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What a cruddy day. Lauren and I are mad at each other. Neither of us really knows why. It might have started in bed last night with her offhand remark, which I took the wrong way—or with my selfish, passive-aggressive response this morning. Then there was a quick exchange of angry words in the church parking lot—car doors slammed a little too hard—and now, silence a few hours old that neither of us feels much like breaking. It's just easier to go to our separate corners of the house and get busy with something, avoiding anything close to a confrontation.

I'm not sure either of us could tell you what this is really about. I think it's just a bunch of little things we've let simmer this week and now the pot is bubbling over. The weather stinks, too—33 degrees and sleeting, after it was 90 degrees three days ago. So there was already sort of a dark, ugly mood about this day. It's a good day to be mad. Pick a reason.

We're both terrible at resolving these dumb little fights quickly. We clam up rather than tell each other how we really feel. All of that marriage advice in the books on the shelf suddenly doesn't seem so realistic. I'll bet most of those couples have dumb fights sometimes, too. And I'll bet they don't always resolve them immediately by gazing soulfully into each other's eyes, speaking exactly what's on their minds, accepting what they hear, apologizing, embracing, and finally making long, passionate love in a bedroom full of throw pillows, flowers, and candles.

Sorry, but today's not a candles kind of day in our house. And mentioning the words throw and pillows in the same sentence would not produce positive results.

Sometimes, as husband and wife, you just get sick of each other. Thankfully, for Lauren and me those times are short and rare. Usually we're inseparable, a team in every way, facing the endless tasks of parenting three kids, running a household, managing a career. We pray together almost every morning and embrace each other morning and night. We're always looking to sneak a quiet walk, a long kiss, or an evening when we can go upstairs early and close the bedroom door. Those are the days worth writing about.

But we can't deny that days like today are part of our marriage, too. And today, we most definitely are sick of each other.

Or are we? Even as I write this, my stormy mood is starting to clear. I'd really like to embrace my wife and tell her how stupid I was to let this go on. Funny, though. In a few minutes, when she comes up the stairs and into the room, I'll close up. So will she. There will be this awkward silence, both of us knowing we should talk this out but neither quite ready. She'll finally leave the room and I'll wish I'd said something. This may have to happen two, three, four times before one of us makes the bold move of uttering a complete sentence that has something to do with why we're not talking.

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