Then there were the conversations. I loved to philosophize about life, but most things I spoke about just went over his head. His own two cents were either trite or totally off the mark. I guess I should have listened to that well-meaning cousin’s cousin, the one who said that she’d heard he really wasn’t that bright at all.

Besides for those two points, there was the general undercurrent of what kind of home do you come from? And that went both ways. Our families were just too different. While my family was litvish, his was a mix of Sephardic and chassidish. He saw no problem with borrowing to spend, while my family valued living within your means as sacrosanct.

And then there was the issue of how to spend time together. He lives and loves adventure and crazy escapades. The weirder, the more out-of-the-box, the better. I like my toast warm with a scrambled egg on the side and two slices of tomato. All not touching. I thrive on normal.

Thank goodness I had an amazing kallah teacher. She was there for me, then, exactly one month after our happily-ever-after-moment when I called her up in a haze of questions.

Is this what marriage is supposed to feel like?

How come I was so comfortable dating him, but now the whole things feels off?

Why is it so different for everyone else?

Why is he… such a baby?

She calmed me down. Gave me some pointers.

This will pass. Don’t worry, your situation is quite normal. He’s younger than you. He’ll grow up. Try to be patient. Give him respect.

Well, I put down the phone and gave it another go. And really, he was good to me. I kept a little pink notebook and wrote down one good point about him every day.

Daniel helps me so much. He washed the dishes three nights in a row.

Daniel cares about me. He left me a Milk Munch and a sweet note.

Daniel is serious about his learning.

Daniel is making so many friends, so fast. He has a special chein.

Daniel has a great sense of humor.

And when the awkwardness wore off, he finally stopped cracking corny jokes.

Daniel has a heart of gold. He gives something to every collector who passes by and does not send anyone away unhappy.

Until the day Daniel caught me scribbling in my little book. He joked about it, I dropped the project, and after a while things went sour again.

Weeks passed. Certain things I got used to, but some issues became bigger. Why does he not get how annoying back-seat cooking is?

Why can’t we ever talk about normal things?

Why did I marry him?

I thought about calling my kallah teacher again but never got up the courage. Instead, I walked into a bookstore and got Shalom in Five Steps — a guide to marital peace. I did not dwell on what the store owner, who knew my father and had attended our wedding just months before, must think.

I read it, thought it was great. Tried respectful dialogue and sharing my true feelings. Of course Daniel couldn’t read my mind, what had I been thinking? If something bothered me, I had to tell him about it.

Things finally started looking up. We spent relaxed times together and the traces of silly bickering ebbed away.

But how long can you keep up dialogue when you’re always the one responsible for initiating it? Inevitably things went back to the way they’d been.

That’s when I found out we were going to be parents. I was over the moon and so was Daniel. The next year was spent planning the frilly details of the future and then, when little Eli entered our world, implementing them.

But of course, glitter always descends and settles and then disappears. I loved Eli, loved our perfect little family. But.

It started small, what I now call The Money Thing. Doesn’t everything start like that? But then it grew. Let me not go into details, but too little money means Stress. And Stress is No Good. For anything. And certainly not a marriage.

When Eli was four months old we went on a short going-back-to-work trip. We rented a car, took to the roads, did nothing big or expensive but generally schlepped from one motel to the next. With a crying baby. It was one of Daniel’s worst ideas, and that’s saying a lot.

Tensions were running high. I said some nasty things. Daniel answered with some nasty things. We were off to a great argument.

We finally bedded down in a simple motel. The baby was sleeping, Daniel was sleeping. I suddenly woke up in a cold sweat. I had just had the most horrible dream ever. Something had happened to Daniel! I looked over to where he was sleeping peacefully, then inched closer; was he breathing? Yes, he was.

This cannot go on! I thought. I care for him. We’re basically a good couple. I have to make this work.

“That’s why I’m sitting here,” I finish and lean back, exhausted.

I look at my therapist. She is staring at me, a small smile on her lips.

“Was I just funny?” I ask, miffed.

“No.” She stalls. “I commend you for reaching out.” She’s quiet again, then continues. “What you’re describing does not sound extreme to me. Quite normal, actually.”

I gawk at her as if she’s just totally messed up Cinderella’s script. You mean, Cinderella always remained a lowly servant? You mean, this is normal? This is happily ever after?

Then I swallow, and realize that she just did. Change my script, I mean.

“You mean, marriage is supposed to be like this?” I ask. “I don’t remember my parents arguing day and night.”

She thinks a moment before answering. “Marriage is not supposed to be a battleground, no. But remember that marriage means two very different people coming together, living together. That creates tension. Your job is to try and give in. Your job is to see the positive in your husband. Invest in your marriage. Work on it. It doesn’t become great all by itself.”

Hmmm.

So happily ever after does exist, but it requires work.

Why has no one ever bothered telling me this? Or, maybe they did. Is this what they meant with “marriage is hard work”? Apparently. Well. Better late than never.

I look at mascara-lady, but she’s already closing my file and opening a new document on her computer. I get the hint, gather my things, thank her for listening, and am on my way.

To a life based on reality, hopefully.

And, oh yeah, before I forget, remind me to tell you my other version of the story, the happily-ever-after one, when I have time. The one I tell to people I know.

(Originally featured in Family First Issue 558)