go overboard on decorating my house (see December)—some happy mums for my porch, and turkey dinner napkins, and I'm done. I can focus on researching menus, preparing meals, setting a gorgeous table with the wedding china, and enjoy hanging out with family. Except, of course, when we have to watch sports. The tradition of Detroit and Dallas hosting NFL tilts on Thanksgiving is nearly as old as the holiday itself, according to Brad, who also had to explain to me the meaning of a tilt (which is code for a “really, really exciting game”). His grandmother was the biggest football fan in his family, and when she hosted his Thanksgivings in years past, she would time serving fourteen people turkey and all the fixin's between games so as not to miss a snap.