My Marriage Experiment

So. I Lied. Then I Wrote Him A Letter.

2010-03-22T20:10:00.003-04:00

Ok. I lied. Did I really believe I was done “counting down” our sessions? Seriously, I need to know there’s an end in sight. I can’t just go about my days thinking I have to continue meeting up with this man once a week, for the rest of my life, to discuss our issues. Who wants to do that?
Right now I have a goal. If I can make it through these sessions, countdown to ZERO, I will have won. I don’t know how this will end, but it absolutely DOES need to END. Oh yeah, and the part about simply meeting to talk……puhlease. That was yet another cop-out, courtesy of me. If I don’t plan something, ANYTHING, it won’t continue to happen. We need a lesson, something a little more invigorating than just the two of us. I don’t do well with boredom. I definitely need change. Ask my opinion, my hubby should just be happy I haven’t yet decided to change partners. Then again, I guess he could be just as ready to trade me in as well.
Hmmm…..surprisingly I’m smiling. The thought, though scary to some, is invigorating to me. See if you can follow. I can’t stand the thought of being trapped. Getting married and simply staying married, settling for a life that just continues to happen, with me and my dreams watching and waving from the sidelines, is simply suffocating. But CHOOSING to stay married is different. Knowing that at any time we COULD choose differently, we COULD switch partners, we COULD walk away, yet we simply don’t want to, makes me feel like I’ve got the entire world and more right here in little old New Holland, Pa. Take away my freedom of choice, and bad things happen. It’s just a feeling really, but you have to know what I mean? Yes, no, maybe so?
From the beginning we’ve been clear. You don’t just get married, and “poof” that’s it. Yes, we slipped away, got distracted by life, and seemed to forget that for a while; but now we’re back. Hubby’s also always known……. I would NEVER, under any circumstance, EVER, leave my children. But I absolutely WOULD leave a man.
Now, if you’d like to skip ahead and read the letter, the one I wrote to HIM, go right ahead. This post got kinda long, more so than usual, and for that, I apologize. I’m not offended if you move ahead, you’ve been quite faithful and kind. If you do have time though, I think I’m worth the read. My neurosis is clear, documented and on display. My writing about it is only the tip of the iceberg.
Moving on, more lies? Ah yes, this one’s good. I claimed, and I quote, “I could honestly care less if my once fairly firm buttocks, hangs a little low as it wobbles to and fro”. Somebody please slap me. I’m not trying to grace the cover of Sports Illustrated or compete with anybody else’s concept of what’s considered beautiful or acceptable……..but consider this.
If your daughters, and let’s just say you have 2, one of whom happens to stand just about as tall as the underside of your backside, were to stand behind you, lifting and pushing your bottom up and down while laughing at it jiggle and drop………………..wouldn’t you reconsider your previous proclamation too?
How about if this was happening while you were on the phone, on a very important phone call, one you couldn’t simply interrupt or really let it be known your children were in the midst of torturing you, your body, and your self-esteem? Would you reconsider? Would you change your mind if you realized that your oversized whatever was actually providing unlimited entertainment for your obviously deranged children? You could say they did me a favor. You could also say, I didn’t really know how far it fallen, until they picked it back up.
Now, if you haven’t stood in front of the mirror lately, REALLY stood and examined yourself, please stop reading. You won’t understand, and I may scare you away. My intention is not to cause emotional harm to you, but rather release myself from the realization that life truly goes on, runs away you might say, while our bodies frantically scramble from behind playing a very intense game of catch-up.
How this happens? I don’t know. WHY this happens? My guess is our guides on the other side need some serious entertainment, so they throw us little curveballs now and again just to watch us squirm. Anything from unsightly age spots to a stray grey hair, curveballs must be designed to play with our minds, causing us to doubt ourselves and second guess our convictions. Yes, they’re laughing. We are all little pawns, simple pieces to their puzzle, participants in this heart-stopping game of cat and mouse. We are their ultimate reality show. I, for one, fall for their tricks every single time.
Let me explain. Just when I think I’ve accepted myself; it happens. Just when I believe I am open to change; it happens. Just when I think I understand, fully understand, the fact that I alone cannot stop the aging process; it happens. Someone, somewhere, puts an absolutely ridiculous, RIDICULOUS idea, picture, or concept into my tiny tortured brain. And then it snowballs.
Take for example, my full-length examination of myself in front of a very unforgiving, anything but useful, bedroom mirror. The previous owners put it there. I am convinced they are masochists. We already know my backside has fallen, I’m over it. What I didn’t know, was in addition to a sinking backend, my legs, front and back, have begun hatching teeny-tiny purple and blue, spider veins. Gasp. When I say “hatch”, I mean “hatch”…..like an entire litter or batch of mini-bugs, creepy crawly, insanely obnoxious bugs. On a good day, I’m pale. Today, I’m flat out pasty. You can imagine the contrast. You get the picture.
It’s quite understandable why I didn’t notice this earlier. You see, I just figured out how to shower and shave a couple weeks ago. My frontside, of course I know what I look like. My backside, look out. Who really looks at the back of themselves anyway?!? It’s seriously scary. I prefer to go back to my old, oblivious, naïve ways. But I fear, yes I fear, my corneas and self-esteem may now suffer from permanent, excuse the term, backlash.
I write this here, because I’ll never say it out loud. At least not in front of my girls. This stuff is meaningless, I know, I know, and I don’t ever want them to judge themselves by such standards. So that begs the question: why am I?
In addition to the spider veins, my ever changing body has blessed me with yet another side effect of moving up in this world. Uncontrollable gas. Yes, I said it. It seems anything I eat, immediately turns to churning, bursting, bubbly ick, and tortures my insides for hours on end. This is a major problem. I love to eat. That stupid Beano jingle keeps running through my head. Finally, let’s not forget, the colony of zits that has decided to erupt on my “why-is-this-happening-to-me” forehead. The Big-Dipper, plain as day, in clear form. Connect the dots, it is there.
Does this never stop? On the one hand, I’m moving up, being graced with the wonderful side-effects of celebrating another year of life. On the other, I’m reverting back to adolescence, being forced to deal with pimply, hormonal, teenage disgrace all over again. Tell me why? That’s all I ask.
I won’t even get into the stray hairs, NOT found on my head. Something called my “Polar” age, making me 10 years older than I actually am. Or the fact that my taste buds have gone haywire and apparently any and all deodorants now cease to work at eliminating my own personal stink. I am putrid.
I think I just figured out why it takes me so long between posts. It’s not that I’m lazy. It’s not that I’ve given up. It’s simply this: I’m a lot to take in. Even I need a break from myself.
Waking up and burning my eyes with visions of myself, put me in such a fervor for the rest of the day, it’s quite an accomplishment I emerged intact. Here’s how it went…….
After making myself some eggs, pouring a hot cup of coffee (yes I’m back on coffee, we all knew that would happen, right?), and clearing a spot at the crayon-cluttered, marker-painted dining room table, I sunk into my favorite seat. It happens to be the one seat that is not currently broken, but who cares? All I want to do is relax and enjoy my breakfast, the girls are fascinated by some ridiculously insane Yo-Gabba-Gabba show they’ve already seen a million times, and it’s actually quiet. Speaking of Yo-Gabba-Gabba, if you think you’ve got problems, simply tune in to them. Either they don’t permanently reside on this planet, or they’ve got some serious problems with a little thing we might call; ACID.
So back to breakfast. Are you a shy person? Don’t like to swear? Profanity not your thing? Wanna get over your inhibitions and release your inner sailor? Simply do this. Without looking, playing the absent-minded professor, take your shaker of ground cayenne pepper, and instead of sprinkling it on your scrambled eggs, dump it in your coffee. Oh, and then make sure you don’t realize it until it’s too late. That’s right, take a sip.
Then, when your daughter asks for a “cup of juice, please”, take her a string cheese. Listen to her whine for the next 20 minutes before you figure out she’s thirsty. Two days later you’ll also find the rotting, hardened cheese stuffed between your sofa cushions. Let’s not forget this is our 2nd set of living room furniture. The first? Well we had to get rid of it. You see, it seems we were sharing our house with another family. That’s right, a family of mice had made our sofa their home. Many nights I lay on that very sofa, hearing the mice, wondering where the hell they were coming from. We would search, coming up with nothing, until that fateful evening. When I realized I’d literally been sleeping with them for months on end, I almost threw up. I’m seriously gagging now. So please, little Darling, please. By all means leave your CHEESE between the cushions. What harm can that do?
Some may say I shouldn’t have ignored her whining for so long, I would’ve figured it out, found the cheese, and all would be well. I say, you can argue my methods to death. I’m convinced that most of our “rules”, regulations about how we should raise our children, were written by MEN. Most of those men, probably didn’t even have children.
So later in the evening when my husband asked me to bring him a thermometer and I took him a glass of wine, can anyone argue that I needed a break? Walking around aimlessly is one thing, but my early-morning-mirror-fest certainly led to an all day mental and emotional breakdown and stupor I wasn’t expecting. Do men even think about these things?
I had already decided that instead of therapy for the week, I was going to write my husband a letter. It’s often easier for me to put my feelings down on paper, rather than let them explode recklessly into the stratosphere. Plus, I already wrote myself that ridiculous “get over it” letter weeks before, didn’t he deserve something of a dose too?
Families work in mysterious ways though, and before I retreated to my computer to type the infamous letter, the funniest thing happened. Hubby went upstairs to change, and apparently our girls snuck up the steps and followed. Our house is small, when one person talks, everyone listens. Our youngest throws herself into hysterical fits of laughter, proclaiming “Daddy’s front-hiney looks funny, Daddy’s front-hiney looks funny!” The oldest coolly comes up behind her and says, “Oh, that’s just his ball-sac”. EXCUSE ME?!?!?!? Did she just say BALL-SAC? And did she actually know what it meant and what she was referring to???? Who taught her that?!? OH. MY. GAWD.
Needless to say, getting over my initial disbelief and shock, the mood for my day improved greatly. If you don’t find that funny, I don’t know what to say. Lighten up, perhaps?
To briefly explain, it seems our girls had been asking about our puppy’s “junk”, if you know what I mean, and my sometimes less-than-candid hubby told them all about his little peter and his ball-sac. Little did he know, children actually listen.
In the spirit of moving on, I decided to let this one go, after all ball-sacs are his territory, not mine. I had a letter to write. Here’s how it went.

