Condo Livin' is for the Birds

....Or so I thought.

So, we short sold that house and moved on out.  We made it to Pike Creek; a city long lusted after by my hubster and me.  Ever since we signed our oldest lil dude up for The Little Gym out this way years ago, we mutually decided that this area is nice during our drives to his weekly classes.  The condensed version of how we really ended up here is we a) were underwater big time in our mortgage on the small ranch in Newark we owned and wanted OUT b) have a kid beginning Kindergarten this Fall and desperately wanted him out of our old crappy school district and into one of our state’s top ranking elementary schools and c) the area’s got a good rep.

After narrowing down the long and arduous process of figuring out where the heck we were going to move our lil family to, we opted for condo renting.  We’d tossed around the idea of renting a house, but I’m just not keen on the idea of maintaining someone else’s home for them.  The thought of paying for all utilities, garbage removal, heating, cooling lawn maintenance and everything in between on a home we wouldn’t own didn’t seem such a great idea to me.  It meant to me that we’d still have all of the bills and stresses we’d already had, only on another owner’s house.  It also meant less money allocated to paying down our non secure debts and paying into our savings.  Not too appealing….

John and I agreed to give this new city and new school a go, and “slum it” for a little bit.  (My husband’s term, although I’d hardly say we’re doing that and am well aware that there’s plenty of folks out there living in “slummy” conditions, so I’m not trying to offend anyone here…)  Simply put, we’re forgoing all of the bills a single family house brings with it, keeping our paid off vehicles, and scaling back on our spending.  We’re in a lovely condo- about the size of our previous home.  It actually feels more spacious to me given the high vaulted ceilings and the layout. With a cheap monthly rent and tons of inclusive utilities and ammenities.  And, I’m surprised to find that I’m really, really liking it here!  John… eh.  Not as much.  And oddly enough, for all of the reasons that I DO like it. 

I am NOT a yard person.  Sure I like being outdoors.  I love bike riding, pools, running around with the kids and our pooch.  All that stuff is fun.  But I hardly ever did those things in my own yard.  I was always packing them up into the truck and heading for play dates and parks and indoor game places.  Furthermore, the time and energy John spent on that damn lawn could have been better spent with me and our kids. 

We see him little enough with the work hours he’s gone for.  It used to bug the bejesus out of me when he’d be gone all day at the office, only to come home and tell me he’d eat the dinner I’d made for him later because he’s “got to get out there and start on the grass before it gets too late”.  “WTH, doode?  Like, I haven’t had adult conversation or interaction all day long.  Been waitin’ on your behind to get home for hours, chit-chat with me, help me with these crazy little people, and I even cooked you this dead animal dish *(Reminder, Vegetarian here!), and off you go to spend our precious time together working on the yaaard?....”  Nope.  I was not shaping out to be the happy camper I thought I’d be when I first laid eye on that spacious, green back yard.   And. It.  Took.  Hours.  Sometimes, even long after I’d bathed the boys and had them in bed, good ole Lawn Boy would enter the house hot, sweaty and stinky from the dark outside……… only to tell me he’d have to FINISH UP TOMORROW!  “Uhh, ‘scuse me?!”  ….. Pfft.  Moral of story: Lawns are overrated!  Lest I mention the ants, the bees, the toys that the kids left out all over the lawn I’d have to continuously walk around to pick up, the dog poo NOT picked up, the huge scary trees that swayed so much in the storms we’d be frightened of them crashing down on the roof and which left gigantic branches all over the yard to be gathered and piled in the corner for burning.  I’d been over this lawn care business for a long time. 

Not to mention the nosey neighbors, and the crazy ones who’d always ask to borrow things.  The trash men leaving our garbage can in the middle of the damn driveway causing me to cruise across the lawn sometimes to get into the drive.  The flower beds that never took off, and the vegetable gardens that rodents and bugs got to.  Pulling weeds and spraying killer on the side walk in front of the house, and shoveling the snow from our driveway and sidewalk as well as our elderly neighbors.  None of that was too enjoyable for me; have to admit.

Forward to not having to deal with any of that.  Can you envision my smiling face?  Ahh.  Maintenance guys take care of it all- and our surrounding shrubbery here is far more pleasing to the eye than anything we’d ever mustered up.  When something’s broke- they fix it.  “They” meaning the people we hire, like the plumber who came out this morning to replace a cracked pipe in the hall bathroom sink, and our landlord foots the bill.  Did I mention our landlord is completely awesome?  Yep, she is.  A single lady who purchased this place about four years ago, got transferred by her employer half way across the country, and is renting just because she doesn’t want to take the financial loss with selling in this market.  To be more clear: A landlord who is NOT AROUND.  Who is busy with her own life, happening miles away from us.  And who enjoys communicating minimally, preferably via email, and who allows us to take care of whatever we need to and send the bill her way.  I’m hesitant to even put this out there into the Universe, less I jinx it, but I do believe we’ve hit the jackpot here!  She even asked US to choose the paint colors for EACH room before moving in, and hired painters to make it happen for us.  I sure as heck can’t complain……….. And it sure as heck doesn’t feel like “slumming it”.

