I didn't give it too much thought. I was too busy trying to con my little brother and sister into doing the brunt of the dish scrubbing (older siblings for the win).
Last night after failed dinner #547 (that's why you always keep a frozen pizza in the fridge, kids), Grahm and I decided to go on a walk. (Yes. You do, in fact, turn into your parents.) Despite the busy street our apartment is on and the total lack of scenery (wild weeds do not count), we really enjoyed it. It was nice to spend time together.
Don't get me wrong, we spend a heck of a lot of time together. I'm essentially attached to his bony little hip. We do everything from forcing each other out of bed at 7:30 every morning, frantically packing our lunches, texting during working hours (shhhh!), eating dinner (if it turns out), talking about our days, etc. etc. We love being together (hence why decided to get married). We also know approximately four people in the city of San Antonio, so we don't hang out with other people a whole lot.
I think there's a difference between always being together and actually spending time with your spouse. Sure, we can both veg out on the sofa and watch reruns of How I Met Your Mother together. Some nights, I love doing this. Proximity, however, doesn't always mean closeness. We may be pounding the same gallon of ice cream, but that doesn't really mean much. Taking walks is nice because we get our couch-potato selves out of the apartment, and we get to really talk to each other about life (sap, sap, sap).
I realize now why mom and dad always went on those walks. They weren't shirking their responsibilities of cleaning the kitchen (like the sibs and I thought), they were avoiding us. Not in the terrible-parent kind of way, but in the I-need-to-spend-time-with-my-best-friend kind. I think we can all stand to make a little bit more time for the ones we loved most; and our buns could probably use the extra steps.