Dear Hubby,
There are so many things I’m thankful for. You have given me so much. However, before I get to the good stuff, there are a few things you need to know. You see, I’m working on forgiveness. I want to take the “higher ground”. I want to move on. So I have to let go.
Considering we’ve been together 10 years, I think I’ve earned the right to “let it all out”. If you want to find your recliner, do so now. Hands in pants? Fine by me. Get comfortable and then get to reading.
You know I’m committed to this marriage. You know I’m committed to us. I don’t want to end up divorced. I don’t want to be a statistic, but don’t let that delude you into feeling a false sense of security. You’ve done some things over the years that have just been hanging on my last nerve. I know I’ve done my own share of “things” too, but aren’t you lucky I’m the one writing and you’re the one reading? You get to hear all about yours and how they’ve annoyed me until I want to grind my head against our bumpy, rocky, sidewalk. I now get to put-it-to-you. Insignificant these issues may seem, but I assure you, they’re not.
Rest assured, our little Angel’s ball-sac dilemma, greatly lightened my mood. So while I may come off a bit sarcastic, I probably won’t be quite as mean or vindictive as I could have otherwise been. You should thank her. You gave her an anatomy lesson, and she surely saved your ass. This is the same little girl who doesn’t want to grow up because she absolutely positively does not want to wear “Mommy-Underpants”. Remarkable children we have.
While I’m on the subject of children, let me take you back approximately 3 ½ years. I remember it like it was yesterday. The labor, the pain, contractions and birth. No epidural, no drugs, no time. A ferocious hurricane-like-tsunami taking over my body, with little to do to stop it. Feeling like someone was trying to slowly, torturously, rip my body apart, while twisting, turning, and pulling every limb, all the while some anaconda-like beast was wrapping itself around my middle cutting off my air supply and deeming me helpless and weak. And oh yes, that’s right. I had to be fearless and strong. Yes, I remember.
You know what else I remember? I remember writhing in pain, pulling you close, asking quite deliriously for your help. Do you know what you did? You removed my painfully clenched fists from your sweatshirt, and placed them on your bare wrists. Big deal, right? Big deal, YES. You carefully and methodically told me to hold onto YOU, so I wouldn’t STRETCH OUT YOUR SWEATSHIRT. Seriously, Dude?
Excuse me while I say what I’m ever-so-carefully about to say. I cannot even begin to agree that your SWEATSHIRT even remotely comes close to holding a candle to the STRETCHING, PUSHING, PULLING, oh hell, complete and utter annihilation of my uhhhhh, VAGINA. You can’t possibly be that clueless. Now please, Honey. Take your time. Go back and reread those last 2 paragraphs at least 3 more times. From my experience, it takes that long before you actually HEAR what you agree to and what I say. Third time’s a charm, right?
While we’re on the 3rd time, so to speak, let’s get back to that topic of birthing, babies, and children. You’ve let it be known, you’re happy with two. I’m happy as well. We’ve talked, we’ve debated, we’ve covered this whole child-rearing thing to death. You know I love our girls and they are enough. While I don’t feel anything’s missing, I do feel there’s another little soul out there waiting for us. Maybe only another mother could fully understand, I don’t know. I don’t fault you for holding back. The decision to have one more, just one more, needs to be made by us both.
Here’s my problem. You’ve taken this stance for years, YEARS. I’ve convinced myself that I accept it. In fact, I gave away ALL our stuff, EVERY LAST PIECE of baby equipment and STUFF, to the Purple Heart Organization. You helped load the truck. I’ve released the thought, I’ve let go. Enter, YOU. So how dare you randomly arrive home from work one day to let me know that if we ever have another baby, you know exactly what you want to name it. At the risk of repeating myself, let me say it again, “Seriously, Dude?”
Do you have any idea what this does to my head? Even my friends and followers know enough about me by now to know you should never, EVER, send such ridiculously mixed signals to my frail and fragile mind. You’ve named our final child. The one you say you don’t want to have. Even though you’re done, you take the time to think about it. Intimately. You’re just as deranged as me. Perhaps we really do make the perfect couple.
Oh, yeah. And that phantom child, the one we may or may not have? If this mystery not-gonna-happen, already-picked-out-the-name baby, ever actually does exist, let’s get one thing straight. If you ever, EVER, have the nerve to walk in the door again, after an extra-long day of work and absence, and have the audacity to let me know I’m breastfeeding WRONG and how I should change my method and position; please turn around and walk right back out. The first time I was so shocked, exhausted, and stupefied to do anything worth talking about. But if it happens again? Let me be blunt. I WILL cut off your penis. If I’m feeling extra feisty that day, I may even hang it from your rear-view mirror. A constant reminder of your not-so-manly-anymore, “no-you-DON’T-know it all” past, present, & future status.
Another thing I’d like to discuss. You know me, right? You also know my time on the computer is sacred, correct? So why, WHY, do you insist on using the bathroom located just inside the office, directly beside my computer, at exactly the same time I decide to sit down behind my keypad? A better question arises with this: Why then do you insist on keeping the door open, while attempting to hold thought-provoking conversations with me, and engaging in quite utterly disgusting human indignities at exactly the same time? Do you want to repulse me? Is that your goal? We have a perfectly good and working bathroom located at the top of our steps. March your ass up there and let it retire behind closed and quiet doors….please. I’m not too proud to actually beg, and this time, I AM.
Speaking of repulsion; don’t you love how I so seamlessly move from one topic to the next? Yes, I’m alive. I’m quite healthy and my female parts seem to be in working order. I do like sex. But just for the record, intensely STARING at me while I anything-but-seductively maneuver myself into my soft and cuddly jammies, is NOT considered foreplay. In fact, it’s down-right creepy. Touch me, don’t maul me. Kiss me, don’t devour me. Understand? Enough said.
And…………Take the tree that falls in the middle of the uninhabited forest with nobody hearing it go down, it still DOES make a sound. Just like when you pick a booger and you flick it down, even if I’m not around; it still happened, it still resides on the ground, most likely OUR ground, our FLOOR, in our HOUSE. I’m now gagging (again), readers are gagging, you’re probably laughing. I can’t take it anymore. Boogers, toenails, and disgusting phlem, each have their own final resting place in this world. Figure out the proper place for each, and take care of it, please.
If I do your laundry, I’m allowed to wear your socks. Don’t bring it up again. If you willingly wipe crumbs on the floor, I’ll sweep them up. Then I’ll put them on your pillow or in your underwear drawer, in your socks, or on your side of the bed. You’ll never know where, and I’ll delight in the fact that I’m quite literally making you squirm.
I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve, and I will revert to scare tactics, manipulation, and pain to get my way. You are a good husband, but you could always be better. Aren’t you glad my parents taught me to persevere, to never give up, to always expect the BEST? Yes, Sir, I do. Yes, Sir, even from YOU.
Now Honey, don’t fret. You have some wonderful qualities too. I started my day feeling battered and bruised, that mirror really did a number on my psyche. Did I, in turn, do a number on you? Aren’t we striving for a partnership? Equality, common ground? If one gets knocked around, we have to level the playing field, right? I can’t be feeling all tattered and torn, while you go on believing you’re just and adored. I had to. I had to. I evened the score.
Lucky for you, I’ll stop playing Dr. Seuss. I’ve relaxed, I’m breathing deep, I’m putting my life, our life into perspective, and so I now realize. These are the things that make up a marriage. No, we weren’t prepared. No, you can never really be ready. Yes, I can learn to laugh a little more. Yes, you can learn to respect my obsessive-compulsive, ridiculous, often makes-no-sense-at-all ways. We’ll still survive. In spite of everything, boogers and all, these last 10 years together have strengthened our bond. We’ve been pulled in all directions, yet we always seem to snap back in place. We snap back together. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Rice Krispies. There’s no need to write that, but I’m leaving it there. My companion voice won’t stop singing it, (what is it with me and jingles today?) and I am hoping, just hoping, that if I put it on paper, it’ll stay outta my head. You know me, Dear. It doesn’t always make sense, but it does make “me”.
So I’m thankful you’re my husband. Really, I am. If not for you, what would I possibly have to write about? You see, for me, journaling is therapy. In a round-about way, you’ve given me everything I need, idiocy and all, to make my life complete. Without you, my journal and life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting, CHALLENGING, or fun. Thanks.
Thanks also for your Saturday morning donut runs. No, it’s not good for our waistlines, but it’s sure to be good for the memories. While the girls and I sleep, you think you’re so quiet, you think you’re so smooth. We know what you’re doing, we expect it by now, but we act surprised every time. As the girls awake groggy, puffy-eyed and forlorn, when they realize it’s Saturday and Daddy “snuck” out for their favorite treats, their eyes couldn’t shine any brighter. It melts my heart every time. I love that you get just the right kind for me. I love that you always bring two.
Thank you for cleaning my car. When it snows, when it’s dreadful, when you know I won’t leave enough time, even if you don’t know if I have anywhere to go. When I walk outside to find my windshield sparkling and new, it reminds me that you care. That in your hurry and rush, you still think of me first. After all this time, you certainly know I tend to fly by the seat of my pants and without your assistance I might never fully arrive.
Thanks for changing my screensaver. A simple surprise you might say. As I spiraled down into the seemingly bottomless pit of Winter, I awoke to the beautiful ocean, whales dancing in the background, assuring me all would be okay. These are things no one else understands. But you did it for me. And I love you for that.
Finally, though there is more, I need to wrap this session up, as my fingers are cramped and my toes are now numb. Thank you for still considering me “one of your girls”. Not in a controlling, possessive kind of way, but rather a loving and affectionate nod of respect kind of way. You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. But I heard you. I HEARD you. Nondescript evening, family at the Rec. My energy waning, I needed a lift. I stayed back, then he approached you and asked, “Are your girls here tonight?” A simple question from a simple friend. You gave me just what I needed to hear. “Yes”, you said. “They’re playing in the kid’s room and my wife’s over there.” You turned to find me and waved. I’m still your girl. To him, I’m not one of your girls, but to you, I AM. And I heard you.
These are the little things that really do make a big difference. These are the things that make a marriage work. Yes, I’m still your girl. I hope you’ll always be my Guy. We’ve got some work to do, but thanks for coming along for the ride.

Love Always,
Me

I’ve now spilled my heart, objectionable content and all. I don’t know what he said, I fell asleep before he finished reading. Ahhhh, the gift of gab. Whoever slapped me earlier, please now shut me up.
Are you tired, do your eyes burn? Have you fallen asleep too? Once again, my apologies for the length, but thanks be to all who have stuck around. You too are along for the ride, and I appreciate all of you.
So back to the spirit of my original goal, 10 Sessions Down, 17 To Go! We’ve hit double digits, the world is our oyster, look out below! Until next time………………..

Didn't Get The Memo.....But I DID Shave My Legs.