So, the problem?  None here.  Other than maybe I fear I’m enjoying this too much.  I know that John wants to have a home and a yard and projects to work on together.  He envisions purchasing a home in the near future, and gutting it.  He wants trampolines, and pools, and grass.  I thought I’d wanted that too.  I even thought just before moving here that maybe, just maybe I’d made a grave mistake.  That we may be miserable here, and that this lifestyle change would be a rough adjustment.  How crazy was it for me to realize that I like smaller spaces.  Less cleaning, less clutter, less responsibility.  The “American Dream” was drilled into our heads since birth- home ownership and all that comes with it: bar-b-q’s, big family dinners, swing sets.  Only I had the humongous kitchen, and huge hard, and the monthly mortgage to prove home ownership and didn’t really enjoy any of it.  It’s just not who I am, who we are.  We’re less “sit around the grill and fire pit” kind of folks, and more “sit inside the air conditioned living room playing games with your alcoholic beverage” kind of peeps.  Or better, “Always on the go” folks.  I’d rather spend my afternoon running around town than knee deep in dirt working on a flower bed.  I’d rather have one small hall to cross come laundry time, than lugging baskets across an entire house or up and down stairs.  I’d prefer to swiffer for five minutes, versus the half hour plus it used to take me.  I’m beginning to think that the dream of a big beautiful home to own is…..  for the birds!

The kids are happy.  The dog’s adjusted.  (And, by the way, totally loves the hell out of the awesome new dog park right down the road!)  And things are good right now.  (There was a crazy downstairs neighbor issue for the first month and a half, but even that worked out.  The nutty biatch up and moved away!)

So, for now…  My mentality is, if it ain’t broke- don’t fix it.  I’m content to sit tight right where I’m at and focus on the many other issues of vast importance that fill my plate these days. (Like both boys beginning school next week, for instance.)

Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.  Who knew this would be an ongoing learning opportunity?  So many lessons, really.  All of the time I spent worrying about our impending move here- a waste.  Sure makes this mantra prove pretty darn true, huh? 

And some times, what you think you want isn’t what you really want.  Sometimes it’s good to let go of old ideas, ones that maybe weren’t even your own to begin with, and open up your mind to something different and new.  I’ve learned that what I saw on Oprah one day when she visited Denmark and reported that the people there are overall generally happier and more content than their global counterparts, because they follow this motto “Less space, less things, more living” is actually true.  (Well, that and the Danes in general take life slower, have more assistance from their government, and focus more on the family and environment- leaving work earlier than we do to be together, and biking everywhere for instance.)  For me, I can see clearly now that the “American mentalities” that had been fed to me from every angle don’t even truly jive with what makes me happy.  Not at this moment in time, anyway.  No new car payment, high mortgage bill, or fancy anything has ever brought me the peace of mind I’ve found here in this lil condo with my dwindling debt and extra family time.

For the birds^ 

So, for now at least, Condo livin’ is gooood.  And it’s so surprising to me, still, that I would even say that.  What a pleasant surprise!  A welcome lesson in life this time that didn’t include some kind of painful endurance, struggle, or fight to figure out.  A lesson this lil condo tucked away in the hills and trees of Northern Delaware has taught me.  We never do know what unexpected pleasantries and lessons life has to offer us.  

And!  Not all lessons have to be hard learned- and that’s another lesson unto itself right there!

Images found @:

myfreewallpapers.net

http://www.searchquotes.com/viewimage/The_Reason_People_Find_It_Hard_To_Be_Happy/91/

martindaveyillustration.co.uk  

There’s a poem I came across quite a long while ago that seemed to really resonate with the people I’d shared it with.  I don’t know where it originated, or who wrote it- but it’s lovely and uplifting.  I’m choosing to share it here now, because times are tough for a lot of folks.  Lives are ending, marriages dissolving, homes foreclosing, jobs being lost, and many other trials in between.  It’s important not to lose hope, because it will pass.  Just as other difficult times have.  So this post is for everyone going through something difficult, including myself and my family.

As many times as you’ve been down and out, tears falling from your eyes, and grappling with the harsh realities that have befallen you with heart heavy in chest, you made it through.  Recall the occasions that came next.  After the tears have dried, and the pain diminished, came laughter, smiles and hope.  Brighter days followed, whether it was soon after, or a long time coming.  It got better. 

No matter what sadness, hurt, disappointment, anguish, anxiety, or stress you felt- none of it lasted.  Time moves on, and with it comes light and happiness.  The birth of children, the mending of relations, and opportunity of new jobs, new loves, new friends, new homes, new happy experiences and memories…

New lives evolve out of the situations we endure and conquer.

You grow from the adversity you experience.  Insight is gained, maturity honed, lessons learned.  In the end, everything is A. Okay. Even if it's difficult to believe right now at this moment you find yourself in. 

Here’s a lovely, rhyming reminder of just that:

Don't You Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit-

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a fellow turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out.

