Sunday, February 20, 2011
We see each other, if we're lucky, every weekend from 2 p.m on Friday until 2 p.m. on Sunday. I take him to the airport and we do this all over again. We've done this for 2 years.
As a traveler, my husband accrues a shitload of airline miles. Every once in a while, we like to use those miles to go on a trip together. Just us. No kids.
This past weekend (Valentine's weekend) my husband and I met up in Cancun, Mexico for a romantic getaway. It wasn't necessarily a shagging every second weekend, but rather a "Hey, I love you and I miss you" sort of weekend.
We ate sushi on Friday night, taking forever to eat because we were talking so much about what's going on in our family's life; we went zip-lining on Saturday; and then played around on the beach on Sunday (when you come from 2 feet of snow and sub-zero temps, 74 and in a swim suit feels like a heavenly oven).
Every evening, we sat around the hotel's huge hot tub and looked up at the stars lamenting at how lucky we felt to be able to get away like this with one another.
There was one point where I sat there, looking up at the stars, wondering if we were being a little too proud and if we should have brought the kids along with us. They hadn't seen their dad the weekend before (he was up in Canada for a work thing) and were going on a second Dad-free weekend.
But then I remembered what many stepfamily experts have professed: You have to put the marriage first. Here I was, in a warm setting with the man I love feeling guilty that we hadn't put the family first.
I quickly put those guilty feelings aside so I could focus on enjoying what little time I had with my husband.
We did enjoy our time together. Almost too much.
You can't really tell from the picture above, but my husband and I have spent the last week healing from second degree (sun)burns we received while in Mexico. Apparently you can burn yourself to a crisp. We frolicked in the Mexican sun for a few hours last Sunday. We wore some sunscreen but apparently not enough. We've spent the last week on the phone with one another giving the other tips on how not to wind up in the hospital. As much as the burns have hurt, they've been a constant reminder of my weekend with my husband, for which I really loved.
p.s. I promise to write more on the blog; however, as you can imagine, my fingers (and everything else) have been fried this past week.