2010-03-05T14:45:00.003-05:00

Well, well, well. Here I am again. The good news is, my hubby and I have been continuing our DIY Marriage Counseling. Contrary to what you may believe, based on my lack of consistent posting, we haven’t given up. We haven’t lost our drive to continue, but it seems I’ve lost the time to record and journal our sessions. More on that later. I, of course, don’t blame myself. When it comes to marriage, parenthood, responsibilities, etc…. it appears I didn’t receive the correct instructional, some may call it “survival”, handbook; I didn’t get the memo. Again, more on that later.
For now, let’s get back to the positives. Okay Ladies, get ready for this. Moms, hold onto your hats. Those of you without children, you won’t understand this. Those who have chosen to procreate, no matter how much you may regret it at times, I’m warning you now, you will be impressed. Drum roll please……………………………..
After 6 ½ long years of struggle, I have finally, FINALLY, found a way to get a shower, shave my legs, dry off, apply lotion, and get dressed, without 2 sets of miniature eyes & paws peeking through the curtain, sneaking in to scare the bejesus out of me, and clawing at my very unwilling, overly tired body. Did you hear that?!?! I GOT A SHOWER. I SHAVED MY LEGS. I DID IT ALL IN COMPLETE AND UTTER SILENCE. In my world, this is a historic moment.
True, my girls aren’t babies anymore. They should understand how to leave their Mommy alone. MmmHmm. What kind of word is “should” anyway? They SHOULD do a lot of things, of course they don’t. I SHOULD post my journal every week, we all know I don’t. I SHOULD be guaranteed a shower and a clean pair of underwear daily……..
I SHOULDN’T have to worry that my daughter is hiding around the corner, or behind the bathroom door, waiting for me to step out of the shower (naked of course), so she can snap a very obscene picture. Oh yes, she did. On no, I wasn’t happy.
I also SHOULDN’T have to worry that while I’m attempting to shave, lethal razor in hand, they’ll tip-toe quietly to opposite ends of the shower, tag-team style, and on the oldest’s cue, pull back the curtains and scream at the top of their lungs. Bursting into hysterical fits of laughter, they actually think it’s funny when my heart stops. That is, they did, until the blood from my sliced and scarred leg appeared. I can’t say their looks of horror didn’t give me satisfaction. My leg hurt like hell, but my girls felt guilty, and THAT made me feel good. Bad parent? Please. Honest mom? Absolutely.
It took me way too long to figure this one out. Blame it on my “mommy-brain”. You know that’s true, right? It starts when you’re pregnant, and at least in my case, it never got better. Those little connectors, the “things” that help me make sense out of completely useless nonsense, ceased working approximately 7 years ago.
Duh. My girls are obsessed with me. They enjoy poking at my belly button, laughing at my boobie-catchers, stealing my underwear, and hiding in my closet. They are relentless.
So it finally dawned on me. Find them someone else to obsess over! Hellooooo. Welcome TLC, A Baby Story, and all things dealing with labor, delivery, babies, and diapers. Sitting on my bed, a delight all its own, my girl’s eyes are glued to the screen from introductory song to closing credits. They LOVE watching the lady with the enormous belly getting ready for delivery. They’re captivated by the thought of a real live baby coming out of the mommy’s hoo-ha. And when it actually DOES; they squirm and squeal with delight as they guess the pending baby’s name, sex, eye color, hair color, etc. etc….. Of course, on occasion, a baby is born bald. To that, my youngest proudly proclaims, “Hey, that baby’s got a bulbed head too!” Being a “bulbed” baby herself, she finally started growing hair around age 3.
This is so perfect, I don’t even know what to say. “A Baby Story” comes on EVERY day, EVERY DAY. Am I dreaming?
This little morning ritual has me so enlivened and enlightened, sometimes I even give them a snack. Snacks are not a no-no in this house, we LOVE snacks. But snacks in Mommy’s bed? Not a chance. Or at least that’s how it used to be. In my estimation, a clean body, peaceful mind, and luxurious lotion, outweigh a few crumbs anyday. Isn’t that what dust-buster’s are for? Of course, on snack days, I do always manage to set them up on Daddy’s side of the bed. Oh I’m laughing now. It’s so perfect. You’d do it too.
Alright, I’m clean and I feel great. Get on with it, right? What does this possibly have to do with counseling? If you’ve been following my plight, you already know. Counseling for me comes in many forms. Getting a shower, enjoying the peace and quiet, and manipulating my children, is VERY therapeutic. Sharing my newfound glories with my husband has been quite interesting and fun too. He may not completely understand the significance, but he does laugh along, and he does appreciate my “work”.
So, we talk. That’s it. We talk. My time in the shower, among other things, has given me a new perspective. Marriage Counseling doesn’t have to be complicated. Isn’t being married complicated enough? We don’t have to plan extravagant lesson plans, and take part in ultra-creative activities, in order to make progress.
Our lives are hectic, busier by the day. Weekly sessions shouldn’t stress me out. I don’t look forward to “work”. I do look forward to reconnecting. Counseling for us, is turning a corner. We’ve realized that 6 months of planned and scripted lessons…..are just that. Planned and scripted. That’s not real life.
REAL life is unpredictable. And REAL marriages know how to go with the flow and “figure it out”. This is no longer simply a 6 month commitment. Just like losing weight, quitting smoking, or putting down the bottle, this is a lifetime committed to change. A LIFESTYLE change. Meeting once a week to simply talk about our lives, is more powerful than any preplanned lesson ever could be.
Look, when you’re married with young children, it’s very hard to find time in the day for each other. Especially when one or both of you is working full-time, over-time, and around the clock. Set a date to simply talk. Meet at the table, on the sofa, in the kitchen over a box of fudge, whatever! Do it, you won’t regret it. And then stick to it. You may find, like us, “once a week” has actually turned into much more.
Now don’t worry. I may sound a little sappy today, but I haven’t totally lost my mind. Our talks aren’t always great, and we don’t always walk away liking each other. We can fight with the best of them. What’s life without a little controversy, right? We just happen to be on a good run right now. For my faithful followers, you very well know my “good runs” usually lead to potentially disastrous “nose-dives”. Every day’s a new day. Keep following, I’m sure the drama won’t be far behind.
So where has all the time gone? Why can’t I find the time to write and journal? Well, I’m working on it. I do think I’ve got it under control. However, these last couple weeks have been absolute chaos. And it all goes back to the “memo” I mentioned earlier. When I had my kids, I didn’t get it.
Did you? Seriously, when you decided to have kids, did you receive THE warning? Some actually do call it a memo. An explanation for sure. Our doctors should have told us. How were we supposed to know our precious, little, mini-me people would be born with incredible, superhuman, supersized powers?
I swear my kids have RADAR. If I sleep till 9am, they sleep till 9am. If I wake up at 4:30am, they wake up at 4:30am. Heaven forbid I try to start my day without them. It's virtually impossible. It's as if they sense my every move. I could FLOAT out of bed, feet never touching the floor, never making a sound, and they would still know Mommy was awake. I stop too quickly and they're literally running right up my butt. They really are quite remarkable little beings.
I’ve figured out the shower situation. Piece of cake. But my writing? Aaaahhhhhhh! If I don’t have completely calm silence, that annoying little voice inside my head chatters and chirps so fast and jumbly, I can’t get anything accomplished.
There were a few weeks in the beginning, when I could wake up early, spend a couple hours alone, and get a tremendous amount of work done. Then they figured it out. Their radar kicked in, and once again I gained 85 pounds of unrelenting, curious, wide-eyed & needy “flesh”.
What’s a girl to do? If they insist on waking up whenever I do, be it 4:30 or 8:30… I’m leaving my lazy-ass in bed. Of course that solves nothing, but you know what I mean.
I may not have mentioned it before, because I do consider myself a full-time mom, but I do actually work from home as well. After I left teaching, I got my real estate license, in the hopes of being able to supplement our income, while still being the full-time mom I always wanted to be. I’m not setting the real estate world on fire, but I do have at least a few sales a year, which require much concentration, organization, and energy. If I don’t keep things on track, according to agreed upon legal documents; you guessed it, not a pretty picture. I do enjoy the work. The extra income, while feast or famine, is always appreciated. And right now, it simply works.
I mention this because just like my journaling, my work requires peaceful concentration. Certainly not 40 hours a week, we’re talking just a few. It’s amazing how difficult it can be to find those precious, precious hours. By the time night fall comes, my brain is mush, and the couch is calling my name. Okay, okay, okay………General Hospital may actually be what’s calling my name, but who really cares? Again, counseling takes on many forms. My new obsession with GH’s Detective Dante Falconeiri takes “therapy” to a whole new level.
Not knowing how to solve this dilemma, I decide to simply tell my husband. Talk it out. Are you noticing a pattern? We all know communication is the key to a relationship’s success. But how often do we actually ignore such simple advice? In my world, when I actually “listen”, acknowledge, and do what I KNOW I should do, everything else falls into place. It’s so simple, yet there are still so many times I take the long road, detouring around every corner, kicking and screaming while trying to figure it out on my own. The answers are already here; just open up, talk it out, and do it. Does any of this babble make sense?
So I tell him. And then HE tells me. After taking his health classes on a field trip to our community’s brand new Rec Center, he thinks we should take a tour and consider joining. How much impact can a rec center have on my life? Seriously, it’s just a gym, right? People, let me tell you. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 32 ½ YEARS, I AM HAPPY, PROUD, AND EXCITED TO BE LIVING IN NEW HOLLAND, PENNSYLVANIA.
I decided to confide in him, then we decided to join the Rec. I have never had a place, 2 ½ minutes from my house, where I can take my children, drop them off in the play room, exercise by myself, and even relax with a book and cup of coffee, before picking them up and doing it all again the next day. I am now officially in heaven.
Fitness and health have always been a huge part of my life. However, these last few YEARS, have been nothing short of fitness, exercise, and good health purgatory. I have literally done nothing. There’s no need to babble on and on about all the various benefits and perks of our new membership. But let me tell you, this is not simply a gym, it’s a family paradise and haven. Anyone who’s forward thinking enough to design a “Parent’s Night Out” into a community rec center’s programs, deserves any parent’s membership for life. On a select Friday night, once a month, Parent’s Night Out takes place. Drop your kids off anytime between 5-9pm, and then……… do WHATEVER you want! It’s a built in date night without having to arrange and organize ANYTHING. No pulling teeth to get reluctant (which I’ll never understand) family members to babysit. No bargaining, no feeling like you’re burdening anyone, no NOTHING. For the kids, a pizza party, arts & crafts, movies, and play. For the adults, much needed time to reconnect, escape the sometimes not-so-pretty realities of daily life, rest & recuperation. I may sound a little dramatic right now; but isn’t this just the greatest thing in the world?!?
I could go on and on, and trust me, in later posts….. I will. Now that I’ve been getting back to ME, feeling like my old self again, and setting a good example for my girls EVERYDAY, I’ve got so much to tell my hubby. I can’t wait till our next “meeting”.
Of course, my “old self” does have a bit of a competitive streak. And I did have to refrain from throwing a very obnoxious, anything-but-nice, arrogant, know-it-all aerobics instructor, right off her bike, and right out the window. I’m no star athlete, I don’t even really care about sports. However, I did have a former life in the fitness world. So please don’t come into a class, proclaiming YOUR body’s perfections, while making the rest of the participants feel like shit, and then think you can military-style scream at us until we do want you want. You don’t know me, and boy oh boy, do you have another thing coming. You see, I used to do your job. And unlike you, I used to actually LIKE the people who came into my classes.
I’m not obsessed with weight, and size doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’ve still got friends who judge themselves by these ridiculous standards, and it’s absolutely infuriating to watch. I do believe in being healthy, and most importantly, happy. By now I know, exercise or not, my body has changed. I’ve had kids, I’ve expanded, I’ve shrunk, I’ve fallen in between. So what if my belly isn’t as toned as it used to be? So what if I’m soft, where I used to be firm? So what, so what, so what?
Listen up, Girls. I could honestly care less if my once fairly-firm buttocks, now hangs a little low, as it wobbles to & fro.
That’s life, right? And you know what? Right now, crappy weather and all, I actually really like mine. So here’s to all of YOU……may you release the pressures of the outside world, as you embrace yourselves as individuals. May you find your own inner-peace, as you embark or re-embark on your own individual journey. May your partners accept the person you used to be, the person you are, and the person you’re continually striving to become. Most importantly, may we ALL come to terms with our saggy bottoms, roly-poly bellies, and tired worn-out boobies. And when we do…… here’s to kicking those arrogant, brutally honest, perfectly proportioned, excessively energetic, idiotic aerobics instructors; right on their “you could bounce a quarter off it” ass.
Talk is cheap? Yes, it is. It doesn’t cost a thing, but the rewards are farther reaching than most of us can possibly imagine. So find your partner, talk it out, confide and share. Tell him about your day; poopy diapers and all. Listen when he goes on and on about the most ridiculous meaningless-to-you things. Do this, even if you don’t feel the need, desire, or want. Use me as an example. You’ve been with me as I’ve crashed and burned. Don’t put it off today, hoping someone else will take care of it tomorrow.
I’m no longer counting down our sessions. This is not a chore. This is not something that will end. This IS our life, and it IS worth the commitment. If you really want to work things out, then absolutely, YOUR relationship is worth it too.
Until next time…………………..

A Letter To Myself....Get Over It.

2010-02-16T20:05:00.004-05:00

Dear Self,
Congratulations. You’ve done it again. Do you not realize, after 32 ½ years, that procrastination is NOT your friend? Why do you do it? Stop setting expectations, stop making promises. Do NOT obligate yourself to anyone or anything. You should know by now. If you have no one and nothing to answer for….then you can’t let anyone down.
Really? No. I don’t think it’s that simple. You see, you’re neurotic. Always have been, always will be. It’s YOU. You’re the one who’s up and down, all over the place, and back again. YOU keep letting YOURSELF down. Can’t escape those awful demons. Can’t hide from the not-so-impressed-face in the mirror.
What’s a girl to do? What do YOU do?
Well, for starters; GET OVER YOURSELF. So you’ve got issues, big deal. Everybody does. Put on your big girl panties and take control.
Stop waiting for other people to make you happy. Stop depending on other people to “come around”. Stop giving others the benefit of the doubt when they clearly don’t deserve it.
Stop letting other people and their ridiculously inconsistent relationships with you, determine how YOU feel and how YOU cope. Stop it and get over it.
So you don’t like cold weather? Boo-hoo. Spring will come, it always does. Get over it.
So you prayed to the Sun for warmth, but instead woke up to 4+ feet of SNOW? You can’t control this. Get over it.
So you might want to go back to work? Then get off your butt and apply for a job. Get over it.
But wait a minute, maybe you want to have another baby…..hmmmm. What exactly does THAT mean? You do love being home with your kids. Being a mom has been the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you.
C’mon Wishy-Washy, do you really want to have another baby, or are you just balking at the idea of really moving on to the next phase of your existence? Figure it out. Get over it.
So your hormones are surging, your body is changing, and your kids are growing. You’ve got a good life, yet you don’t understand it. You want to feel fulfilled, yet you’re constantly searching. You don’t know where to start, you don’t see the finish line, and you’re feeling too overwhelmed to begin the journey.
WHAT journey? What ARE you talking about, and WHAT do you mean?
I’ve got news for you. If you’re looking for control, a sense of self-worth, a feeling of accomplishment…… you won’t find it here. See, I think you’re still looking for excuses; a reason to continue your self-pity party, a chance to wallow in your sorrow just a little longer.
Not here, get over it.
You started this experiment. It was YOUR idea. You said you wanted to improve your relationship and YOURSELF. It must be working, otherwise it wouldn’t be this hard.
You ALWAYS quit. Don’t do it now. Get over it.
And don’t you dare get mad at your husband for pushing you to continue. He wants to do this. He wants to do this with YOU. Consider yourself lucky, and get back to work.
Therapy, you ask? Yes, you skipped your session….AGAIN. Yes, you were terribly mean, sarcastic, and cruel when he tried to hold you accountable. Yeah, you suck.
Are there people out there waiting for your next post? Do they expect you to write every week? You did make that promise. A couple times actually. Do they care? I don’t know. Do YOU care? They’re waiting for a weekly post…… yeah, SO AM I.
Does this make any sense? I don’t think so. Will this help? Probably not. Do you care enough to do the necessary work to change? We’ll see.
Go ahead and type it. Say “until next time”……. You always do. But do you really know that time will come?
Get off your butt and get to work. Stop rambling, stop wallowing, stop trying to run away. Do it now. If you don’t, your readers (whoever, wherever, and however dedicated they may be), will surely be the next to say…… GET OVER IT.
Don’t bother signing. I know who you are. We all know you've spent a lifetime trying to avoid ME. But YOU didn’t quit. YOU wouldn’t let me escape. Good or bad, we’re in this thing together. Understand this or not, it is what it is. And right now all that means is this: Until next time…………………….