Don't give up though the pace seems slow -

You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the struggler has given up

When he might have captured the victor's cup;

And he learned too late when the night came down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -

The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It might be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -

It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

All Because Two People Fell in Love

These words hang above a door in my kitchen, on a decorated wooden plaque.  A gift from my mother.  She’s given me so much, I can’t remember if it’s an anniversary present, or simply something she found during one of her shopping travels and thought that I would like.  It matches nicely with the colors of the room, and it fits perfectly- as though it were measured and made for the sole purpose of hanging in that space. 

Time passed, and I barely noticed it there anymore.  After all, it hangs above the door to the laundry room, a place I try regularly to avoid.  But one day I glanced up from my end of our long wooden dinner table.  The words glared back at me.  It was during a tough time in my marriage, and upon reading the sign in that moment I felt a sense of fakeness.  I’d suddenly wished I had never hung it up.  It read like a lie:  “This couple, this family, this home… all of it, because two people first fell madly in love.”  What a fraud I was.  That’s not how our story read at all.

We aren’t your typical romance story.  He didn’t pursue and woo me at first sight.  No long courtship ensued.  There was no head over heels feeling, or moment of knowing that he was “The One”.  I’d had the pursuing and the wooing.  I’d become engaged to it, and planned a wedding with it.  Then, I left it.  And that’s when I met my husband. 

Random chance put us side by side at a work meeting.  All of the details leading up to the morning of our meeting seemed the Universe’s attempt at keeping us apart.  I was sent to a location a long drive South, only to find out upon arrival that the training class had been moved last minute, to a location far North.  Somehow, this information never made its way to me- not through office email or my manager.  I waited around a bit, for word from my superiors as to whether I should attend this already in session training incredibly late, or head on back to the office and catch the next training happening a week later.  The decision was made to have me attend, beyond tardy.  Back into my silver coupe I hopped, tunes playing, for a two hour drive back the direction from which I’d just come.  It was a bright and beautiful September day….  I took my time on that long stretch of Route 1 North, and into the city of Wilmington.

The only seat left for me was directly next to him.  His dimples were sweet and the sparkle in his bright blue eyes was reminiscent of the brilliant blue fall sky I’d appreciated on my drive up that morning.  I took notice almost immediately.  His endearing chuckle and broad chest also grabbed my attention.  So too, did his gaughty yellow gold watch.  We’re both pretty outgoing, and having to spend hours in a training class over the course of several days together lead to conversation and laughter.  “Sense of humor, check.” But, he smoked, was a Dallas Cowboys football fan, and had an apparent tacky taste in accessories.  “Triple No-Check.” Throw in the fact that I was sort of seeing a rebound guy after my engagement ended with the good ole high school sweetheart, and wasn’t even looking…  Mere attraction wasn’t enough for us to make any moves on one another and I doubted I’d even see him again.  I still think back on this day sometimes and wonder how we ever ended up together.   How could I have possibly known that I’d just met my husband and future father of my children?....

More time passed.  We had another training course together, ironically at the location I’d initially gone to the last time.  I was surprised at myself that I was excited to see him there when I walked into the room.  And I was sorry that he was already seated with others next to him.  There came a point in that class where we were instructed to pair up and “role play” a situation.  A tall, lanky and tremendously dorky man in his late thirties eagerly jumped up and asked if I’d be his partner.  “Damn.”  This guy was pretty high up in the banking world, and worked for an office a good distance away from mine.  He somehow finagled his way into insisting I take his business card in case I ever had any ‘questions’ that he could be helpful in answering for me and I gave him mine.  (I never called.  He, on the other hand, did.  And left a cringe worthy voice mail after several failed attempts to reach me, as well as a few creepy emails.  I eventually had to tell him, very nicely, to lose my card.) 

After this class, we corresponded via company email a bit here and there.  Until before I knew it, it was every day.  At the end of our shifts, we’d find ourselves typing things like “talk to ya tomorrow.”  He was in another building, in another city, so there was no office “walk by’s” or anything like that optional.  I’d gone on a few dates here and there with a guy who worked in pharmaceuticals, and a couple first and last dates with two others.  Nothing at all serious and I still thought of him often.  Finally, one day I either invited him along to a local restaurant bar where I had plans with a girlfriend of mine, or he invited himself.  Either way, I can still recall with striking detail the moment he came strutting through the door.  Black bomber jacket.  “Is this 1988?”  Fashion fail and all, he looked cute as could be!  Those dimples, and those eyes immediately drew my gaze away from that leather disaster, and we spent the night talking, laughing and drinking Sicilian Kisses shots with my girlfriend and a group of her coworkers at a bustling college town bar.  My next email the following Monday, would be more than just friendly, as he complimented me on my appearance the other night.  I may not have been wearing a coat stolen from Tom Cruise in ‘Top Gun’ (sans the patches), but I certainly wasn’t looking my best.  I still remember having my hair in a bun, and I recall exactly what I’d been wearing: a blue and yellow sweater, blue jeans, and white sneakers.  Naïve me had no clue that this “restaurant” turned into a happening bar once the clock struck 9:00, and after I’d finished dinner with my friend and we made our way to the bar area, all around me I was surrounded by stiletto heels, miniskirts and halters tops.  (Regardless of the fact that it was a freezing cold January night.)  In any event, a few more emails exchanged, and I asked him outright if he was flirting with me.  His cheeky response gave me my answer.

