In the month of December, my husband and I attempted to have sex every day.

In late November, I had listened to a marriage podcast where the hosts talked about the life changing magic of a month of daily sex, and since I am often compelled by the concept of life changing magic, I also felt compelled to embrace this challenge and apply it to my own life. My husband, being a husband, was very much on board. If I were to summarize our conversation, it would be something like this:

Me: I listened to this podcast, and I think we should have sex every day in Decemb—

Him: Yes.

In fact, I was so inspired that I texted multiple friends in order to encourage them onto the path of ultimate marital magic (and also for accountability). They conferred with their husbands and were met with similar responses. Someone suggested we should name the challenge. A flurry of texts including suggestive Christmas-themed titles later, and we landed on December to Remember.

We lasted nine days.

In the aftermath of our obvious failure (by the way, our friends failed too, but divulging their sexcapades feels like an overstep, so mine will have to suffice), I have concluded that we did it wrong. Not the sex, I know for sure that we did the sex correctly. But the challenge … we really botched it. According to the podcast, we were supposed to be intentional. The podcasters suggested we get a book and a box of exciting toys; they also recommended sending each other sexy text messages and having a plan. We did none of that.

If I were to summarize the challenge, it would be like this:

Day 1

Date night! Great sex! Life changing magic! We are so good at this challenge!

Day 2

It’s Sunday! Daytime sex. We are the most magical.

Day 3

Me (folding laundry and watching a show at 10 p.m.): Hey, we still have to have sex.

My husband: Right. I need to shower … and I have to send two more emails … um …

Me: Emails, sex, shower?

Him: Sure. Yes. We’ll do that.

Day 4

My husband works late and comes home at 11 p.m. I am in bed with a book.

Him: So …

Me: Right, right. Yeah. (closes book)

Days 5-9

Repeat days 3 and 4 two times with minor variations but basically our weeknights contain no magic.

Day 10

{Skipped this day and vowed for two magical moments the following day}

END SCENE.

***

Also, during the month of December we went to one of my favorite restaurants. Overall, the menu at this restaurant is unexciting, but the vibe is excellent and the Brussels sprouts are superb. Every time we go to this place, I obsess over the Brussels sprouts and wish I could have them more often. After our dinner out, I decided that it was high time I attempted to recreate this appetizer at home, so I purchased Brussels sprouts the next time I was at the store. A week after this purchase, I realized that perhaps the sprouts were going to go bad, so I Googled a recipe that seemed reminiscent of what was at the restaurant and embarked on a culinary adventure.

To be clear, looking up a recipe at 6 p.m. on a Wednesday night when I’m solo parenting and have already gone to the store is not an advisable appetizer recreation strategy, and yet … there I was. Furthermore, I was out of rice vinegar, and I didn’t have any dates. Please note that these are two key ingredients in the recipe I wanted to make. But still I persisted.

To make a long story short, you cannot sub apple cider vinegar and honey for rice vinegar and dates. Or at least you can’t if you’re a medium skilled home cook who is distracted by three children and lacking an attention to detail. My efforts were absolutely unsuccessful, and while I still strived to consume those crispy little balls of poison, I failed at that as well and tossed the whole batch.

***

My approach to the daily sex challenge was much the same as my approach to the Brussels sprouts recipe: I have nearly none of the suggested ingredients, but I have a great imagination, and I’ll make this work. And much like many of the recipes I attempt, our sex challenge flopped.

As a routinely optimistic and disproportionately confident person, I find myself in situations like this all the time: I tackle a momentous task with about as much forethought as a minor task and then just assume I’ll figure it out as I go. I’ve spent nearly two decades marveling that anything in my life works out at all.

Take marriage for example: Honestly, what was I thinking? At age 21, I signed up for a lifelong commitment almost on a whim. I’ve reflected on this a hundred times, and I still don’t know how I was not crippled with anxiety about making such a gigantic decision at such a young age. It was March of my sophomore year of college, and my now husband was a senior, and one evening, I said something like “Well, if you’re sticking around after graduation just for me, why waste time finding other roommates when we could get married. Let’s just do that. This summer.” And so we did.

Most people could make a list as long as their arm detailing why getting married during college is a terrible idea, yet here we are almost 13 years later defying the odds, happily engaging in mediocre sex, and eating near poisonous Brussels sprouts.

Okay, not really.  

Perfunctory sex and culinary misfortunes are both pretty lame, and sure, I could have worked a little harder to try and circumvent those minor disasters, but I also don’t regret them.

I’m calling both experiences minor disasters because that’s what they are: minor. And while a 13-year marriage comes with its fair share of significant moments, the years have mostly been made up of those little ones.

There were a lot of logistical elements that I did not think through when I got married, but the one thing I knew for sure was that I wanted us to experience all of the moments, major or minor, failure or success, together.

I think there’s something to be said about intentionality. There is value in following the recipe or abiding by a plan, but I also know the importance of saying yes to a moment or an idea, to flying by the seat of my pants, and fail or succeed, there’s intimacy in those moments. Those are the moments that build a life.

***

On the last Saturday of Christmas break we took our kids ice-skating. I’m not excellent on the ice, and when holding hands with an off-balance three-year-old I’m even worse. My husband and older kids lapped us multiple times as my youngest daughter and I shuffled around the rink. Whenever my husband skated up to us, he would place his hand on my back or kiss my cheek.

He was steadfast, and I was flailing (which I suppose is a primary element of our relationship dynamic). Our kids were red-cheeked and happy. They tripped and fell a few times. They found their footing and figured out how to go faster a few times. For about 30 minutes, the rink went dark save for some brightly-colored lights and a disco ball, and everyone tried to dance in their rental skates. Nothing was perfect, but everything was lovely.

After our kids were in bed that night, my husband pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door. I’ll spare you the summary, but it was something to remember.

P.S. Don’t miss our Galentine’s Day gift guide!

Photo by N’tima Preusser.