I have to admit that my topic tonight is less than lovey dovey. It's football season again which means it's fantasy season again. I could write a whole book about the role that this game has played in our marriage, starting with my realization somewhere in the first six months of our marriage that I would either have to embrace fantasy football or resign myself to a miserable fall and winter every year. So I embraced it. It might have been my first major deliberate act of love for you. But, we are now seven years and three kids later. It's much harder to embrace now. The fun has mostly been replaced with frustration. Luckily I barely care about my games because I could not possibly keep track like I used to Sunday is my hardest work day each week, and now that football has started I'm also responsible for 90% of the childcare all day (except during Sunday School of course), and then in some weeks I'm also preparing for Monday night supper club. Now we are also throwing Sunday night small group into the mix.
I get that you love fantasy and that it's been part of your life for over a decade. I'm trying to allow you to indulge. Honestly. Last Sunday wasn't my best effort as my meltdown right before kickoff revealed. You so clearly had no idea why I was so mad that you quit helping me mop up the exploded yogurt from all surfaces of the kitchen to go sit at your computer for your eighth and last line up check. You seriously had no inkling as to why I was upset. My explanations were of no help. So, it's clear, I just have to try to deliberately embrace it again this year. I promise to try . . . Because I really do love you. But that doesn't mean I love fantasy football. I don't, even when I try to pretend otherwise.
Yours,
Me
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