We hung out as friends, but there was no denying our attraction to one another.  One night while dropping me off at my parent’s home, he gave me the quickest kiss on the lips.  It startled me, as we’d always remained strictly platonic, and my reaction seemed to offend him.  It was then that I realized we were fooling no one by pretending nothing was there, and I pulled him back in for a do-over.  From there we saw each other just about every single day.  I club hopped with this seasoned “bad boy”, more than I’d ever gone clubbing before.  In fact, he was the only reason I went.  When our dates didn’t consist of dancing and drinking, we watched movies, talked about our families, and I introduced him to mine even though I was hesitant to meet his.  Things progressed quickly, and I was the happiest I’d been in quite some time….  Long story short, we found out I was pregnant on April 27^th, 2006.  All of that “attraction” and bar hopping together had led us straight down the fast track to parenthood. 

That night we decided that as crazy as it seemed, we would be a family.  Looking back, we were strangers at best.  But we came from similar family backgrounds: our heritage, our values, our beliefs and our ideas on what we wanted for our family and for this baby were all aligned.  In a whirlwind of events we bought a house, married, and welcomed two baby boys within one year’s time.  Our first son was born in December, and his younger brother came in November of 2007. 

Writing this today, I realize that the sign that hangs in my kitchen could not be any truer of me and my family.  Against all odds, here we are.  We’d never have made it this far without love.  A strong, authentic, overwhelming, binding kind of love. 

Ours is a love not of tradition, or romance- but of dedication, and faith.  We took a leap of faith and placed all bets on one another because of our love for our unborn child and the goodness we saw in each other.  We continue to dedicate ourselves to one another and our children, because of a kind of love neither of us had ever known until we became “us”.  On our journey together, we struggled emotionally, and financially, but in the face of adversity we fought.  We fought for love.  We lost who we were and found who we were meant to be, because of love.  We continue to fight for this love we’ve created.  Because it’s a love worth fighting for.

So, no, our love is not the ideal kind that you envision for yourself or for your children, or one that the fairy tales depict.  We may have met as colleagues, married as virtual strangers, and fallen in love with one another along the way.  But it just so happens, that despite the way our love has come about, it’s the most brilliant kind of love I have ever experienced.  And I know with a strange certainty that we cherish each other in ways that we couldn’t possibly any other.  This love we’ve got has grown and has strengthened in ways I have not seen in any other relationship.  And it continues to grow.  Our marriage, our family, this house we’ve made into a home:  Indeed, it is all because two people fell in love…..



Unpredictable Chaotic Bliss

You never know what the day will bring.  Even with the predictability of being a stay home mom of two toddlers, this is true.  While I must admit our “adventures” are limited.  (Say like… to the park, grocery market, or nearest Chic fil A play area.)  There are still a plethora of places and situations one can find herself in when she’s running around with little kids as sidekicks.  The randomness of being a parent of young kids is constant.   You wake up thinking you’ll scramble some eggs and bacon, and instead its pancakes and sausage they want.  Sure, this is one miniscule example.  But this is just the first five minutes of your day.  You believe you’re ahead of the game with their outfits picked out the night before, only to be met with pouty lips, and watery eyes because it’s the wrong shirt you’ve chosen.  (You pick and choose your battles, but with just fifteen minutes left to get to preschool, I’d be willing to bet you’d swap that striped shirt for the Batman one, too.   You’d probably also feed your kid whatever it is (within reason) that will get him to eat, just so that you can follow through with brushing of the teeth and the hair, doing the dressing, the putting on of the socks and shoes, the back pack, etcetera etcetera etcetera – just to get out of the freaking door!)  Then….. someone’s got to poop.  ALWAYS!  Poop never ceases to come at the most inopportune times!  Just before the movie starts at the theatre, right as you’re about to stuff that fork full of pasta fasul into your mouth, and always when you’re rushing out the door to get somewhere on time!  So, after doing his business and, attempting to wipe the tushy himself, he flushes the poo along with twenty pounds of toilet paper, causing the toilet to over flow- soaking more than just the floor.  Time to pick out a third shirt, and grab your good towels to clean up the stinky, soaking wet mess happening on the bathroom floor.  (Because the good towels are the closest to you and because the only things you care about right now is trying to NOT be locked out of the preschool building.)   All in a weekday morning!  See?  Hectic situations ensue on a daily basis with these tiny, chaotic people.  Schedule things?  Ha!  The very idea of scheduling laughs in my face.

How about you’re rolling along the highway at 60 miles per hour heading to a doctor’s appointment, when one of your kids projectile vomits.  The flowing liquid in the rear view mirror catches the corner of your eye, and the screams or horror from his sibling next to him render you so off guard that it triggers your foot to slam on the brake.  In doing so, the airborne mass of disgustingness propels forward at an even higher velocity, covering your face just as you turn backwards to see what exactly this disgusting looking levitated matter is.  Now you’re swerving off the road, where you vehicular manslaughter a baby turtle, and narrowly miss a billboard sign for some kind of erectile dysfunction medication in the middle of Interstate 95, wondering what the heck happened, and how the hell you’ll ever be able to afford the nine hundred dollar ticket for reckless driving you now have because the cop who came to your aid is single and childless and has no sympathy whatsoever for what you’ve just gone through! 

