This isn’t to say that it doesn’t colour our relationship considerably, it absolutely does, but I don’t really have a non-interracial or non-intercultural marriage to directly compare and contrast it with. It’s easy to say “this” or “that” are problems in a relationship because of our obvious differences, it’s much harder to determine if similar problems (perhaps with different labels) would still be present if we were of the same race/culture/language.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to share our experience with Glee and her readership, as her questions gave me a chance to consider some of these things and remind myself just how much I truly love my wife and what an amazing person she is. It’s surprisingly easy to “back-burner” that appreciation when there are bills to pay, a crying baby that needs changing and a dog that desperately needs a bath.

You can read the interview here.

At sunset four years ago today I was stumbling my way through bilingual vows on China’s most southern sands. I can hardly believe that four years has passed since then.

Button and I have been keeping each other company for the last week and a half while Maggie is up north visiting her parents and showing Casey off to the Dongbei inlaws.

It’s surreal and far too quiet.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s sweet having so much “me” time and not having to change diapers or sweat out reasons why “he just wont stop crying.” But it’s too quiet.

I didn’t realize how much the regular household noises of Maggie and Casey going about their day had ingrained themselves into my sense of normal. Maggie asked me a few times before she left if I’d be alright while she was gone and I jokingly quipped that I survived more than a quarter of a century without her. But the truth is, life is different now, and that has made me different now.

What I mean to say isn’t that I’m falling to pieces or anything (potatoes are definitely vegetables, right?), I’m certainly capable of taking care of myself. However, when you’re with someone day in and day out you start to develop routines, both physical and mental, that cause you to catch yourself in odd situations when that routine is disrupted.

You realize that laughing at a sitcom alone doesn’t have the same sense of fulfillment as doing so with someone else. Likewise, despite loving to cook, I find it a chore to cook anything more than basic sustenance when I don’t have someone to share it with.

But then I guess that’s the point. If nothing else, having this chunk of time apart is extremely refreshing; not (just) for the endless hours I can now put into playing Civ V uninterrupted, but because it’s reminded me how lucky I am to have such an incredible wife and kid. In all the chaos of finding our parental footing over the last six months, the reason behind it all somewhat understandably got shuffled to the back of the deck. Being apart from both of them has given me the time to pause and reflect on how important they are to me, and how dim and vegetable-less my life would be without them.

Maggie, Button and I spent most of the afternoon with our good friends, and about 1.3 billion others, down at the nearby lake. Between our big dog and their beautiful baby with big bright blue eyes, we grabbed a bit of attention — somewhat of a rarity in the expat-saturated neighbourhood we live in.

Aside from a nice stroll outside yesterday, I also finally got around to taking some pregnancy photos of Maggie. We’ve been talking about doing them for ages, but it always seemed to slip deeper down the “todo” list. However, about to hit week #35, the pressure to get it done or risk never having them gave us the kick in the pants we needed.

Having ventured out a few times now to check out our local maternity- and baby-goods buying options, I’ve seen no shortage of studios offering to take the photos for us. And while I’m sure they would have done a much better job than myself, the thinness of my wallet wouldn’t allow it. That said, I’m pretty happy with what we managed to take. As is Maggie, the proof being that she’s letting me share them

Though it’s a lot more just a quirk that my wife like’s to celebrate things, I found it interesting that 18 (yāobā) is considered lucky by Chinese superstitious mumbo jumbo.

In addition to that relatively useless thought, I’ve been pondering the whole “marriage” thing a lot lately.

A good friend of mine told me recently that he’s getting divorced. That split will officially mark me as the sole torch-bearer for successful matrimony among my four buddies from high school.

The good news is that with an average divorce rate of about 35%, statistically Mags and I are pretty much assured to be good well into the next century.

Which is about how I feel. I mean, I truly love my wife.

Now, I’m not new to love. I’ve been in and out of love a good number of times. But the maturity, depth and confidence of love I have with Maggie is something altogether different.

I often tell people “we just fit each other”, and I can’t really explain it better than that. Long time readers will have followed much of our relationship on here (as, and this is a bit weird, I’ve had this blog longer than I’ve known her) and may recognize what I mean.

It’s not to say we don’t have our problems, nor that we don’t squabble endlessly. We do, of course. But they never overshadow our love and respect for one another.

Respect.

My father, who led our wedding ceremony, imparted that gem on me. He, a divorcee who just celebrated his 20th wedding anniversary to my stepmom, recently reiterated a point to me that was originally part of his speech at our wedding (Dad, I hope you don’t mind me sharing this):

“I know it sounds corny but we make it work by keeping things romantic and always maintaining the highest respect for one another. The love we feel for one another is a given but I see other couples say things or act in a certain way that clearly communicates they have no respect for each other. To me, that is an unmistakable signal of a deep problem that will eventually kill whatever love exists. I know I said it at your wedding but I absolutely believe you can have respect without love, but you can never have a sustainable love without respect.”

It may be a bit strange that it is my dad and his second marriage (the first, obviously, being to my mom) which acts as such an inspiration to me. But seeing the two of them still able to find that magic even after two decades of seeing each other every day – that’s hard not to appreciate and look up to – and it’s easy to understand that he lives by his own advice.

