These messages are free. At least if you do not count the cost of taking a few minutes to read them, or the risk of seeing things differently.

Recently John and I had a strained conversation. I brought up an issue that is as old as our firstborn child, although it has not grown up and moved away like he did. There are subjects that refuse to be caught in two way interactions, and get shelved like heavy cream in the back of the fridge that is past its expiration date. John used some the other day when the girls wanted hot cocoa on a cold Sunday afternoon. I held my tongue, not wanting to spoil the fun and hoped there would be no tummy aches. There weren't. 

But one morning after the kids had all headed out, and it was just John and me at the table, I broached it. I did not actually lock the doors, but he looked like he wanted to bolt. We relied on one of the tools we have used as a guard rail to help couples stay safe in sharp curves. We took turns. We fed back what we heard. No one yelled or hurled blame. When he could stay no longer, he left for the office. It was not a warm goodbye. Not as warm as cocoa anyway. 

Yet in the silence that followed the guarded words, I began to understand. This is what it means to grow old with someone. While there may be areas in which wisdom increases with the decades, in other ways we hang on to old habits for dear life. Expecting superpowers like mind reading and invincibility to hurt feelings to appear in our sixties does not match my reality. 

There was no resolution, in that the problem is still part of how we respond to each other. It appears that character changes are not as simple as buying more cream. Even without a coupon.