No.  This did not really happen to me.  But it’s entirely possible, give the fact that kids are so damn unpredictable and have a knack for making things happen that you couldn’t have possibly foreseen in a million years. 

And oh the questions I’m faced with explaining to these inquisitive boys and the things we get into because of those incessant inquiries.  It’s a domino effect, and there’s no end in sight!  This morning, for instance, I found myself answering the question from my four year old as to why some people call the beach the desert.  Undoubtedly a question brought on by some cartoon episode I had entertaining the kids while I attempted to cook breakfast.  (Who says tv doesn’t teach?)  Out came the laptop, up came the Google screen, and in a nano second there was a map of the US, which aided me tremendously in my explanation of how sand without the ocean is not a beach.  ….Whiiiich brought us to finger painting pictures of the sand and surf per the kids’ requests.  A filthy kitchen, two color-covered little dudes, and a whopping mess of paint, papers, brushes, toilet paper rolls and plates later…. I’m exhausted, and I’ve spent my whole morning and afternoon doing something that I didn’t anticipate I’d be doing when I awoke this morning.  This, of course, means that I got nothing else of any importance done today. Like, organizing the bills (Me?  Organized? Ha!), calling to have some erroneous charge removed from my checking account (PI work, aka those dang websites claiming free trials to look up legal documents on people but who really jip you by charging ANYWAY, costs money), making one single bed in this house (Oh well, we’ll just mess ‘em up in a few hours again anyway), or finishing any one of the hundred unfinished house projects that have remained unfinished for months (What’s one more day?)…. But to be fair, making a mess painting with two lil cuties in the kitchen is way more fun than doing adult chores.   Any day.

Point is: 

If you’re an anal retentive, scheduling crazed, orderly, clean, hectic-life-hatin’, methodical, precise person- do not have kids!  Or.  Have them anyway and embrace your newfound chaos.  You’ll be kissing goodbye this idea of an actual clean and structured lifestyle for a good long while.  But if anything is worth it, kids are!

End note:  Literally, just as I was about to post this, my four year old came running out from his bed screaming "Bloody nose!  I got a bloody nose!"

I couldn't make this stuff up.....  Unpredictable, indeed.



Here comes the.... Divorcee

I’m a twenty-something Caucasian chick from the suburbs.  And I’m a minority.  In several ways.  Presently I’m focusing on the fact that I’m a minority amongst my friends.  And not because of my race, or age, or gender, or because of where I reside.  But because I’m one half of a married couple who has somehow managed to STAY married.  Think about that for a minute.  This may be no big deal in today’s world if I were middle aged, perhaps.  But as I’ve already stated, I’m not.  And neither are my friends.   My coupled friends are around mine and my husband’s ages, and they are ending their marriages left and right.  “Till death, do us part” has overwhelmingly become, “Till I can’t take anymore of your bullshit, do we part”.  And even though we’ve all been hearing for quite some time now that approximately half of all marriages end in divorce, didn’t you always think these couples were at least making it a little longer than a few years?  This isn’t Hollywood here….. Ugh. It’s so saddening to see.  Especially because small children are involved.  And what I also find particularly bothersome is that it’s the woman in 99% of these marriages who were the ones done dirty, who have given up the most, and who yet still stand to lose the most.  Do I seem bitter?  Maybe a lil bit…



We women have a habit of leaving our jobs to raise the children and care for our husbands and homes.  We’re known to put off going back to school, so that our breadwinner husbands can work longer hours or go back to continue his education because he’s the one who will reap the financial benefit for the family and more quickly.  (Did ya hear?  Women still make approximately 70 cents for every dollar a man earns.  And here in my home state of Delaware that gap is even larger.)  Wives and mothers also often find that their friendships suffer because they’re too busy with the laundry, and the cooking, and changing diapers, and helping with homework, and playing chauffeur to the kids.  These wives give the biggest thing they could possibly give to their husbands and children:  Themselves.  And when things go sour, they’re left in the wreckage, struggling to deal emotionally, with the added financial burden weighing them down as well.  This is the norm among the couples in my social circle, anyway.  It reminds me of the great Feminist Gloria Steinem’s famous quote, “Most women are just one man away from welfare.”  I’m a Feminist.  Did I mention?  Well, I am.  At least, I consider myself one.  To a point.  (Everything in moderation, I like to say.)  Having stated this, I’d like to also mention I in no way feel that in order to be “pro woman” one needs to be “anti man”.  I’m just callin’ it like I see it here.  The ugly truth is that all but a few of the men in these broken up unions were unfaithful and dishonest.  Some repeatedly.  And the uncanny part of it, is that even after their indiscretions were found out, they still behaved smug and difficult to work with when it came to attempting to repair the marriage.  What gives!?



