On a rainy Tuesday evening, I found a sticky note on the fridge. In my husband’s crooked handwriting, it read: “7-7-7. Let’s try it.”
Our marriage wasn’t broken. It was just… busy. Between school drop-offs, endless emails, soccer practice, and laundry that seemed to multiply overnight, their conversations had shrunk to logistics.
“What time is the dentist appointment?” “Did you pay the electricity bill?”
That night, after the kids were asleep, he explained what he meant.
“The 7-7-7 Rule,” he said. “A date night every 7 days. A weekend away every 7 weeks. And a kid-free vacation every 7 months.”
I laughed. “That sounds expensive.”
“Not fancy,” he corrected. “Intentional.”
So we began the 7-7-7-rule
Every seven days, no matter what, we had a date night. Sometimes it was takeout eaten by candlelight before bedtime. Sometimes it was tacos or McDonalds at the corner place. Phones stayed away. We remembered how to ask questions that weren’t about schedules.
After seven weeks, we asked my sister to watch the kids and booked a modest cabin an hour away. We hiked, talked for hours, and slept without a baby monitor. By Sunday afternoon, they felt like teammates again—not just co-managers of chaos.
Seven months later, we planned a three-day trip to the coast. The first morning, sipping coffee while watching the ocean, I realized something had shifted. We weren’t trying to “fix” anything. We were maintaining something precious.
The rule wasn’t about luxury. It was about rhythm.
Seven days to reconnect. Seven weeks to reset. Seven months to rediscover.
Years later, when friends asked how they stayed close, I would smile and say, “We don’t wait until things fall apart. We maintain them. Seven, seven, seven.”
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