Grey Skies & Stinky Feet....6 Counseling Sessions Down, 21 To Go!

2010-02-01T15:00:00.004-05:00

I am pleading with the SUN. Please come back. Bring me warmth, energy, and enthusiasm. Take away the cold, blistering wind. Destroy my sweaters, wool socks, and mittens. Bring me sundresses, flip flops, and sunscreen. Keep me warm, tan, and freckled…..a pool by my feet, a cocktail within reach. All of this, in Mother Nature’s name I pray, AMEN.
It’s winter in good old Pennsylvania, and I absolutely hate it. How do I cope? Not well. Chocolate Fudge Torte, Apple Cake, Fudge Bottom Cheesecake, and Chocolate Chip Brownies; Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Apparently caffeine is out, and sugar is in. Thankfully by Friday, I was so disgusted with myself, my baking, and my sluggishness, that I left the kitchen and my oven, for good.
Three day’s rest, and I do feel brand new. I’ve learned enough about myself to know, I shouldn’t get too arrogant. I don’t just fall off the wagon, I jump. So, like my caffeine addiction, I’ll simply take it one day at a time, one day at a time.
Now, one day at a time does work. However, on one of those days last week, I did break down and have a cup of coffee. Dear God, it tasted good. Even better though, was the fact that I didn’t NEED more, and I don’t WANT more. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself.
I’m also feeling pretty restless and completely useless and bored. My 6 year old attends school and loves it. My 3 year old doesn’t know what to do with herself without her big sister around. And I don’t think it’s possible to despise Polly Pockets anymore than I do at this very moment. There are only so many hours in a day, and Polly Pockets, Barbie, and Little Pets, do not fit so nicely into mine. When I decided to stay home with my kids, why didn’t anyone warn me about this?
It’s not like playing with these toys is rocket science, yet my brain is completely fried. Is it any wonder I turn to baking and sugar to get me through the endless hours of miniature play?
I know I shouldn’t complain. This time with my daughters is special. Memories, they say. Uh-huh. I’ve got news for you. This mother needs not one more memory involving any kind of perfectly proportioned, busty and beautiful, blonde DOLL.
Do you hear me Sun? Please?!? I’m not one to jump on the “oh I’ve got seasonal depression” bandwagon…but lately, I’m not so sure. There are days when it is seriously so hard to pull myself out of bed, when the thought of playing and occupying my children for any longer than absolutely necessary seems too incredibly overwhelming to think about. My husband’s a good man, but he can’t understand. Not this.
It’s amazing how different everything seems, with a little warmth and sunshine to accompany it. I will sit outside all day, playing, entertaining, enjoying my children, the weather, and the world…..while I fold laundry, plan a dinner menu, make phone calls, and garden. For 7 or 8 months a year, I am Superwoman. The other few? Even I can’t come up with an appropriate comparison.
An accident waiting to happen? That sounds about right. An attention seeking wife needing reassurance, compassion, and understanding; definitely. I’m also the moron who decided to finagle my husband into 6 months of do-it-yourself marriage counseling. Well, People, the joke’s on me. I’m sure you’ll agree that yes, every marriage needs a little fine tuning now and again. Every partner needs to take time to appreciate their other half. Every couple needs to really decide to work together as a partnership and duo. But not every couple needs an intervention. In my case, perhaps it was solely ME who needed the counseling. The more I write, the more I see myself, and the more I’m forced to admit. Hmmmmm……maybe most of “our” problems, really are “my” problems, simply projected onto and into our marriage? I don’t know.
On a positive note, I do know this week’s session was one of my favorites. The last thing you want to give someone who feels overwhelmed, is more responsibility. I didn’t want to plan a “lesson”. I wanted to stay on track, but I didn’t want to be responsible for it. I like feeling like someone else is taking care of me, you know what I mean? When you’re a mother, and you spend your days taking care of everyone else…..you just want someone to come along and take care of things without any input, effort, or advice from you.
So when my husband told me we were going to soak, scrub, and massage our feet, although I was relieved he had come up with a “lesson”, I was also quite hesitant. Soak our feet? How in the world is this “counseling” or “therapy”?
I have now come to believe, that sometimes the BEST therapy, is simply doing something special for YOURSELF. And if you’re able to do something for yourself, while sharing it with your partner….that is absolutely all the marriage counseling or therapy you may need!
So with hot bubbly water, peppermint bath soak, and chocolate candy in hand, we made our way to the sofa. Look, sugar may be my enemy; but if my husband wants to indulge me with a spa type atmosphere and treatment, how can I resist? Had I turned down the chocolate that night, surely I would’ve hated myself in the morning. Sometimes you gotta relax, let go, and indulge.
The evening was fantastic. Why don’t we do this more often?!? The girls were in bed. No football on TV. Even the puppy was behaving. What more could a crazy, sometimes obsessive, always frazzled, seasonally depressed mother and wife want?
How about a husband with beautiful, non-stinky feet? Is that too much to ask?!? Seriously, our time together was a success. But the man has some issues. His feet smell so incredibly bad. He takes his shoes off, and you either open a window or leave the house, it’s that offensive. The peppermint soak certainly helped, but c’mon, after so many years I think the stink is embedded in my nostrils. When I see bare feet, whether they smell or not, I immediately sense the stench. You can almost see the fog swirl around, killing everything in its path.
As disgusting as this is, though, it IS our weekly reminder, our therapy session. An hour or two devoted to us. So as crazy as it sounds, once the soak and scrub were done, I OFFERED to massage the lotion into his feet. For all the hurt I’ve caused, the damage I’ve done, the battles I’ve started over the past 7 ½ years; THIS SINGULAR ACT OF KINDNESS CANCELS ALL ELSE OUT. Marriage counseling is not about keeping score and taking credit. I understand that. But I give myself a heck of a lot of credit for taking on such a smelly, gag-inducing task.
Truth is it was over quite quickly and relatively painlessly. Although I did SCRUB my hands immediately following my good deed. At one point during the massage, we were talking about parenthood, marriage, life, etc….. and I told my hubby that I felt like a flower. Let me explain. A sometimes blooming, often wilting, always needing tender loving care (aka reassurance); flower. At times I feel and look beautiful. Other times, used, dried out, fragile and frail. A flower.
How about me, he asks?
Well, that would make you, hmmmmmm. Oh yes, of course. A WEED.
Simultaneously we burst into laughter. Now think about it, Ladies. We love our men, we do. But there are times those pesky little weeds just need to leave us alone. There are times those thorns in our side are just too much to handle. There are times we need our space. Time to reflect, grow, and bloom. And I don’t know about you, but I have NEVER been able to really get rid of those daggone pickers. They just keep coming back, year after year, stubborn as hell to prove their point. My Weed may occasionally stink, he may sometimes be overbearing, and he often oversteps his boundaries; but thank goodness he’s got a good sense of humor!
So I prayed to the Sun for warm weather, flip-flops, and sunscreen. What I got was dirty water, stinky feet, and peppermint lotion. Close, but no cigar.
Life’s not perfect, wilting flowers, weeds and all. You live with what you’ve got, and you learn how to make it bloom. I’ll keep trying, we’ll keep trying; maybe someday we’ll come up with just the right recipe for success. In the meantime, I’ll simply keep writing, soul searching, and tending to my garden. Until next time…………

What's Wrong With Me? 5 Counseling Sessions Down, 22 To Go...

