Showering a Marriage With Love

When DH and I were engaged, as you might expect, we were regular recipients of unsolicited marital advice. Among the golden nuggets of wisdom were, "Never go to bed angry", "Love your spouse more than you love yourself", and "Pray together everyday." Our most surprising bit of advice came from our bishop a week or so before we got married. He told us to "Shower together everyday." After we were married, of course.

The first time DH and I attempted to not go to bed angry, despite a heated disagreement, we stayed up until 2 AM arguing. DH was tired and mad; I was exhausted and stubborn. Finally, we determined that we would have to go to bed angry as we were too tuckered out to scream at each other any more. Actually, I went to bed, and DH wisely slept on the couch.

Over the years (17 to be exact) I have often considered whether or not I love DH more than myself. I'd like to think that I do, but if I have a hundred dollars for new shoes, I'm going for something along the lines of the Dolce Vita Lamont-3 Pump (in black) over another stupid pair of golf shoes every time.

When it comes to things DH and I do together everyday, we are much more consistent with showering than praying. Somehow, this simple piece of advice has served to strengthen our marriage as well as maintain proper hygiene. Though some days, our showering is focused on cleanliness, not all our time in the shower is utilitarian in nature. But I am beginning to wonder if I might be a little too old for this shower sharing.

Mostly because of what happened the other day. We had only been in the shower a minute when my ear ended up horizontal under the shower head. With water rushing in at full force, I quickly averted my ear, shook my head, and with the warbling sound of water frolicking in my head, excused myself from further showering frolic.

Now I still have this bothersome liquid in my right ear. As it is annoying and painful, I'm working on every home remedy I know to get it out. I am not usually one for home remedies, and typically have no aversion to visiting a doctor.

But if I get an infection, and have to go see my primary care physician, I am not looking forward to the line of questioning: "Have you been swimming lately?" "No." "Perhaps boating then?" "No." "Hmmmm..." "All right, all right, DH and I were playing leapfrog in the shower. There. Are ya happy?"

Knees, Noses, Legs and Fums

On the way home from school last week S2 asked, “Mom, is it fum or thumb?” D2 quickly answered, rolling her eyes at the fact that she needs to answer such simple questions for her older brother, “It’s fum. Duh!”

Speaking of fums, for two weeks DH has been complaining of a tender one. The accident occurred during some old man city league basketball tournament. This was not the first time DH has come home injured from playing basketball.

Once he hurt his knee. It was an intense injury and he eventually had to have the knee scoped. Following the procedure, as I was wheeling him out of the surgical center, DH started puking in an apparent poor reaction to the anesthesia. I really don’t like puke, nevertheless, I decided to bring DH home anyway. He convalesced for a week on the couch where he was miserable, I was bored, and the pain medication gave him nightmares of the Grim Reaper.

Interestingly, many of DH’s basketball injuries have turned out to be less significant than he would lead me to initially believe. One leg affliction was allegedly so intense, he had to be carried home by two large men who took him straight into our bedroom. A physical therapist was even called for an emergency in-home treatment. Somehow the next day DH was miraculously walking without even so much as a hint of a limp. When we were college students, DH came home from a late night scrimmage with what he insisted was a broken nose. We woke up sleeping S1, climbed in the car and rushed to the ER. After paying our $50 co-pay, they played with DH’s nose, x-rayed it and sent us on our way. No broken nose, just a broken budget for the month.

So a couple weeks ago when DH complained of a sore fum, I knew it was probably just a jam or a sprain. Even the swelling and deepening purple tinge didn’t sway my diagnosis. He must have felt that it was not too serious either, because DH played in two basketball games following the initial trauma. Naturally, I did not feel the least bit guilty making him haul a refrigerator into one of my grandpa’s rental properties over the weekend.

Monday afternoon, however, when he could take no more discomfort, DH went to the InstaCare. One hour and 30 minutes later, he came home with proof of a broken bone. Sporting a great sympathy-attracting cast that can only be removed for showering, he's been gathering compassion from everyone. According to the doctor, it is necessary for proper healing so instead of a bum fum, DH will have a plumb fum. He is not supposed to wrap the ace bandage that surrounds the cast too tight or he could end up with a numb fum. Frankly, when I see the doctor bill I’m certain I’ll find his dumb fum to be sum fum. And, as soon as his ball buddies come a callin’ I suspect his chum fum will become a gamesome fum.