Mr. Monk Gets Interrupted

My wife and I (especially my wife) have become fans of the TV series, Monk, which is available on Netflix. The show chronicles the exploits of a gifted detective who also has OCD. My wife laughs about how she identifies too much with Mr. Monk's affliction. I think the show is therapy for her.

Watching Monk has become our default choice for date nights, sitting on our love seat with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine.

As romantic and enjoyable as this might sound, or should be, we hardly ever get to enjoy an episode without interruption, much to my vexation.

The usual culprit in the undermining of our date is our handicapped son, Ethan. Because he eats at a different time (later) than the rest of the family, we usually have to work around his special meal, often opting to feed him during an "intermission". But this is just the beginning.

Ethan's sensory issues make it hard for him to quietly listen to anything, especially the loud noises or suspenseful music that accompany many movies and TV shows. His response to it is to begin "bucking" in his chair, or vociferate in a crescendoing "Aahhhahhhahhaaahh!". We've learned that subtitles and more volume are no match for his complaints, and eventually we must press pause and give in to his demands.

Another ploy Ethan uses is to choose our date as the perfect time for vomiting or using the toilet, both of which, in addition to interrupting our date, also score a direct hit to my mojo.

Lest you think I bear ill will toward Ethan for this, I don't. I know he is more aware than we give him credit for (he laughs at times that are entirely too appropriate), and at times I think he does some of these things to get attention, but overall I know he is not to blame. I love my son, and I am often thankful that we have it as good as we do with him.

Besides, he is not the only date night interloper. My wife, God bless her, tries to accommodate my plans for romance by notifying people she communicates with that she is on a date with me. However, inevitably, someone will chat her, text her, or call her, or one of our other children will present themselves requiring immediate attention. And my wife, God bless her, will respond, because it's in her DNA to sacrifice herself as a servant to others. But I don't hold this against her, either, because it's who she is, and I love this about her. And I don't feel badly towards the people who need her, either. They love her, and I love them for doing so.

So we finish what we're watching with popcorn and wine long gone, fires of passion extinguished, and more often than not, with me falling asleep just before the case is solved (Leslie has to tell me whodunit). Then we trundle off to bed, turning down the thermostat, making coffee, flipping light switches and taking turns in the bathroom on our way. Talk about about the proverbial "wet blanket"!

I used to be resentful about this scenario, feeling like a playwright whose script is mangled by actors who liberally improvise their parts. If I'm honest, I still battle with feelings of disappointment when things don't go as I have hoped.

However, these recent realizations have helped me gain a new perspective on all of this:

1. The most important purpose to our dates is that we spend time together doing something we enjoy, and the stilted manner in which we're forced to spend this time doesn't need to lessen the enjoyment.
   
2. Though we once thought we didn't want any children, we changed our minds, and so have chosen this path of "family life".
   
3. I'm being selfish wanting to have such a wonderful person as my wife all to myself. What makes me think I'm worthy of such an honor?
   
4. If romance frequently takes one on the chin, love does not. I cannot be thankful enough for this.
   
5. Our children, though feigning embarrassment at our demonstrative (but not indecent) behavior, they actually love that we love each other. Consequently they willingly take care of Ethan for us while we go to the symphony, eat out or hole up in our bedroom for our date. I revel in this, even though I might still fall asleep before the criminal is brought to justice.

So, here's the thing: If the actors in my play tend to "wing it" rather than stick to my script, and if an occasional flubbed line causes a disruption to the flow, it's still our story. It's us! And I love us! And if night after night the audience (God's angels) applaud our performance of love, what's to be discouraged or disappointed about?

Can I get a "Bravo!"?