And though a year and a half is only a drop in the bucket of a lifetime… today fills me with a feeling of both it having been a very short and very long time since we took our vows and promised to love each other always. Short because it is still just the beginning of our lives together, and long because I cannot imagine a day of my life without her in it.

I realize that “Love and respect will keep us together” is a more fitting title for this post – but once I typed it, I just couldn’t get the song out of my head.

For the last nine days I’ve been thrown back into a lifestyle I had nearly forgotten – bachelorhood. Now before images of me out all night sniffin’ coke off the scarred ass of a 50 kuai hooker spring to mind – let me assure you, such is not my meaning. My deviated septum doesn’t allow for that anymore.

No, what I mean is, I’ve had the run of the house. Responsible for its cluttered and cleanliness. Free to watch whatever show I want to watch – no debate. Free to cook non-Chinese food – every day. Free to stay up until all hours of the night on my computer and not feel guilty (nerdy, but not guilty). Free to drink 3, 4, 5, 10 beers with dinner and suffer no dirty looks. Free to stretch out over the entire bed without fear of gong-fu like recourse. And whats more…

Free to miss my wife.

Awe, cheese, I know. But well, it’s our first anniversary in two days, allow me some leeway.

Really though, our marriage is fantastic (take that fates!). We have our squabbles from time to time, as all do I suppose, but if anything we’ve grown more tolerant, understanding and accepting of each others flaws (she’s a patient, PATIENT woman) and argue remarkably little considering both of our stubborn streaks and the amount of cultural differences we deal with.

However, one thing I’d begun to notice in recent months and what crystallized for me since she’s been away is that it’s remarkably easy to take your wife for granted.

Those little things that seem like nothing when done every day, really do add up. Glaringly kind things like her, unprompted, going way out of her way to pick me up some fresh crusty bread, to more subtle things like popping her head in my office to tell me my dumplings have been finished cooking for 20 minutes (I have a remarkable ability to begin cooking something and then erase all memory of ever being in the kitchen).

I’ve long known that my quality of life is made up not by the large milestones defined by age, stature or money, but rather by the small moments. The long-tail of happiness, if you will.

I think what I’m realizing now is that this equally applies to a good marriage. When I think about the things I’ve missed about Maggie, they’re not the big things that might be expected. Rather, they are just the little every day things.

Though there’s no shortage of people that will say different, I always used to smirk on the occasion that someone would exclaim how much better their life was with their spouse in it. Perhaps because we live in a world where we’re taught (often by life itself) that love is fleeting, I always had that “yeah, just wait…” glint in my eye.

But now, I don’t know. Nietzsche said, “It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.” Looking at what I’ve missed most about Maggie while she’s been away, it’s not been the “lover” qualities (ok, ok, sure, missed that a bit too) as much as the “friend” characteristics.

Through choice and/or circumstance, Maggie really has become my best friend and I can’t wait for her to get home.

Despite what you may think of her husband, I am not as inconsiderate as may be gleaned from the above collection of confusion. You see, Maggie’s Chinese (for those not following along), and as such she is caught in that horrible limbo of Eastern tradition verse Western practicality.

For some cruel reason there are two calendars widely used in China. Like most Chinese, Maggie uses a migraine-inducing mix of dates from whatever calendar suits best for the moment. Getting paid, use the Western (Gregorian); planning Spring Festival, switch to the traditional Chinese calendar; May holiday, Western; Mid-Autumn, Chinese; work week, Western; birthdays, Chinese…

God forbid that the Chinese you’re trying to plan things with speaks a bit of English, and then you’ve got them calling months of the Chinese calendar by their Western counterpart. As Chinese months (in either calendar) are simply denoted by a numeral and the word “month“, it can become quite confusing when people start saying ‘this year has two Augusts’.

Further mix into this the sexagenary cycle with its seductive title and curiosity piquing “heavenly” and “earthly” branches, it’s easy to see why one might get frustrated by the whole damn thing.

As I usually do when I’m confused, I decided to see what Wikipedia had to say on the matter.

With the introduction of Western astronomy into China via the Jesuits, the motions of both the sun and moon began to be calculated with sinusoids in the 1645 Shíxiàn calendar (時憲書, Book of the Conformity of Time) of the Qing dynasty, made by the Jesuit Adam Schall. The true motion of the sun was now used to calculate the jiéqì, which caused the intercalary month to often occur after the second through the ninth months, but rarely after the tenth through first months. A few autumn-winter periods have one or two calendar months where the sun enters two signs of the zodiac, interspersed with two or three calendar months where the sun stays within one sign.

Please take some chopsticks and kick them into my skull.

Now, if through some amazing feat I get her birthday nailed down, there’s still a question of how old she is. The Chinese, as a bit of a reward for being the lucky one and dodging a trip to the trashcan, award you with a year’s worth of age the scream-induced second you pop out.

Further, as most Chinese (Confucius knows why) simply count themselves a year older come Spring Festival, if you happen to be born just prior to the new year, you instantly become two years old.

Fortunately, Maggie’s not in the second group, so only has a mildly retarded age calculation.

And so it was when ordering her cake and asked how old she was, I simply shrugged and asked how many number candles they could throw in.

We ended up with a “2″ and a “7″. This happens to match her age going by the Western system, so we went with it – celebrating her birthday on the proper Chinese calendar day, of course.