Recently, it’s been proposed in Mexico by a left wing political party to change the civil code in allowing temporary marriage licenses to be issued.  Two years would be the minimum “Marriage Contract”, a contract that would be renewable if the couple remained happily married.  These would incorporate provisions on how the married couple’s kids and property would be handled, as well, if they chose not to continue with the relationship.  This makes some sense if you take a moment to ponder how every other contract we enter into has an end date.  We can lease our vehicles, at which point the lease comes to an end and we can decide whether to buy or not.  This is also the case when we lease our houses, and we have terms on our mortgages.  What other contracts can you think of that you’ve signed, that binds you for life?

What about the old adage, “All good things must come to an end”?  Hmm?  Or ponder for a moment, if you will, the fact the you are a different You today than you were even just a few years ago.  And undoubtedly, so is your spouse.  The dreams you had for yourself, number of children you wished to have, life goals, and hobbies of interest, they may have very well changed also.  If you’re anything like me, they’ve changed and seemingly keep on a’changin’.  Say, hypothetically, that you and your partner had bonded over a shared love of country music, the same social group in college, and that you both fell for one another over a shared love of rock climbing.  Fast forward to married life now with two kids,  minimal free time, stretch marks and stretched bank accounts…  Not only are you both stressed to the max.  But!  You now can’t bear to hear the country music being played on the radio today, ya only see those old college buds’ faces through a social networking site now, and you are so tired all of the time that you couldn’t physically force your twice-the-size-it-used-to-be ass up a small hill let alone the side of a mountain, if you’d wanted to.  This scenario doesn’t seem so far fetched to me.  What happens when all of the “perfect” reasons you’d been “perfect” for one another have dissipated?  Aside from one spouse betraying the other- there’s a myriad of reasons that marriages don’t last.  These things may seem small, but they add up over time.  There are probably literally hundreds of factors that evolve us all on a continuing basis.  How can you possibly grow together in everything?

The idea of marriage proves to be different than “actual” marriage, with examples of this truth all around us.  In the media and in our own families and neighborhoods we see firsthand how quickly and how nasty the demise of a marriage can be.  The wedding is fantasized and romanticized.  Then shortly after we’re made aware of the dirty details of deception, abuse, addictions, and mistresses.  More folks are beginning to see the unrealistic expectations of “till death do us part” for what they are: Unrealistic.  And many are choosing cohabitation over marriage.  In the United States, rates of cohabitation among heterosexual couples have more than doubled since the 1990’s, (finds a recent study by the Pew Research Center).  June Carbone, a law professor at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, stated in a New York Times piece that today females with college degrees are actually more likely to marry than those with just high school diplomas, the opposite of several decades ago.  (Think these “blue collared” ladies are trying to break the cycle of depending on a man?)

I could ramble on forever about this topic of marriage. Like, for instance, how marriage first came into play when societal changes began to evolve.  Ironic how marriage starts out with the man, and typically, ends with the man.  See, men didn’t give two hoots about monogamy and marriage until material possessions came into play.  Once males began to acquire personal physical possessions, they began to care about who their offspring were.  Before this time, women and men mothered and father multiple children by multiple sexual partners, not caring who the parents of each child were.  It just wasn’t a matter of importance.  And all shared a communal responsibility for supporting each other: “the tribe”.  But as we evolved (there’s that word again) as human beings, and structured society took over, the need to know who should rightfully get the father’s earthly belongings became an issue.  Bring the need for “order” into the picture, and you now have things like man created religions that favor marriage for their own purposes as well….

Believe it or not, I’m a happily married person.  It may sound like I’m advocating for divorce, or against marriage. But I recognize full well the advantages to marriage- the monogamy, emotional support, the benefits to the children, having that special someone to be there through thick and thin till the end, to share a lifetime with, and I know that the list can go on and on.  It’s just that I’m a realist.  My husband and I are up today, but could just as easily find ourselves down in our friends’ places tomorrow.  We’ve worked on our marriage, a lot.  But then, so have many of our friends.  There are just certain things that marriages can’t come back from…. Each union is unique and complicated beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations.  This is undoubtedly true.  I’m just so damn sick of these women being the glue that’s held their marriages together for however long it lasted, then getting the short end of the stick when their husbands allow for it to crash and burn.  It may take two to ‘tango’, but it only takes one to break the trust forever and destroy a marriage- leaving the lives of their children and of their once beloved wives in shambles... Their exes now faced with the struggle and uncertainty of how to move forward with their new lives, in the rubble that remains.......



Guilty Mama Generation Syndrome

I love my kids.  No.  I looooooooove my kids.  And I love doing for my kids.  Genuinely.  I want them to have it all and experience it all, similar to how most parents feel about their offspring.  However, I do so much with them and for them, that I’m beginning to wonder if anything’s even special anymore.  Is all of this just a huge double edged sword?  My fear is that doing for the children so that they feel enormously loved, lucky and cherished (hoping that an added side effect to this is that they'll have cozy warm memories of their rose colored childhood for the rest of their lives) might only result in the meaning behind it being lost in the excessiveness of it all?   Oh, the excess- in toys, in day trips, in play dates, in activities.  I cannot help but question if all this attention and adoration being bestowed on the kids will even stay with them.  I mean, there’s so much going on all of the time, even I am having trouble recalling it all.  (Thank goodness for cameras, to capture the 1,734,882 “memories” that have managed to stay on my computer's hard drive!) 

