When Love is Boring

We're celebrating five years today, five years since that cold, wintry evening when Herm asked if I'd like to go out for coffee with him after work. It was there, in that quiet corner of Dunkin' Donuts, our hands holding lattes --his a raspberry mocha, mine caramel-- though we both secretly wished to instead be hand-holding each other, that he wondered if I would want to go out for coffee again with him, perhaps even regularly.

He was asking, nervously, if I would be his girlfriend, and before he even finished the question I was already nodding my head yes, and to myself thinking, Heck yes!  Relieved it didn't take him much longer to work up the nerve... because I was about ready to reverse cultural roles and call his dad to ask if I could date his son. (I'm kidding! Sort of.)
Today I went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive thru and ordered a raspberry mocha latte to deliver to Herm at work. I'm not really a sentimental person, but five years! It doesn't feel like it's been that long, yet in the same breath, I say it feels as though we've always been together.

Time growing older with him, studying his habits and preferences, told me he wouldn't like that latte as much now as he used to --we didn't really know what good coffee was back then-- and I was right, it's so sweet, he said. 

My phone vibrated this afternoon as I was preparing supper. I glanced down.  Hey, I know it's late in the day but if you want to go out tonight you may. I'll watch the kids.

Heck yes!

Now I'm back at Dunkin' Donuts again, for the second time today. I hadn't visited this place in months, possibly pushing years. I'm here mainly because the coffee shop I'd rather be at, the one with good coffee, is closed. But also, if I'm truly honest, because Dunkin', on that cold, February night exactly five years ago today, is a bit nostalgic to me. Perhaps I am the sentimental type.  

I used to think people who were married for five or more years were basically married for a lifetime; they held a wealth of knowledge and knew each other inside and out. At times it seemed their love lives must be boring. Us though, we would never let it get to a place of boredom. Never.

I laugh now, because I still feel like a new bride, though a bit more settled in my role as wife, more comfortable with who I am. And quite certainly, a touch more boring. Time has a way of drawing us closer, we understand each other better, we communicate deeper and more easily. We've felt overwhelming sorrow and experienced overflowing joy. And we're okay with the quiet, non-glamorous, as long as we're together.

I love this kind of love. 

The simple, every day choosing to love, love. 

It's what prompts him to make a second mug of coffee --the good, freshly ground beans, perfect temperature water, Aero-pressed sort-- just before he heads off to work, to leave it on the counter, for me.

Because of love I buy the expensive, might-as-well-be-wiping-with-cash-it-costs-so-much toilet paper. Every time, cringing, as I read how many cents it cost per hundred squares, but I buy it anyway. (And when I accidentally buy the cheap stuff, like now, it never runs out... much to his chagrin. Thanks for still loving me.)

It's the love that learned how to assemble a bologna sandwich in the same order --bread, mayo, peppers, pickles, lettuce, cheese, bologna, mayo, bread-- day in and day out, for the past 4.5 years of lunch-box lunches.

The love that tells you, as you're walking out the door for a kid-free evening, that you're not to return until at least 7:30. No, make it 8.

I see now, five years in, that in the daily acts of service, of giving and knowing of receiving and being known, in the boring, is where love flourishes.

It's in the small moments.

Five years in, and I'm excited about this boring love. Because now, five years in, I realize it's anything but boring, and we're still certainly brand new at this growing old together!

The real romantics know that stretchmarks are beauty marks, and that different shaped women fit into the different shapes of men souls, and that real romance is really sacrifice.  -Ann Voskamp


  1. Replies
    1. You're welcome. I hope you're doing well, Rosa. <3

  2. What beauty. Thank you for sharing, Sarah. It's words like these that make this newlywed wife smile. I want that. :)