Friday, March 2, 2012

love languages

Back when I was pregnant with Keeg and Bails, I would occasionally listen to the Dr. Laura Show on talk radio. Don’t get me wrong, girlfriend is nutzo, but it was mildly entertaining to listen to while at the office. My eyes occasionally throbbed from all the rolling.

I remember Dr. Laura once talking about “Love Languages” -- the different ways couples give and receive love. Cheee-zee, I thought, but I must have filed away the information in my head because, lately, I’ve been thinking about the notion a lot.

You might have picked up on it...based on some of the posts I write, but Peter and I are a really well-matched couple. If soul mates exist, and Pete swears they do, then he is mine no doubt. He’s the ying to my yang. The butter to my bread. The every cheesy metaphor out there. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, we are the male and female version of the same person.

It seems as though we may speak a different love language. Only at times, however. I’m not talking about the language known as “ignore your wife and hear whatever it is you want to.” Nothing like that. In fact, when I’m quiet, he misses my yammering. Rather, I’m talking the way he shows his love for me and vice versa.

Peter likes to express his love primarily with kisses and cuddles and poems and I love yous. But he also expresses it by buying things, which conflicts with my hatred of having money spent on me. Before we shared financial responsibilities, being lavished in gifts was a mild annoyance, but now it just seems ridiculous. I have nearly everything I need. And if I want something, I buy it. Flowers die. The cards…well…the cards can keep on coming. They always consist of hilarious (and sometimes seductive) poetry, and on really special occasions, a way fun scavenger hunt! :) Otherwise, purchases are all lost on just me; when I’d rather they benefit both of us.

As for me, my language is showing love. Sometimes that includes food, back massages, sparing him from an errand, or some other little favor. Food makes me happy – planning it, cooking it, eating it. Although he enjoys my cooking and/or baking, Pete would be just as happy with some pasta and jarred sauce or cheap Chinese food take-out. He’d rather have me smother him with snuggles, gush with I love you’s…and by-golly, marry him. (I’m working on that…brick by brick.)

So why do I do insist on making him food when that's not what he wants? And why does he still buy me things even though I don't need them? Will we ever speak the same language?

I suppose the only solution is to eat out and have him foot the bill.

It’s all about compromise, right? ,)

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