2010-01-23T15:07:00.003-05:00

If you can’t trust my word, what CAN you trust? Isn’t that what they say? Apparently my word means nothing. What’s wrong with me? Didn’t I promise I’d be back on track? No more late posts, no more procrastination. Once again, a day late and a dollar short. Actually, let’s be honest. A day late would be understandable, but FIVE WEEKS? I have no excuses.
I took, as I like to lovingly call it, a Christmas vacation. I’ve just decided to return to real life. By now I should know. No matter how much I love the holidays, New Year’s Eve, especially; MY New Year does not officially begin until February 1st. I know I’m a nut job, a hazard to myself. Yes, it takes me the entire month of January to get over the holidays, back to real life, away from all the stress, and out of my hermit mentality. I like to play the avoidance game.
Due to various situations beyond our control, we actually had 7 Christmases. Only attended 4, before having a complete mental meltdown…..and that’s all she wrote, folks.
After said meltdown, my sister had her own very special breakdown, my mother flew the coop, and my father got remarried. A lot has happened. Therapy, you ask? How about 4 bottles of wine, 3 complete novels, a new haircut, and a boatload of chocolate? Yes I did.
In the midst of all of this, I also decided to give up my caffeine addiction. Yes, I gave up coffee. NOW, the first time, I was asking myself. This time, let me ask YOU… What’s WRONG with me?!?
To the normal, rational, level headed person, this should make no sense. To me, it does. You’ll remember I have that “little voice” inside my head? At the rate that pesky little voice has been invading my daily thought process, I’ve given up all hope of being normal, rational or level headed. Why NOT give up the one thing I look forward to everyday? Why NOT wean myself from the very thing that helps control my daily stress? Why NOT do this COLD TURKEY in the middle of my most stressful time of year? It’s been 38 days. I feel like I deserve an Olympic Gold Medal.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with coffee. I also don’t believe there’s anything wrong with alcohol, or even certain drugs….. to an extent. But when a substance, any substance, even if it’s “just” caffeine, slowly starts to take control of your body, and you feel like you can’t get through the day without it, THEN I think there may be a problem. Especially when the very thing that is supposed to be helping you get through the day, is really making you feel and look like you belong 6 feet under. I do have a problem. The only choice for me; detox. I’ve known for a while I’d have to work on myself. Some of you may not think this is a big deal, but trust me, it is.
This detox is necessary. I’m sure I’ll have a cup of coffee again someday, just not right now. And even though I’m ranting and raving about the absence of it at this particular moment, I do feel exceptionally great. It’s absolutely amazing. Seriously. Again, not for everybody, but I suddenly feel like a fog has been lifted. I do happen to love tea, and thankfully my love for tea has skyrocketed and gotten me through these last 38 days. I know, I know, some teas have caffeine too. Yes. But not to the extent my coffee drinking did. Plus I don’t add sugar to my tea. Coffee? We’re talking at least a teaspoon or 2 per cup….I felt like the sugar was starting to crawl out from under my skin…….oh God it was gross.
So, one more time for the masses….WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? Fitting enough, the topic for the past week’s counseling session was just that. Identifying what’s wrong with us, plus how and why we’d like to change it. Guilt is an interesting thing. Five weeks vacation, and I suddenly feel the need to overcompensate for my laziness by coming up with this overachiever lesson plan. I don’t even know if I’m ready to start working again. Some may say guilt, I might simply say, stupidity.
I thought I had all the answers. Of course I know what’s wrong with my husband, right? I also know exactly what he needs to do to change it. But that was NOT the point of this session. The point was to identify the behavior within OURSELVES, not the other person. I may know what I THINK he needs to change, but for therapy’s sake, he needed to identifying what HE felt HE needed to change, and vice versa.
Obviously, I know I need to lasso in my temper. I don’t always think before I act, I tend to explode quite frequently. As I told my hubby I intended to work on this, he slowly relaxed and smiled. Darn it. I made him happy. That’s what he wanted me to say! Am I really that bad? And why does it matter that I made him happy, isn’t that the point of counseling? I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of snarky competitiveness coming over me. Sure, I’ve got a temper. Let’s just see what you’ve got to say about yourself Buddy.
He wants to be a better listener. Excuse me? That may sound all well and good to you all, but please, give me a little more grit. Can you at least say you’re miserable and that you’d like to open up and enjoy life more? Can you say you know sometimes you come across as an arrogant know-it-all. That you don’t always need to be right. Control doesn’t always have to be YOURS. C’mon, that would at least make ME feel better. I’ve just acknowledged my ridiculously ridiculous temper, and all the ways I’ve destroyed various things over the past 7 ½ years, and he calmly says he’ll be a better listener. That’s like telling someone you love them for the first time, and they respond by saying “thanks”. Say something BAD about yourself, really bad, that way I won’t feel so bad about me! DUH.
Slightly irritated, about to unleash some serious sarcasm, I suddenly remember my temper. My “thing”. I guess if I really intend to work on this thing, I’ve got to start now. I think my husband was waiting for my reaction, testing my temper, my resolve. He’s very smart, and boy does that irritate me.
Irritation, for me, comes out in many ways. Like the days I’m irritated with the world, my kids, my family. I can’t wait for my husband to get home from work, I can’t wait to hug him, to tell him about my day, to unwind in his arms. Yet, when he finally walks in the door, without any reason, my irritation with the world lands directly on his shoulders. I pull back, retreat, withdraw, to my own silent or sometimes explosively loud and explicit world. There is no comfort, there is no reprieve. I wonder if he actually enjoys coming home at night? The alternative is not a very nice thought, and no, I’m not proud. Even typing this, alone at my computer, I feel shamefully embarrassed.
If I’m being honest, vacation or not, these therapy sessions have lessened our load. We have definitely been lighter, more like the people we thought we married. We actually remembered that we do love each other. I think I’ve been better. I hope he likes coming home to me. What a simple, yet terrifying question to ask. Then again, he is very smart. He’ll tell me what I need to hear. And a little white lie every now and again? No harm done. It’s called survival, and we’re making our way.
You know, this “listening” thing, is actually pretty good. I do need him to “hear” me more. I need him to be present, yes I need a better listener. As much as it annoys me to admit, he’s right. So how does this happen? How can we change?
Well, logically, we need to come up with a plan. Like middle schoolers, sitting at our desks, annoyed with the current assignment, we’re staring at each other with such contempt it’s hard to believe we WANT to change.
Then it happens. Like stubborn toddlers with their bottom lips out, my hubby looks at me and says…… “Doooon’t smile, don’t you dare even think about smiling”. So there you have it, two thirty-something’s reverting back to childhood because we’re too bogged down and brain dead to do it any other way. And it worked. Don’t they say everything we need to know we learned in kindergarten?
It’s amazing that two people, in this case married, can go through every emotion in the book in a matter of minutes, and still end up laughing together at the end. Of course the opposite is also true. I’m quite aware that happiness and silliness can instantly turn to sadness and despair, even jealously and rage, for no apparent, logical, or rational reason. In my last post I commented that parenting has got to be the ultimate mind game. Mind game doesn’t even begin to describe a marriage. Rollercoaster, yes. Perhaps the biggest, scariest, fastest, and craziest rollercoaster of all time.
You know what I’m realizing? I’ve been really down on myself these past five weeks. Disappointed and overwhelmed you might say. The longer I went without therapy or a post, the worse I felt, but the more I wanted to hide and forget I even started this experiment. Avoidance all the way. By setting too many expectations for myself, I was really setting myself up to fail.
I’m trying not to think about the fact that by avoiding counseling for 5 whole weeks, I’ve quite literally extended our original 6 month commitment by an entire month…… Thank goodness I didn’t commit to a year.
So my hubby knows his lack of listening skills make me feel like I’m not appreciated, understood, and ultimately loved. And I know that my explosive temper and sometimes cruel words make my husband feel very bad, lonely, and again, not loved.
Eye contact for him, a soft controlled voice for me. We’ll see how this goes. I don’t necessarily like being loud and explosive, but a “soft” temper tantrum just doesn’t make much sense. In fact, it’s a little creepy. Funny; but creepy. Of course in a perfect world, there would be no temper tantrums, but seriously people, I’ve got a husband, a life, and kids…that’s not very realistic. I can’t promise my anger issues will dissolve into thin air, but I can promise I’ll try to handle them differently. Have you ever tried yelling at someone, without being able to yell? Whisper, soothe, talk as if you’re singing a lullabye, you’re guaranteed to get their attention. You may look and sound like an idiot, but at least your throat won’t hurt and your blood won’t be boiling. It actually even works. At least for my kids, it shocks them into behaving. They stare at me like my head may start spinning, I think they’re afraid.
I can also promise to let go of my sometimes unrealistic expectations. Yes, I’m a romantic, a dreamer, a lover of fairy-tales and lore. I want to live out my own love story. Thankfully, these sessions have forced me to admit, I can, just not the way I originally intended. True love takes work. A commitment to yelling with a soft voice, to remembering to look at the person who’s talking to you, to really “remembering to remember” to answer them, and to ignoring certain unpleasant and odorous offenses. So those nights when you crawl into bed, blankets pulled as tight as can be to separate sides of the mattress, because even the thought of your partner’s big toe touching you is enough to make you sick; just remember to relax and breathe. Yes, it’s work. It doesn’t always make sense, and it often needs readjusting. A real life love story has just as many ups, as it does downs. It’s the people who know how to fight their way back up together that will make it out alive. And I’ve got to believe that even though there will always be challenges, eventually the “downs” won’t go so deep.
So, I think I’m back. I think we’re back. I hope you’ll forgive my absence and continue this journey with me. This time avoidance didn’t work. I just couldn’t figure out a way to ultimately avoid myself. Once again, that’s all she wrote, folks. Until next time………………………..

Marriage Counseling Stinks! 4 Counseling Sessions Down, 23 To Go!

2009-12-14T23:19:00.006-05:00

Marriage counseling stinks. It really does. I skipped our session last week, and I’ve been avoiding admitting the truth and writing this post ever since. But that’s my m.o., that’s what I do. I go in cycles, up, down, and all around. When I start to slide, it’s a very slippery slope.
Nobody told me that if I really wanted to work on my marriage, I’d also have to work on myself. I know how stupid that sounds. I mean, REALLY work on myself.
It’s almost like remodeling a house. You can see the way you want it to be. It’s beautiful, you can’t wait to get to the end, to finish, to enjoy your success. However, before it gets better, it ALWAYS gets worse. The mess piles up, you can’t believe what you’ve gotten yourself into, and you’ve gotta find a way to get through the disaster and “dirt” before you get stuck; giving up on the project and yourself.
Attending counseling is good; it’s great, a tremendous step for us….but I’m beginning to realize that if I don’t get serious about me; all my quirks, addictions, and struggles as an individual; this progress won’t mean a thing. Eventually I’ll fall into my old, SAFE, habits. And so the cycle goes. Sound a little dramatic? Well, that’s the way it feels. Cry me a river, right?
By the way, if you remember, when my hubby wanted to skip class, there was no way in hell I’d let him get out of it. Me? Well, that’s obviously a different story. Yes, it’s hypocritical. Yes, it’s a double standard. No, I’m not proud of myself.
In fact, right now I don’t even know if I like myself. I’m mad. I’m almost a week behind with this post. Definitely not something I want to get comfortable with. The plan was, counseling on Wednesdays, journal and post on Thursdays. I’m all for flexibility, sometimes life happens. But give someone like me too much freedom, and I’ll rewrite all the rules. By the time I’m finished, you won’t remember where or why we’re friends, or what my point is.
I’m having a moment, you might say. Aren’t I entitled? Please tell me you have them too?
You know, I just realized something. I could stop. This could be my last post, we could stop counseling, I could stop journaling, and we could go back to our everyday lives. Which, by the way, weren’t entirely bad. I’m putting this stuff out there, to a bunch of readers who don’t really even know me. I appreciate you, I do. But it’s kinda funny. I could stop right now, what difference would it really make?
AHHHHHHHH…..but see? That’s where the “me” part comes in. I know I have to do this, FINISH this, for myself. I know it, I understand it, I just don’t always like to follow through. Dear God, we’ve got 23 MORE counseling sessions. TWENTY-THREE. Ironically, 23 used to be my favorite number.
My husband, surprisingly enough, is now the one championing this experiment. I can hardly believe it. It’s almost ridiculous. When I tell you the things he’s doing for me, you’ll either fall in love with him through your computer screen, or you’ll simply hate me for being so “me”.
I will tell you though, I’m sensitive. If you feel the need to bash, can you please do it via private message or email? Let’s reserve the “comment” box, for nice, touchy feely moments, shall we?
You know what? Maybe you should thank me. Some of your husbands or partners are reading this. Some of you have actually been reading my “journal” out loud to your significant other. I think that’s fantastic! I’m also guessing that right about now, they’re realizing how happy they are being with YOU and not with someone like ME! I’ve done you a favor. Now I’m smiling.
So my husband pursued me until I agreed to come back to counseling. In fact, he sent me an email, asking me to “please come back to the table”. Of course, I did. I then decided I was too tired to hold myself up any longer, and I moved to the sofa. He sat on the floor in front of me, as I lounged and relaxed. Are you getting the picture? I’m the mental patient, he’s the wise, all-knowing therapist. And that’s the way it was.
The week before, I asked him, “WHY do you love ME?” Remember, it made his brain hurt? So this week, he asked me to recall all the good times I could remember between us. Good times spent together, without family, kids, or friends involved; just us. Pretty impressive, a very good lesson plan.
Have you done this lately? If not, you really must. Prior to this evening, I didn’t remember half the things we talked about. Before long, I felt so thankful and loved, I didn’t even remember I was supposed to be wallowing in self-pity.
I’d bring something up, my husband would fill in the blanks. We were laughing, reminiscing, connecting. All thoughts were happy, carefree you might say. It was a wonderful evening. I can’t believe my husband led us there. I’m so glad he did.
This man, my husband, remembers EVERYTHING. He even remembers the first time we ate McDonald’s together, in his new truck, and what I was eating. Are you kidding? I don’t even remember being in that truck. It was so touching. Also a little unbelievable, considering he still has a hard time remembering where to hang his coat or his gazillion hats, or his dirty clothes and shoes, but I’ll have to let that go for now. His golf clubs do always manage to find their way to a nice, safe, clean place. Interesting.
So I’m feeling a little guilty about my attitude. I don’t know why I do this. It’s almost as if I won’t let myself be completely happy. I get so far, we get so far, and then I begin to sabotage everything. I have issues. It’s like I’m good, but always expecting something to go wrong. This time I decide to open up, and try to “work”. That’s progress, right?
The following day I send my husband an email. It very simply says, “I know I’m spiraling, I need your help”. A very short email, very simple statement, but boy was that hard to do. I have NEVER asked him for help. Instead I withdraw.
I didn’t know what I was expecting to hear back. Nothing really, he was at work. Then he called. I explain that I need to get back to me. I’m feeling a little lost, a little confused, not at all healthy. Honestly, I didn’t think any man could really understand.
I love our girls so much, and I love being home with them, I feel very lucky. But I also need to feel like “me”, and not just someone’s “mommy”. On the other hand, I only want to be “mommy”. None of this “mom” stuff, how dare they grow up? Keep me close, just stay like you are, like you were, a little while longer.
My oldest has started school. My youngest is no longer little. They’re growing up before my eyes, and I want to stop time. If we were going to have more babies, we may have already done it. Maybe we’re done, maybe not. We’re already moving into the next phase. Being a parent, has got to be the ultimate mind game.
Many moons ago, before we had kids, I was devoted to regular yoga and meditation sessions. I remember the time. I yearn for that balance again. For me, that’s where I need to be. So my husband says, and I quote, “Why don’t we wake up early together, and I’ll start doing yoga with you?” You couldn’t have shocked me more, had you told me I’d won the Nobel Prize.
He is NOT a yogi by any means, nor did I ever think he would be. He does, however, realize that I asked for his help, and this is the greatest gift he could give me. I will not get out of bed on my own, early in the morning; I won’t, not when I’m wallowing. But if he gets up with me, and we’re doing this together…….I already feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
This also means he’s giving up some of his free time. You see, my hubby has ALWAYS gotten up hours before he really needs to, in order to exercise. Remember, he’s a teacher. He simply goes to school early, works out in the fitness center, showers in the locker room, and starts his day. Now, he’s offering to get up early, and instead of leaving, he wants to do YOGA with ME.
What do I have to complain about? This is huge. If I really think about it, these last 4 weeks have been life altering. My husband has even led his own counseling session, and is offering to “pull me up”. I better take advantage.
We started today. When we were done, I called my faithful neighbor and relayed to her the morning’s events. I should have warned her. She almost choked on her coffee. She was gasping for air, laughing so hard, she almost peed her pants. That’s what friends are for.
Truth be told, it WAS funny. 5:45am, alarm goes off, yoga video goes in, down to the floor we go. Imagine a man, barely able to bend, twist, or basically move, because he is so inflexible….trying his best to keep up, simply because he’s just so darned competitive, wincing and moaning with every move he makes; now you know my husband. I spent the first 10 minutes laughing at him. He laughed too.
We did manage to calm down and zone in, you might say. It just wouldn’t be our household, though, without a little disruption. As we lay in relaxation pose, calming our minds, releasing our bodies, drinking in the silence; my husband lets one rip. Loud. I mean, it seriously RIPS. Anyone remember my post regarding my family’s “backside” habits?
You’ll be happy to know, I was so relaxed and happy, that I laughed. I actually laughed, and I meant it. There couldn’t be a more fitting ending to my pity party week, than this raw, uncensored act of human flatulence. This is, after-all, my life….. who could ask for anything more? Until next time……

Why Does He Love YOU? 3 Counseling Sessions Down, 24 To Go!

