56. lobster lovers

If you’ve been in romantic partnership for long enough, you may find that at some point you forget how to do the romantic part. 

That’s what happened for us, anyway.
I’ve been married to Brent, a man I’m obsessed with for 13 years, and we’ll have been together for 16 this September. We have two kids, Tanner (8) and River (4), and in 2022 we chose to move from the United States to Portugal, where we had no family or other relations. 

You may already know this about us, but I’m going somewhere. 

When we only had Tanner, we lived about 5-8 hours away from our closest family member, my mama Mary. She has always been deeply devoted to Grandma-ing, and would come about once a month to spend a few days with our family. When Tanner was little, there were a handful of times (I think three that I recall) that Brent and I spent up to 3 nights away while my mom Gaga-sat Tanner. 

We were never one of those couples who could just ‘drop the kids off at the grandparents,’ and that was okay with us, though it took a toll on our relationship in subtle ways - as it always does to be under-supported in terms of community.

River, on the other hand, is a Covid baby. He was conceived in May 2020 and born in February 2021, during the peak of the pandemic, when even close-knit families were sometimes keeping their distance. While Gaga (my mom) still came to visit, we all were more mindful about potential germ-sharing, especially with the high-risk factors of age (both young and old alike) and other family members who were immuno-compromised. 

There’s also a big difference in caregiving one kid versus two - especially when one is a newborn or baby. I’ll be the first to volunteer that Brent and I are protective parents, and people who operate with a relatively high level of risk awareness in general (read: prone to anxiety). Our boys are amazing, and also a handful, so once we had two of them, we just didn’t ask for help in the form of overnight childcare. 

Once we landed in Portugal, the process of creating an entirely new life here unfolded, and in that process, part of the stability we anchored for our kids was being present - every day, every night, all the time. There was so much change in every aspect of our lives, so being home together under the same roof with at least one of their parents was something we felt was best for our kids. 

Now, nearly three years later, we have two happy, well adjusted kids who are dual-tracking English and Portuguese, with lots of friends, great teachers, and generally an awesome life. We also have two very tired, somewhat burned out parents who hadn’t (until last night) had a proper overnight date (or a single night without one of us actively parenting) in five and a half years.

That’s over 2,000 days and nights without having more than 5 hours alone together at a time. 

So you could say we were due for a refresh. 

It became evident last week, when we tried to have a ‘date day’ while the kids were in school. The loose plan was we’d surf or workout, get something to eat, and just hang out and spend quality time. 

But then the mole arrived, and we had to scrap that plan. 

We have a lovely yard, with a well, grass, fruit trees, roses, and a garden. Recently we had an uninvited guest take up residence in our yard. We thought based on the tunnels it was creating that it was a gopher, but it turns out that it was a mole. They are quite common in this area of Portugal, and quite destructive when it comes to landscaping. 

So the day our date was planned, Brent texted the guys who initially did our yard and asked them the best mole-removal strategies. They explained that moles usually come up to the surface between 10am and 12pm daily, so we’d need to just sit there and watch for the critter to emerge, then handle it by hand-trapping or smacking it with a shovel, our choice. 

Brent explained this to me the morning of our date, so we decided to sit and mole-watch instead of going to surf. We shared matcha lattes and light conversation as we waited, but despite Nuno’s precise time prediction, the mole did not appear. 

So we found ourselves around noon, short on time because I had a client at 2pm and unsure what to do with the rest of our allotted date time. We stood in the yard discussing options, and finally decided the best thing to do would be go to the grocery store, so no one had to do it later. Besides, it was a double discount day - if we spent 100€ we’d get 20 back for groceries and 20 back for gas. Can’t beat that deal. 

As we were walking into the grocery store, we agreed that we had reached a new level of boring-sad in our romance, and it was a desperate cry for help. We’d completely forgotten how to date. The best we could do was real life whack a mole and double discount groceries, and I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly getting my juices flowing. 

So anyway, long story short, Gramma to the rescue. My mom flew all the way from California to visit, and for the first time in 2,007 days, my husband and I got to spend a sacred, glorious, connected 22 hours away from our house, kids, and daily routine. 

We booked an oceanfront hotel and spa just 24 minutes from the house and awkwardly, haltingly, anxiously found our way into our old just-two groove. It took a few hours, but by 9:45pm, we’d remembered how to date each other, as we sat tucked away in the best corner table of a local restaurant, eating an exquisite meal and reveling in the pleasure of good food and our favorite company. 

For those who must know: Portuguese olives with extra garlic. Soft fresh baked bread and butter from Açores. Spanish style Meixilhão (mussels). Goat cheese, pumpkin jam, walnuts and arugula with balsamic vinegar. Fresh giant lobster with picante lemon sauce. Potatoes au gratin. Roasted veggies. House-made cheesecake ice cream with berry compote and pound cake. 

While we ate, I thought about the episode of Friends where Phoebe talks about life-long lovers as being each other’s lobsters - you know, how they walk around holding claws until the end of their days. Then I thought about the lobsters in the tank of the restaurant, and whether we’d just boiled and ate someone’s lobster husband. Then I thought, man, if those lobster lifelong lovers are locked up in that tiny-ass tank together for days on end without mixing it up, getting some variety in their lives, that’s a death sentence in its own right. Then I looked at Brent, my human lobster, and promised myself we’d take ourselves out of our tank more often - because someday, one of us is gonna get boiled, and I don’t want the leftover lobster to live with any regrets or romance left unexpressed. 

We nearly fell asleep in the Uber on the way back to the hotel, but managed to hang in there long enough to climb into the clean, white, spacious king bed and watch a stupid number of reality TV episodes late into the night, just because we could. 

We slept in without anyone screaming or climbing on us, had a leisurely buffet breakfast (Portuguese breakfasts are incomparable, so good), too many cappuccinos (again, because we could), and a walk on the cliffs to watch the surfers, before ambling home at noon to find our kids alive and well-ish (one snotty nose tummy ache mild fever), Gramma absolutely tuckered out, and ourselves once again with capacity to tend it all. 

I don’t have a tidy summary here, just a lot of gratitude that we haven’t completely forgotten how to date each other after all, and a firm conviction that we won’t wait another five years to take a night for ourselves. 

To all the lobster lovers out there, all the ones who’ve had too many days of mole-watching and too few nights of hotel sex: I see you, having your dates in grocery aisle 3. Do whatcha gotta do. But also, for the love of lobster, I hope you get a better date soon, because the boiling times are coming for us all. You’re welcome, and good luck.