Look. There is no avoiding the reality of being together all the time.

A few nights a go, Tim and I had a fight. I needled him. He took me to task. I handled it like a real fucking lady - I’m an asshole. Was I right? Yes. Did that matter? No.

Look. Tim and I fight. We have been married for 25 years.

We’ve technically been married for 19 years in September. But if you apply the COVID pandemic isolation math, the last 6-months technically adds a year for every month. So 19 real years + 6 months as years = 25 years. Don’t question me. I’m a banker and crazy smart and that’s solid fucking math.

And you don’t get and stay married for 25 years without fighting.

But we have always been able to do our best fighting in private. But privacy is gone. My kids - like yours - are home. They are here. We are all together.

ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME.

So they are gonna see us fight.

I wrote an entry early in lockdown about finding more than i have lost and some of the upsides of spending so much time together. But that doesn’t make it easy. It’s hard. And the longer this goes on, the harder it’s getting.

I’m not getting better at this - I’m getting tired of it. I’m bored of this. The effort. The monotonousness of it all. The way days bleed together. That my kids are seeing me fight with my husband. That it makes them anxious and uncomfortable on top of everything else they are already dealing with.

But it is what it is.

So my kids are gonna see some shit. They are gonna see us fight. And they are gonna find a locked bedroom door in the afternoon. They are gonna see us do rock-paper-scissors to see who has to make dinner. There are gonna see the highlights and lowlights of a real marriage and real parents.

They are gonna see the blooper reel too.

For this week? The lowlights include the fight.

The highlights? Watching my husband watch my strong and lovely son mow the lawn while we sat in the shad with a cold beer after a long day. And I laughed. In fact, I howled. Watching Simon do the chore, leaving gaps, missing corners and running over dog shit as Tim controlled ALL his urges to correct and instruct. Was it perfect? NOT EVEN FUCKING CLOSE. Was it done and good enough that you couldn’t see the mistakes by the time you finished your second beer? No actually - there were some pretty big misses but who cares.

I’ll remember the lawn mowing.

My kids will - I hope - remember that their parents fought and snuck in upstairs meetings and while it all makes them very uncomfortable now, my hope is that it will all make more sense when they are grown and in relationships and they realize that you have to tend to and care for your relationship in all kinds of ways.

Sometimes it’s by fighting and airing your grievances. And sometimes it’s an afternoon ‘nap’ and a locked bedroom door.

Good and bad - you’re gonna see some shit. And maybe learns some shit too.