2009-12-07T15:05:00.003-05:00

Ask your partner why they love you. See what happens. I did, and then I tried not to panic when my husband paused and told me the question made his brain hurt.
Well actually, that requires the presence of a brain, and since he still hadn’t answered yet, I seriously doubt his is in working order. Men can be so DENSE.
Oh, by the way, our rubberbands from last week’s session, lasted approximately 20 hours. Not even a full day. They were, quite possibly, the worst idea I’ve ever had. More on that later.
So, after a too-long-for-my-liking pause, a sigh, and finally resignation, he did proceed to answer my question. He also couldn’t help but let me know, he was feeling just a little too tired for “school”. Certainly, he assumes, we can do this another time. He wants to go to bed.
I’m already off schedule. The past week has brought forth sick children, a computer virus, and a puppy that refuses to leave our Christmas tree alone. He’s managed to pull the entire DECORATED tree over, crushing precious ornaments all over the living room floor. But he is cute, cuddly, and unable to talk back, so I can let that go.
Back to my husband. I’m allowed to quit, nobody else. Since I’ve declared myself the leader, the President, the CEO of our relationship, I happily let him know that sleep is not an option. Furthermore, if he does, in fact, get up and leave our counseling session, sex will no longer be an option either. Problem solved.
(let’s refer back to the 2nd paragraph, last sentence: Men can be so DENSE.)
It’s a loaded question. A question that truly deserves an entire counseling session, and possibly a lifetime of “reminder” sessions. WHY do you love ME? No ridiculously superficial “I love your smile” answers allowed. We’re digging deeper.
I, of course, was prepped and ready with my answer. My husband paused. Was he thinking, contemplating, the best most eloquent way to phrase his undying love for me? Or, more likely, was he trying to remember exactly WHY he does love me? I no longer begrudge his pause, let’s be honest, I know the topic ahead of time, therefore I’m not the one being put on the spot. He comes to the table blind, I like to watch him squirm.
Now, we do say “I love you” every morning before he leaves for work, every night before we go to bed. But after a while, those words are just words, a routine, almost a superstition. Do they really have meaning? They’re comforting to hear, but after a while, even comfort doesn’t feel as good as it used to.
So really, sit down, directly across from each other, look into your partner’s eyes, ask the question, and wait for an answer. Give it a shot. You almost feel naked, stripped down to your bare soul, sitting there waiting for a response. It crosses my mind that this may have been an easier conversation to have with my boyfriend, rather than my husband.
Relax, I don’t actually have a boyfriend. Aside from my Port Charles, French countryside, Bon Jovi loving fantasy world, it’s just me and my hubby. Only trying to make a point. Did anyone understand my analogy, or once again, are you rolling your eyes?
As we stumbled through this, we began to realize something so totally eye-opening and transforming. The very qualities we love most about each other, at least some of them, are the same qualities that have threatened to tear us apart. Let me explain.
Now, dear Sister-in-Law, I know you’re reading. You’ve been warned, please don’t pass out. But when I fell for your brother, I remember thinking…..”Wow, so this is what it feels like to be with someone so totally SELFLESS”. I instinctively knew he would always take care of me and whatever future family we had. I felt safe.
How could those qualities possibly tear us apart? In a roundabout way, it’s quite easy. Over the years, we’ve had children, I’ve left the traditional work force, life has continued to happen. My responsibilities inside the home have doubled, tripled, quadrupled…I’m raising little people, a huge task. His responsibilities outside the home have grown too. All of this so we can live our life the way we choose. Of course there’s sacrifice; that goes without saying. My husband has willingly sacrificed the most, quite noticeably, his time.
From the beginning, he’s picked up extra jobs, work, whatever he’s needed to, in order to bring home that needed income. I clearly remember in years past, him leaving at 5:30am, coming home to bed after 10:00pm, and then waking up to do it all again….over and over and over. He was visibly tired, worn out, exhausted. But he did it. Days would pass without him seeing the girls, and I was lonely as hell. Thankfully, I think those years are over.
However, at the time, loneliness does terrible things to you. In the midst of this, our girls still weren’t sleeping through the night. Boohoo right? All parents go through this. Well, do all wives have a husband who would willingly get up in the middle of the night, changing diapers, rocking babies back to sleep, simply because he wanted to? Mine did. He still does. Even typing this, I feel somewhat spoiled and guilty. I have a husband who, even while I was breastfeeding, would get up as often as I did, and change the baby’s diaper…just because.
So again, how could this possibly tear us apart? Look, I know how it sounds. Suck it up and deal with it, right? But when you’re used to sharing all your time with someone, and then suddenly you’re spending all your waking time apart, loneliness takes over, no matter how well intentioned the reasons. You start to feel neglected. You start to shut down real communication, and you simply do what needs to be done to get through the day. Does this make sense? Hindsight’s 20/20.
Realizing this simple fact makes me feel like our entire world just opened back up. My sense of humor, one thing my husband has always adored. Uh-huh. When communication shuts down, and my sense of humor, aka sarcasm, takes over…. It’s a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Another example of how easy it is, without consciously working against it, to use the things you love about each other the most, to tear each other apart.
Ironically enough, now it’s me, MY brain hurts. Would you like to know what happened to those rubberbands? Ah yes, my brilliant idea to force positive thinking on 2 very delusional idiots. Revelation or not, we’re still remarkably flawed humans.
The day after we snapped our rubberbands in place, we left for a 4 hour trek, across the state, towards Thanksgiving, holiday, and family bliss. Rubberbands didn’t even last a car ride, let alone a week. Thanksgiving WAS nice, the trip was horrific. As you all know, children and car rides are a very touchy twosome. On this particular day, the result was anything less than, shall we say, “positive”? As our girls argued over music, movies, and whose shoe was touching whose pillowcase, I lost it. Turning around and yelling something I thought was quite warranted, my husband looks at me and calmly, not a bit sarcastically (yeah right) asks me to stop yelling in his ear. My voice, he says, is assaulting his ear drum.
He too, it seems, has his own sarcasm gene. Oh, I’ll stop yelling. In fact, I promise I’ll never yell or discipline the kids again, within earshot of him. I’ll be calm, cool, and collected. Yes, I’ll make this promise to him, if he can, in turn, promise me he’ll never again let an offensive, raunchy, and putrid smell escape from his backside. Ridiculous, right? Why do I say such stupid things?
As we continue to exchange poignant one-liners, fanning the flames with each and every word, I reach into the center console for a pen and paper. I am, after all, recording 6 months of our marriage, good or bad. I don’t want to forget this. I start to take notes.
Start laughing now, because let me tell you, you don’t want to start taking notes in the middle of an argument, no matter how seemingly insignificant that argument is. Ignore this advice at your own risk. If you do proceed to take notes, when your husband notices what you’re doing, I assure you he will NOT be happy.
I do applaud my husband’s ability to switch gears so quickly. In fact, he didn’t even appear angry anymore when he glanced over at me and oh-so-calmly, scratch that, eerily said, “Make sure you write down that you have your period. Just one more reason you’re being such a bitch.”
Oh, I wrote it down. Yes, I did. Mind you, the entire time a little voice inside my head kept saying….”let it go, let it go, let it go”. That little voice even said…”he’s right, stop now, don’t engage, don’t engage, do NOT engage”. You see, the new me, is trying very hard to listen to that little voice, to take the high road, to end the argument before it starts. So, I did hear my little voice, I did acknowledge it, I even thanked it for stopping by. Then I officially, purposefully, quite emphatically squashed it. Bye-bye wise little voice. Hello irrational, irate, destructive self.
Now, I’ve been informed that a few men are actually following our somewhat ridiculous saga. To said men, take notes. There are 2 things a man should never, under any circumstance, EVER bring up in a less than positive, loving, and affectionate way. 1: a woman’s period. 2: her mother. Listen Guys, you may be right. You may have every reason in the world to do so. Think these thoughts, THINK THEM, do not say them out loud. Don’t even risk mumbling them under your breath; it’s detrimental to your health. If you choose to ignore this advice, and you do, God forbid, choose to forge ahead and “mention” the above referenced circumstances, heaven help you. You’ve dug your own grave.
As I proceeded to declare war on my husband, his character, his various abilities and inabilities, etc…. he did, in fact, proceed to go where no man should ever go. Justified as he may have been, anytime my mother, me, and a dysfunctional, delusional, irrational comparison come up; I check out. It’s as if I leave my body and a creature which even I’m afraid to know, takes over.
For a brief moment, I seriously consider removing my rubberband and wrapping, twisting, tying it, around a certain part of my husband’s very sensitive anatomy. To understand my rage, you have to know that my mother and I have a very complicated history. I love her, I do. But we’ve got issues, way too many issues for this post. We could actually benefit from our own type of mother/daughter counseling experiment.
I have to get out of the car. I need to get away from him. How dare he actually bring up such touchy, unresolved, emotionally damaging issues? How dare he state the TRUTH? I’m trying not to yell. I don’t want to scream. Only because the girls are directly behind us in the backseat, but any reason, is good enough. So we’re now viciously whispering back and forth, shooting daggers at each other with our furious eyes. Whispering or not, we all know children are instinctively stupid, and couldn’t possibly pick up on the tension and negative energy which has so quickly taken hold of us. Right, they have no idea what’s going on…..uh-huh.
Can I justify it all with….”I’m teaching my girls that love isn’t always easy. You have to learn how to fight and get through things to make something last.”? Even as I type this, I admit, it simply sounds like a pathetic excuse for my lack of self-control.
My little voice returned. Wise or not, it started chirping away. Something to the effect of, you better pick your battles because you’ve got a long 3 days ahead of you. So I shut up. I shut my mouth and stared out the window, not daring to move a muscle, not even an inch. I still have a point to prove. I don’t remember what it is, but I know I’ve got to stay angry longer. I need to outlast him. I need to win.
Yes, People, that’s ridiculous. I seriously hope I’ll get out of my own way long enough to realize, I better continue with my self-examination before I thoroughly destroy all the progress we’ve made.
As my husband calms down and advises me to do the same, he ever so swiftly slips a CD into the player. Not just any CD, but Bon Jovi, MY Bon Jovi. He starts the music at #9, “Till We’re Not Strangers Anymore”, and my heart begins to melt. I know you hate me now. I’ve been terribly cruel, ruthless you might say, and my husband is the one breaking the ice with one of my favorite fantasies and songs.
It occurs to me now that HE is the one who is learning the most, changing the most, from our counseling sessions. I didn’t bank on that. After all, this experiment was MY idea. Hmmmm, perhaps it’s time to set my pride and stubbornness aside?
So as quickly as the storm came, it also passed. There’s so much more I could say, so much more to divulge, but the little voice inside my head is rambling so fast, even I can’t keep my thoughts straight. This happens quite frequently.
A repeated thought that does make sense? Surrender it all. I’m reminded to surrender myself, my worries, and all my “walls”, in order to completely let go and move forward. Talk about a full circle car ride, moment, life lesson, whatever you want to call it.
So, I love him and he loves me. We fight like cats and dogs, and we make up just as quickly. Can we say we’re passionate? That would certainly make me feel better. Sometimes I think I get too caught up in how I think we should be, instead of focusing on how we actually are. I don’t know.
I do know I tend to get caught up in fantasy worlds. No kidding, right? I love to read. So last night as my husband passed me, on the sofa, book in hand, and said, “How’s your book”? I almost didn’t hear him. Did he really just ask me about my book? This is seriously unchartered territory. He proceeds to ask me details about the story line, the plot. He thinks he’ll read it when I’m done. Excuse me?!? As random as this part of my post may be, it was just as random a moment in our marriage. But it clicked.
He is trying, he’s really trying, and he wants to read MY book, so he can connect with me. I’m astonished and dumbfounded all at the same time. In fact, I’m noticeably silent. He’s probably thankful for that. Perhaps, he’s realized that if he’s reading, I won’t be talking. There are many things I don’t have, but I do have a sense of humor, and I can live with that. Until next time…..