I don't mean to complain.  But it's just so over-the-top now.  Both of my parents worked, and I've got many memories of entertaining myself with my barbies and baby dolls.  I played a lot with my sis, our cousin and a neighborhood friend.  Even though we didn't have set up play dates, or tons of fun planned outings and toys, I was by all accounts very happy.  And the fact that those things were in moderation, makes them that much more special and memorable.  

I love having this time with my kids.  I know this may come as a bit of a paradox from pro women’s independence me, but I think a mother’s place is at home raising her kids.  At least, for me this is true.  I’m well aware of the fact that many women wish they had the benefit of spending the first several years of their children’s lives with them, at home.  So I don't want to sound like I'm griping and taking it for granted.  I DO love it.  And I’m lucky.  But man is it hectic!  The demands are never ending, and because there’s no outside work, I live with perpetual guilt that I’m not doing enough, or performing this mom gig perfectly. Yes, I'm aware there is no such thing as perfect.  Which makes it all even crazier….

And though I know that I do a whole lot more with the kids than I ever remember my parents doing with me, still I suffer from “GMG Syndrome”; the relatively new Guilty Mama Generation Syndrome, as I call it.  Where I feel so guilty and depriving if I don’t cater to every request or whim of these demanding little dictators.  This is NOT to say that I do.  I couldn’t possibly take them to their buddy Jake’s house at the drop of a hat without an invite, buy them each three Halloween costumes because they just can’t make their minds up about which super hero they want to be, or bake them homemade cookies at their immediate request if I don’t have the ingredients in the house.  (Yes, all very real, very frequent requisitions.) But still.  You get the picture.  The requests for this and the desires for that are relentless.  I know it’s over-the-top, unnecessary, and that the source from which these requests come from are little people so small that it’s hard as hell for them to see pass their own immediate desires.  Duh!  Point noted.  So, Why. The. Guilt.!?  I give them my time, and attention, energy and love all day long, every single day.  How come I still question my “score” as a mother?  And why do seemingly all of my mommy friends and acquaintances do the same? 

We gals tell each other “Give yourself a break!  You’re doing great!”  We’re quick to respond with the positive quote or cheerful compliment to one another under a distraught facebook mommy post from one of our friends in the same boat as ourselves.  Well, that’s just wonderful that we’re all so damn supportive of one another.  Regular Positive Pollies, we are!  Meanwhile, in the chaotic, toy covered, food stained, homes we reside in on a daily basis with these miniature self obsessed offspring of ours, we’re each big fat fakes.  We’re kidding no one…  Hello Pot, I’m Kettle.

Don’t Play Ball with Mean Girls

In my recent Internet travels, I came across a most poignant story written by another woman and mother.  Liked it so much, I shared it on my facebook wall.  In a nutshell, she’d been discussing the topic of how to deal with difficult people, slash situations, with a girlfriend of hers.  Some folks are inherently difficult.  And mud-slinging types are obviously everywhere.  Sometimes it can feel almost impossible to not be sucked into their drama.  Her friend told her she just doesn’t hit the ball back to these kinds of people.   That adhering to the phrase “don’t hit the ball back”, has gotten her through those tough times when someone’s batting (and I’m paraphrasing here) a Ball full of BS at her.  The author of this piece concluded that the phrase has stuck with her.  Even though there are numerous other adages pertaining to these kinds of situations, such as “take the high road” (very commonly used around my parts) and “don’t stoop to their level”, (timeless), “I don’t have to show up to every argument I’m invited to” (clever), and “the world’s full of cactus, doesn’t mean I have to sit on one” (one that’s sure to bring a chuckle), this ball analogy one just stands out most.  Perhaps it’s because the others are played out.  When we hear something enough times, we cease to hear it anymore.  The audible sound is there, but the meaning’s lost.  Faded from its overuse, it slowly comes to hold no weight.  That’s one theory.  And personally, this new phrase also resonates because I’m a very visual person.  The mental picture that it conjures up works for me: When someone is slinging mud (the ball) at me, I can let it lie there, instead of ‘batting’ back.  I like that.  It’s my choice.  I can keep the ball game going, or I can see it for what it truly is, and walk off the field.  (One that sometimes, I wasn’t even aware I was standing on, for a game I didn’t know I was even in, in the first place.)

At this point in my life: a mother of two, a wife, a pet owner twice over, home owner and multiple bill possessor… nearing the big 3-0, I’ve learned quite a few surprising life lessons.  This specific post will focus on one of those.  (And if you’ve fallen off track with my “big 3-0” comment, spare me the head shaking and dramatic commentary.  I know that 30 isn’t “old”, but it is a landmark birthday for any woman.  And while I’m aware that people over thirty may be reading this and could potentially find it laughable or find it insulting- it’s not meant to be taken that way.  If you’ve passed your 30^th, I’m sure you didn’t do so without at least batting an eyelash.  It’s kind of a big deal.  Therefore, I feel I’m entitled to the use of the word “big” when referencing it.  So, let’s get back on track.)