It's Time To Spice Things Up! Can You Help Us?

2009-11-28T15:09:00.006-05:00

The time has come. The end of month #1 (even though we only had 2 sessions this month), and we're ready to embark on a new adventure together. If you remember from our earlier posts, we promised to try something NEW together at the end of each month. This could be something as simple as dining out at a DIFFERENT restaurant, or maybe as easy as taking a walk together in a beautiful "new to us" setting. We don't know what we're rewarding ourselves with first ~ do you have any suggestions? Anything you can think of.... perhaps you've done it already, or maybe not. New ideas, fresh ideas are always welcome! Maybe you have a favorite date night you'd be willing to share? Can't wait to see what we come up with......

Flatulence Is FUN?!? 2 Counseling Sessions Down, 25 To Go!

2009-11-25T11:10:00.003-05:00

So we’ve already determined that we stink. We’ve forgotten how to dream. We’ve lost our individual identities and we’re simply co-existing. Sounds pretty depressing, doesn’t it? Well Ladies, I must say, since our first marriage counseling session was posted last week, my life has been an absolute whirlwind.
We may, in fact, stink. But a funny thing happened. When you start communicating, no matter how “big” or “small” the conversation, things start to change. Dynamics are different; you start to look at your partner in a new and refreshed light. Trust me, I needed that. Before this experiment, all I saw was someone I could hardly bare to think of spending the rest of my life with. Not because I don’t love him, but because I didn’t think we wanted the same things out of life. I questioned if we really wanted to grow old TOGETHER, or if we’d just grow old together. Do you understand the difference?
You see, many years ago, I fell head over heels in love. One month after we started dating, my husband asked my father for his permission to marry me. That’s right, one month. Two months after that, we were engaged. Today we are married with 2 children. Since our beginning, we’ve lived in 2 different apartments, bought and lived in 2 different houses, went from 2 incomes for 2 people, to 1 income for 4…. We like to mix it up. Are you rolling your eyes? Are you judging our impulsiveness? Do you think we acted too quickly? Hmmmm…. I can tell you with absolute conviction, that I would make all the same choices again.
I live for adventure. You won’t find me bungee jumping off any cliffs, but “emotional” adventure, passion, and romance is crucial to my wellbeing. I’m guessing we’re all a little “romantically starved” at some point. If you’re not, you just haven’t been married long enough.
As you age, you change. When you leave your 20’s, something happens. I love being in my 30’s, I look forward to my birthdays. Why wouldn’t I? But wouldn’t you agree, as you leave one decade and enter another, self examination takes a whole new form. We are constantly growing and evolving. At least we should be. I want to take a conscious role in figuring out my place and purpose in this world. As far as my marriage is concerned, I was beginning to think my husband was content to stay stagnant forever. To me, that thought was absolutely suffocating. I need to know I’m working towards “something”.
On the flip side, I do realize that nothing’s perfect. I’m not trying to change my husband. Only he can do that. The purpose of this experiment, was for both of us to examine ourselves. I truly believe that if you take a good hard look at yourself, if you begin to analyze your strengths, weaknesses, needs, and desires, and then take an active role in “perfecting” YOU, great things can happen for everyone involved.
For my “real life” friends who still don’t understand the purpose of this “experiment”, and certainly don’t understand my reasons for writing about it and making it “public”…. This is what I say: I’m sorry if you don’t think it’s appropriate. I’m sorry if you find it distasteful. I’m sorry if you’re incapable of opening up your minds and seeing the bigger, MUCH BIGGER, picture here. While I say “I’m sorry”, I’m only feeling “sorry” for YOU. I’m not apologizing for my choices. If you don’t want to support my decisions, okay, that’s your choice, we can still be friends. Two words of advice: STOP READING.
For my “online friends and followers”, WOW. Thank you for your support. Thank you for finding my life, my marriage, and my situation, relevant and worthwhile. You seem to understand that I’m not simply airing “dirty laundry”. This is LIFE, we ALL have our challenges. If people tell you they don’t, go ahead and laugh in their face. Of course they do! Denying something will NOT make it go away. I have watched too many people deny their feelings and shut down communication, putting up walls that are soon too high to climb and conquer. What’s wrong with taking a proactive stance and trying to PREVENT yourself from falling victim to the same lonely fate?
This last week has brought many things to light. Most importantly, I realized that my husband and I do share many things, we do want to evolve as a couple, and we are capable of change. Amazingly enough, my husband is already a little “lighter”. Counseling, at the dining room table, forced us to sit and look at each other, really focusing on the other person. It seems to have trickled down into everyday situations as well. Of course, the cynical side of me, can’t help but wonder when the “honeymoon phase” will end. But we’ll deal with that later.
Now, enough philosophy, let’s get back to real life. So how do we get back to “dreaming”? My solution, for counseling session #2, was to focus on positive thinking. Our task for the upcoming week is to remain positive at all times. I know what you’re thinking, that’s impossible, right? Of course I agree, but when you’re trying to break a cycle, sometimes you have to go to extremes. It’s amazing how negative we are and we don’t even know it. I’m so used to rolling my eyes when my husband says something. I mean, seriously, he says a lot of stupid stuff, and my eye rolling is programmed to autopilot. Most of the times he opens his mouth, I’m primed and ready with a sarcastic comment. But okay, let’s lift our glasses and toast to change! I can do this, for therapy’s sake, I WILL do this. Onward and upward….. and, in my case, “downward”, with a great glass (or bottle) of wine.
I’m ready for this, I’m anticipating positive bliss, and then I remember; Thanksgiving. Holidays, families, chaos, and painful reunions. How the heck am I supposed to do this for an entire week, surrounded by our ridiculously negative and neurotic families? I am now so sorry I had this idea, what was I thinking?!? I am also sorry I introduced “rubberbands” into the equation. No, not “rubbers”, although that would be much more interesting I’m sure! I’m talking about good old rubberbands. We are each wearing a rubberband on our wrist. The purpose of the rubberband is to inflict pain each time we express something negatively. A simple flick is to remind us to change our thought pattern. We need extreme, and I’m hoping this will help. Although now I realize, by the time we come back to therapy next week, we’ll probably both need stitches.
As we leave the dining room table, rubberbands on wrists, positive mantras in our heads, we both retreat to our usual sofa and recliner. You’re probably thinking we should be sitting together, cuddling, smooching, or the like, but General Hospital is ready to begin, and I need a break. As I watch my show, daydreaming about a rendezvous with a certain dangerous mobster (relax, it’s all make believe tv), I congratulate myself for having such blissful thoughts and wishes! I’m feeling pretty good, loving my life and this experiment, chuckling to myself as I glance at the rubberband wrapped around my wrist. Then I look at my husband. FANTASY OVER.
Sound asleep, hands in pants, mouth hanging open, drool dripping out, ridiculous sounds vibrating from his nose and mouth. Seriously?!? How do you go from wide awake, to THIS, in approximately 2 minutes? And why, WHY, do men feel the need to grope themselves every chance they get?
C’mon, our courtship may have been brief, but he certainly didn’t have his hands in his pants every time I turned around. While we’re at it, back then he also didn’t fart or burp around every corner, praising himself for the skill or ability it takes to create such unique sound patterns. Going #2, was done with the door closed, and TALKING ABOUT IT, just didn’t happen. Do I really need to know about this stuff? Are men really proud of it, I don’t get it. In fact, I find it utterly disgusting.
Now, let me warn you. If you don’t like poop, don’t read any further. For some, it may be raunchy, for me, this is life. If you’re a parent, you’ve got to appreciate it. If you don’t, I apologize, but I question what planet you live on.
I have 2 girls. Two little princesses who love dolls, dress up, and all things girly. In addition, they also love the “pull my finger game”, and farting in our puppy’s face just to see if he’ll follow the smell. Some may say I should laugh along. I’ve tried. I continue to try. But I don’t enjoy offensive smells, and I don’t take pride in creating them.
I also can’t understand why my 3 Musketeers (husband and 2 children) enjoy playing a game they call “trapped”. Whenever 1 Musketeer has to engage in a #2 bathroom calling, they yell the word “trapped”. The other 2 Musketeers then make their way into the ½ bathroom ( I assume because it’s the smallest, therefore better to be “trapped” in), close the door, turn off the light, and “trap” themselves, seeing how long they can survive in the other Musketeer’s smell. I’m hoping you’re as utterly repulsed by this as I am. This is my family. These are the people I’m supposed to be positive around. I think they have psychological issues. WHY would anyone think this was fun and willingly engage in it?!?
As I write this, my daughter just informed me she pooped. Our stars must be aligned. Maybe this is the Universe’s way of telling me to “lighten up”. Excuse me while I go take care of business. I enjoy identifying shapes in the clouds, but I will never enjoy identifying them in the matter that ends up in my toilet.
At times I feel like my husband tricked me. The man I fell in love with wrote me love letters, poems, and songs. Fresh flowers were in constant supply, Spongebob Squarepants didn’t exist. You probably won’t believe this, but I assure you, it’s true. My second little angel just informed me of her latest creation, a dancing carrot, spinning in the bottom of the toilet bowl. Okay, I get it. You’ve made your point. Somebody up above is laughing pretty hard right about now.
Bathroom antics aside, I need to refocus. I’ve got an assignment this week, and I have to stick to it. We’re leaving in a couple hours for our Thanksgiving trek, (in case you noticed, therapy was one day earlier this week due to our travels), and if I don’t change my thought process, I’ll never survive.
By the time you hear from me next week, you won’t recognize me. Positive thinking all the way! I don’t have a choice, my wrist is already red. I did have a good morning though.
As the alarm went off at 5:30 am, I gave my hubby his usual kick to wake him up. Rolling over, proclaiming his hatred for teacher in-service days, I slyly inched up behind him, flicking his wrist so hard you would’ve thought his underwear was on fire! Completely irritated, he looked back at me and started to say, “What the hell was that for?”
He didn’t have a chance to finish though, because as the profanity slipped from his mouth, I snuck in another flick of his wrist. Getting the point, and grabbing his clothes, he went downstairs, got dressed, and left without our usual groggy good-bye. I realize I may have dug myself a nice little grave. No, we did not grant each other permission to flick the other person’s wrist. That could get ugly. But I couldn’t help it, and yes, it was absolutely worth it. Here’s to a wonderful week, a fantastic holiday, and mutual, consensual flicking. Until next time…….

1 Down, 26 To Go!

2009-11-19T17:27:00.001-05:00

Okay People. Let me tell you how you DON’T want your day to go. You know, the day that is to be the “first day of the rest of your lives together”, as I so naively stated in my introductory blog. I couldn’t wait for our first counseling session. I woke up loving life and this whole blogging thing. I joined my first “mommy” networking / blogging group, I even made some friends and received some comments, I felt so special!

Before I go any further, let me just say that I didn’t intend for this post to be so long. However, in order for you to fully understand my frustrations, it simply had to be.

Honestly, at first, my day was progressing quite nicely. Then I sat down at my computer, visited my “mommy group”, and found out I’d been kicked off their site! That’s right. Flagged, barred, whatever you wanna call it. I was very confused.

I contacted customer service, and they confirmed I’d been kicked off, purposely. They said I was inappropriately advertising. What?!? My feelings were really hurt. Have to be honest, I was crushed. Now, I’m just curious, but how can I be inappropriately advertising, if I’m not selling anything? Yes, I posted about my experiment, and about my blog. Isn’t that the point of a “networking” group? Isn’t that the point of a blog? Don’t you want to be able to connect with people with shared interests and lives?

Oh well, onward and upward, right? So I found another networking group. I think some of you found me there. Thank you. You did lift my spirits. At this point, I’m getting myself excited again about the beginning of My Marriage Experiment.

I move out to the kitchen to do the dishes; not because I’m getting dinner ready, but because in order to have any possible way of finding the counter and getting some food on our little people’s plates; I need to do the dishes. Meanwhile, my husband arrives home from work, makes his way to the recliner, plopping down with laptop in hand, while the girls continue to play in the living room.

Before long, I hear screaming. Angry, ferocious screaming. I didn’t know my children could be this intentionally mean. Since I’ve decided to ignore it, the ridiculous screaming behavior continues for quite some time. Then they begin the chasing. As they chase each other in circles, they somehow wind up right smack behind me at the sink, each one holding a different leg. At least they’re quiet, so I don’t even say a word. That is, until the kicking starts. My girls are physically abusing one another, and now my tired, soft, and aching body is stuck in the crossfire. I’ve had enough.

As I pull them both, arms dangling, legs dragging, to opposite ends of the sofa, my husband has the nerve to inform me that I don’t need to punish them both. Yes, he says, it’s really only our oldest’s fault. Fuming, I inform him, that if he would’ve put down his computer, and gotten off his patootie, he could’ve helped prevent the entire situation! Sound familiar? ANYONE?

Well, since we’re on it, I may as well let you know his reasons for being totally oblivious to his parental responsibilities, and putting his laptop ahead of his children’s safety and their mother’s sanity. He was trying to figure out why our checking account balance is NEGATIVE. How did THAT happen? Listen, I know it wasn’t me, and I just can’t help but rub that simple truth in his face. You see, Ladies, when you live on a budget, CASH is your friend. Whatever kind of shopping I do, is done with cash. I know exactly how much I have, and I know exactly when it’s gone. Even if that means taking a calculator to the grocery store.

So now, our two biggest stressors, FINANCES and KIDS, are rearing their ugly heads. Great. The perfect precursor for, what did I say? Oh yeah, the first day of the rest of our lives together. But wait, I’m not done yet.

I did manage to get the girls dinner, and they did return to normal, likeable children. So why is my husband putting his shoes on? It’s 6:50pm, counseling starts at 8:30pm, and the girls are ready for a bath…. WHAT IS HE DOING?!?

He’s going to a meeting. A baseball booster club meeting. I may not be the smartest cookie in the batch, but I do know that baseball starts in the SPRING, and it is currently NOVEMBER. More importantly, WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THIS?

Don’t worry, he tells me. It won’t take very long, he’ll be back in plenty of time for “relationship school”. He then claims, “I put it on the calendar”. Does he not know by now that on any given day I’m going by at least 3 or 4 different calendars, each with their own purpose? It wasn’t on any calendar I was looking at! Perhaps I’ll pencil in “gone to the beach”. I have no problem disappearing for a few days if I can justify it all with, “it’s on the calendar”.

As you’ve probably guessed, my husband was NOT home at 8:30. He did manage to call and say he was sorry and he shouldn’t be too much longer. Well, as you very well know, THAT makes it all better. He wasn’t home at 9:30 either.

Now, I still haven’t eaten dinner. Of course I could eat, and you’re probably wondering why I haven’t. At this point, I am in my pajamas, on the sofa, puppy on lap, book in hand; and I refuse to get up. I am taking this “marriage experiment” very seriously, and regardless of the night’s events, I still want us to eat dinner together. Yes, I’m stupid.

It is now 10:00pm. One pitiful husband walks in the door, one pot of soup simmers on the stove, and one pissed off wife makes her way to the dining room table. Let the games begin….

Normally I would’ve given up and gone to bed. My husband’s not a quitter, but I certainly am. I am loyal to people, but projects, I am not. I have started and stopped so many things over the years, it’s impossible to keep track. Just once, I decide, I am going to FINISH. Besides, in my vindictive, racing mind; he will absolutely NOT get out of this that easily.

So I take a few steps back, do some very deep breathing (you might have thought I was in labor), and decide to start the night anew. Are you screaming at me yet?

The topic for our first “discussion”; DREAMS, GOALS, AMBITIONS….. What do we want out of life? How do we want our relationship to unfold? Assuming we are lucky enough to live long and healthy lives, where do we want to be in another thirty-some years? You see, when you’re “stuck-in-a-rut”, it’s so easy to get caught up in the daily grind and forget how to dream. I happen to believe with all of my being that if you aren’t committed to having dreams, it is impossible for them to come true.

So we each take a sheet of paper. Our assignment? Create a dream poster. Use pictures, words, anything we want, to describe the life of our “dreams”. We’d then switch posters and take a peek at our spouse’s “dream life”, exchanging ideas, hopes, and goals; anything to re-open the doors to honest communication and hopefully, broaden our horizons. It is, after all, just the beginning.

Let me tell you something. As simple as that sounds, it is actually not so easy to sit down, face to face with your spouse, no kids or distractions around, and have a meaningful, philosophical, life-purpose conversation. I did figure something out though. We stink.

That’s right, we stink, and more importantly, we’ve forgotten how to DREAM. We did the posters, we followed the “rules”, but after we were done, I looked at mine and realized, I didn’t even like what I drew! We had some things in common – one such thing being “Disneyworld.” Okay, fine enough. We want to take our girls to a theme park. What happened here? We’re stuck, we’re surviving, and when did “Disneyworld” become my life’s most treasured purpose and dream?!? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do something so fun and family oriented, but if that’s all the bigger we can dream, we are definitely in for a long and bumpy road.

And by the way, what happened to me? I’m a dreamer. I daydream everyday. Just last week I was strolling along sipping the most fantabulous wine in a breathtaking vineyard in France. At times I am walking alone. Other times a somewhat mysterious French man accompanies me. Be honest, you imagine these things too…. If you don’t, you should.

This first night, our first experiment, brought to light the depths of our detachment. Detachment, not really from each other (although that is true), but really a detachment from LIFE. In a sense, we’ve lost our identities. I fear this is common among you, my current and potential followers?

The good news is; it doesn’t have to be this way. We can reawaken ourselves. In fact, I’m very proud that in spite of the circumstances, my husband and I did sit down together and “start”. So all in all, Session #1 was a success. Plus, we decided to add a little something extra. I need motivation, and that is one point of this blog. Knowing there are others, hopefully, reading and following our saga, makes me want to stick to this. But we, as a couple, need motivation. So we’ve decided to reward ourselves for all our work. Assuming we stick to our schedule, at the completion of each month, we’re going to do something together that we’ve never done before. It doesn’t have to be fantastically exciting, it can simply be a walk around the block. Perhaps dinner at a DIFFERENT restaurant, or maybe Guitar Hero in the basement. It doesn’t matter “what”, just as long as it’s new to “us”.

So we did attend “counseling” and we did start talking. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, isn’t that what mothers do? At least we were both in good enough moods when we finished. According to my husband, “good enough”, should translate to a “late night tryst.” Boy, this man has a lot to learn.

I don’t know if we accomplished anything, but one day at time…one day at a time…. I look forward to the upcoming week and our next session. To get ready for it, I will keep examining myself, reflecting on life. You can’t change someone else, but you absolutely can change yourself.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I’m sure your eyes are tired and you’re ready to go, so again, I apologize for this long and tiresome blog. I certainly hope they won’t all be like this. Until next time……..

Average, Stuck-In-A-Rut Couple Seeking Phenomenal, Fantastic Marriage...Does It Really Exist?

2009-11-17T21:59:00.003-05:00

Monotony, boredom, excuses, and blame; this is not the life I signed up for. Insecurity, self-doubt, financial hardship, and despair; not exactly what I had in mind. Excitement, adventure, passion, and love; yes, that’s what I meant, that’s absolutely what I want.
In all fairness, I’m sure my husband didn’t expect to marry a loony bird wife either. Up down, high low, scattered and erratic; yeah, not the way he intended to roll. But that’s where we’re at, and that’s why we’re here.
Welcome to our very own “Marriage Experiment”. Six months of our lives (we’ll probably need more), devoted to transforming ourselves as individuals and as a couple. We want to succeed, we don’t want to be a statistic, and you have a front row seat. Who knows, maybe you feel the same way? Maybe we can help each other? Boy, this is overwhelming. This task is huge.
I have a feeling this won’t be easy. We can’t afford counseling or therapy. That’s no excuse. When you decide to really take control of your life, your path, your destiny…sometimes you have to think “outside the box”.
Our “outside the box” therapy sessions will be held every Wednesday night, 8:30pm…..at our dining room table. Therapy, or “lessons”, to be led by us! Come on, we’re both teachers, at least we used to be. We’ve written so many lesson plans, we should be able to do it in our sleep. The topic for each week? Well I guess we’ll have to see where this goes. The first step is just simply reopening the door to communication. We may just sit at the table and laugh at each other. Would that be so bad? A good laugh is always therapeutic.
My husband has obviously agreed to this experiment. We’ve watched both sets of our parents destroy and tear each other apart. We’ve been the children involved, we know how it feels. A long time ago we vowed we would never do that to each other or our kids. The time has come. Now we put our money where our mouth is, and get to work.
This may get so good, I might even have to miss General Hospital. Yes, the soap opera. Yes, I watch it every night at 10pm on SoapNet. It is totally my guilty pleasure. I do love good old Port Charles, Jason Morgan, Sonny Corinthos, and of course, the legendary Luke Spencer…….but if it really comes down to it fellas, I gotta choose my husband.
I am not a writer. I am also not a therapist. I am simply an average American woman, leading a very average life. Here’s the problem; I don’t like average. Never have, and by now I definitely know, I never will.
My husband and I are both thirty-something, married 7 ½ years, 2 adorable little girls, a small home in a nice suburban town, cute little puppy, an aquarium filled with 5 fish that are, unfortunately, still alive from the county fair…. He’s a teacher and coach at the local high school, I’m a former teacher turned full-time mom, part-time everything else. Many people would say we’re lucky. And yes, there are many parts of my life that I’m thankful for. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my life and the experiences I’ve had. I know my problems pale in comparison to the problems many others face. I have a good life.
The problem is; I want more. Good is nice, but GREAT would be better. I want to feel like I’m truly LIVING my life, and not just SURVIVING someone else’s. I want to do this with my husband, with my family. But first, we need help.
We’ve drifted apart. It happens. He goes to work; I throw myself into our kids. He comes home too exhausted for any kind of emotional bonding or talk. All I want to do is reconnect. All he wants to do is relax. As you can probably guess, relaxation, in my husband’s mind, does not involve an in depth conversation about the universe and our place in it. So we do our own thing, working our way through the evening and into the night, passing by each other, until it’s time for bed. We might be intimate, we might not. We will definitely turn on reruns of Seinfeld and Friends. We’ll fall asleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat……
If I had a choice would I be so boring?!? Of course not! But I do have a choice, and why did it take me so long to remember that? Have I been that detached? Why didn’t somebody, ANYBODY, tell me to wake up?!? Why? The answer’s quite simple. So many of us feel this way. So many of us have simply accepted the place that we’re at, good or bad, and we’ve decided this is it. We probably don’t even realize anymore that we possess the power to change.
I’m hoping that by writing and blogging (I still don’t even understand how this works), I’ll be helping our cause. You have to understand, I just learned how to text a couple months ago. I don’t use social networking sites, I don’t even know what Twitter is. Tweet someone? Are you kidding? Sounds kinda perverted to me.
Maybe my writing will help me really examine myself; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Maybe someday my girls will read this and laugh. At any rate, this should be interesting! I must admit, I can hardly contain my excitement! I do love a challenge, and if you knew my husband, you’d be in hysterics right now. A challenge? Yes, he’s a challenge. But he’s a good man, loyal to a fault, and a wonderful father.
Our first session is tomorrow night. Wednesday, November 18th, 2009. Mark your calendars, the first day of truly the rest of our lives together. Maybe. Or I guess we could end up tearing each other apart. Hmmm, I guess we’ll see.
The first topic? Dreams, goals, ambitions……. You know, those things we used to think about? The driving force and motivation behind change. The reasons you strive for more. The part of your life you forget and leave behind when you’re stuck-in-a-rut, detached, emotionally and spiritually empty.
Yes, this will be a challenge. Will we fully embrace this experiment, this phase of our relationship? Or will we crash and burn? This should be good. No, let me rephrase that. This has the potential to be GREAT. Let the games begin…..