At the age of 25, supposedly, the part of our brains that understands consequence is supposed to have matured, allowing us to adequately choose between good and bad behavior. This one lesson I’d like to focus on presently is: Immaturity fades, meanness however, does not.  Plainly put: Women do not outgrow Mean.  Immaturity fades away with most of the life changes I’ve listed above.  But true mean girls just grow up to be mean women.  Sure there may have been unfortunate incidents where we females can recall with cringed expressions a time in our adolescence that we dropped the ball and acted unkind, snarky or even mean.  Hell, we may have even been bitchy as recent as last week to a brawd that cut us off in the parking lot of the grocery market.  But that’s not what I’m talking about here.  I’m addressing perpetual meanness.  You see it on tv: Hello Real Housewives!  You see it in the news: Female politicians publicly dissing their opponents based on the other woman’s appearance.  And probably, you’ve seen it in your own social circles.  I see it time and again, thus I’m convinced it’s got to be true.  Heck, even a recent study done by Indiana University in Bloomington found that children who are remorseless bullies usually go on to develop “severe behavioral problems such as fighting, lying and stealing” well into adulthood.  There you have it!  Scientific data to back it up!  But, seriously, they could have just asked almost any lady out there, and we could have told ‘em all about it.

Just recently, I’ve been made privy to the most heinous remarks made by a female in a social circle that I “travel in”.  I gasped out loud.  Oh the stories!  Somehow they can still manage to blow my mind!  But nothing is like seeing it with your own two eyes.  A very kind woman I met a couple of years ago is the latest victim of a few Grown Mean Girls, and I’d had the opportunity to see the exact email correspondence that ensued.  The words that these GMG’s used, one in particular, are ones that I could never imagine uttering to another woman.  (If you don’t know me personally, I should point out that I’m no soft spoken wall flower of a chick.  I curse.  Regularly.  I’ve got hot head Sicilian and Italian blood running through my veins and I do not allow myself to be walked on-Ever.)  With that cleared up, I would think that at a certain age and point in ones’ life, unless you are complete trash or under the influence of drugs, there are particular words you’d steer clear from “throwing” at other adults.  And certain topics we should refrain from, as well, say like family.  I’m of the firm belief that you can very clearly get your point across while maintaining your self respect and dignity.  Although, one could certainly argue that these types have no dignity. 

A reoccurring theme I see in some of these, er, situations… is when one person becomes the target after refusing to participate in the meanness.  The aforementioned friend is one of these people.  She’d had it with the manipulative undercurrent of a set few within a larger circle of friends, and she called the nastiest GMG out on her bad behavior, using specific examples that had accumulated over quite a long period of time to explain why it was people were beginning to exclude her.  The accounts of lying, manipulating, back stabbing, two faced trash talking and outright bullying, were laid out by my friend on a silver platter.  (Speaking of “balls”, not a lot of us women could have found the courage to be so forthcoming and honest.  I applaud her.)  This GMG undoubtedly took the message as a threat, instead of a lesson in “How to Treat Others 101” and began work on another web of deceit and damage control with the few women she had left in her corner.  One by one her minions clicked the “delete” button on their facebook friends lists on the woman who dared go against the “ring leader” of the GMG’s.  And one even had the “balls” to throw some truly ghastly messages her way.  I haven’t heard yet, but I know how much class this friend of mine has, so I’m fairly certain she let those balls lie right there in silence.

Once, in middle school, I’d refused to go along with the birthday girl’s idea of doing something catty to another girl at her sleep over party.  This mean girl plotted and planned and roped some others in on doing one thing or another to her poor unsuspecting victim, once the gal fell asleep in her sleeping bag.  I outright refused.  I don’t find humor in laughing at others’ expense.  I come from the school of “laughing with you, not at you”- of course this mentality completely goes out the window if you fall down steps, or break a chair upon sitting in it.  Then you’re free game.  (I’d still give you a hand to help you up- but let’s keep it real, funny’s funny.) I digress…  I think you can see where I’m going with this story.  An “insider” proved her loyalty to me by informing me that I’d ticked this birthday meany off so much by not going along with her evil scheme (which in turn, caused some others to not go along with it) that she’d changed her target to Me.  I vowed to stay awake ALL night, and succeeded.  Hymph.  Point in case- these mean asses are of the mind that if you’re not “with them”, you are “against them”.  And watch out then, because when they throw their balls, they’re aiming for below the belt!  …  It also makes me believe that some of these GMG’s ‘friends’ are just afraid of being on the other end of the stick, and so they follow the old “Keep your enemies closer” mentality just like they did in middle school.

These days I’m being very cautious as to whom I will call a friend.  ‘Sticks and Stones’- say what they will, these GMG’s will not get to play with me.  They can throw enough digs my way to have dug a hole large enough to burry themselves in, and they still will not get the satisfaction of a response from moi.  No sense in “hitting back the ball” with these types.  I’d had my fair share of experience with this kind of person, and seen enough of other’s dealings with them.  There’s no changing them.  Puberty has already proven this point.  And they don’t deserve the attention from the rest of us.  Just “don’t hit the ball back”!

(Photo courtesy Getty Images)

Now, mess with my kids and that’s one ball I’ll grab with my hand and throw back at ya- hard enough to bust your nose.  But that’s a different ball game entirely…………