Far better than any mirror. If you want to see the Real You, have a kid.

Only your own kids will be the authentic reflections of yourself.  No amount of natural sunlight or magnified mirrors could equate to the accurate reflection of oneself that one’s own offspring offer up.

  

We all feel we’ve got a pretty good grasp on “Who we are”, probably.  For instance, if asked about my personal traits, I might describe myself as generous, humorous, and passionate.  (There are more adjectives I could throw out there, but we’ll keep it short and positive.)  I feel I’m a pretty good judge of who I am, and how others perceive me.  But, having kids has made me realize just how wrong I may have been all these years.  It’s been a real eye opener to see through my children just how I possibly look and sound to the outside world.

For starters, I must use my hands a whole LOT during verbal communication.  This is a typical behavior for someone of Italian decent, but it wasn’t so noticeable to me until I began to see just how much my son throws his skinny little arms up and tosses his hands about like he’s whippin’ around a pizza dough when speaking.  Because his gestures are so all over the place, I’ve become way more cognisant of my own nonverbal communications.  If he’s this extravagant with his gestures, and I can see he must have learned it from me, then certainly I can stand to dial it back a bit.  (“Work in progress”.  Add that to the list of ways I’d also describe me.)  And, so began my journey to knowing myself on a different level.  So began the beginning of my new “self-analysis”…..

Have you ever really paid attention to how many words you overuse?  People often have a go-to phrase or word that they use frequently, like “Wow”, or “Oh my god!”, or “that’s crazy”.  Well, apparently, I say “that’s annoying” A LOT.  I also seriously overuse the word “seriously”.  If I had a nickel for every time my kids say to one another “that’s annoying”, “you’re annoying me”, and “seriously!?!?”, I’d seriously have a shit load of nickels!  I used to think that I had a pretty extended vocabulary and have always made a conscious effort to grow my word bank on a regular basis.  So to find out that I am not as articulate as I’d once perceived myself to be was a bit disappointing.  Although it’s a tad hard to admit, it’s right in my face on a regular basis so there’s really no denying that they’ve learned this stuff from their mama.  And if I’m this tired of hearing them utter those words, well gosh- other people have got to be at least minimally bugged by my saying them so much.  And, just as any good sitcom would have it- right on cue, another reminder of an annoying and too-often-spoken saying of mine has just manifested, courtesy of my children.  

At this very moment, my convenient sons brought to mind yet another phrase I could use some serious scaling back on: While playing a Power Rangers game on their computer in the other room, I hear one say to the other “turn it up, all the way”.  The multi-tasking mom within me doesn’t skip a beat while typing away here on this trusty old laptop and “No way, José!” I yell to them.  No. Way. José.   Yeah, I really just said that.  Really now…  Who the hell came up with that one?  AND, when the hell did I become so corny!?  I’m ashamed that my cool factor has plummeted so far that this is a phrase I’ve now got to literally train myself to omit from my vocabulary.  You know when I first realized that I even say this phrase at all?  Last Spring, at my oldest boy’s “Mommy and Me Polite Party” for Pre-K.  As the teacher pleasantly read a story about party etiquette and politeness, she polled the children on the right and wrong ways for the story’s animal characters to behave.  My son yelled out “No way, José!” each time the other kids answered with a simple “no”.  I can recall thinking to myself, “Holy crap- why is he saying this?”  There was some light giggling at him; as in, “Awe how cute” from the other mothers.  But inside I was kind of mortified and asking myself, “How often do I say this to the kid?”  Later that evening, I caught myself uttering the same phrase.  How lame.  I mean, seriously, what a lame saying…. Who says that?  (smh)  Welp….  Me.  Obviously.  And apparently, A LOT.  (Note to self, find cooler expressions to utter than something involving some unknown Spanish dude’s name.) 

It’s not all bad, though.  I’m pleased to report that I’ve projected some pretty fine words and ways onto these offspring of mine.  I’ve come to realize that I’m quite the Polite Polly, through them.  Because of my overuse in “thank you’s”, “Pleases” and “Excuse me’s”, my little guys are pretty widely known as two respectful lil dudes.  I’ve learned about myself that I value respect a whole lot, and it’s a proud moment for the hubs and I when our children are complimented on their polite manners.  They’re also very considerate of others and generous with their help and with their toys.  Something I’m confident that I’d instilled in them through not just instruction, but with my own actions in helping friends and through volunteer work.

Yes.  No matter how honest your family or friends may be, no one can relay to you the ways you authentically present yourself to the world better than your kids.  By emulating the first teachers they have, their parents, you are privy to exact attitudes, mannerisms, and words that you’ve been unintentionally instilling into them, day after day.  Many individuals describe children as sponges.  Perhaps, to some extent, this is true.  For me, my sons are more like mirrors.  Soaking in the true essence of me, and reflecting it right back at me: Ugly, Lovely or indifferent.

These little “Reflections” don’t have a clue that they’re actually helping teach me about bettering myself, or that they help navigate the way I parent them as well.  Every time I hear them sigh loudly out of aggravation and frustration, I am made ever more aware of my own issues with impatience.  And I work a little harder to demonstrate to them, and me, that a little patience and understanding go a long way.  And whenever I see them helping a friend on the play ground, or assist one another in cleaning up their crayons, I’m reminded about how important it is to be cooperative and there for others.

These two boys are actually a pair of mirrors this sleep deprived and disheveled mom won’t be avoiding any time soon.  That’s for certain.

Things I Miss......

Things I miss.....

Time.  (Time to ponder, time to read, to paint my nails, blow dry my hair, clean, shop, plan…)

Writing.  Writing clears my mind, calms my soul, and rejuvenates my spirit.  (Getting thoughts onto paper, or computer, happens so much less now.)

Creating.  (Interior design, scrapbooking, poetry, experimenting with styling.)

My pre-kids body (Looking at old pictures my mother’s been uploading to her facebook account can be frustrating.  But not even so much because I’m pining away for that old physique.  It’s really because I realize now that during the times some of the best pictures were taken of me,  I was the most judgmental and critical of my outward appearance.  So sad how this is just another way that youth is wasted on the young.  I really should have appreciated what I had, and been comfortable in my skin.)

My pre-kids mind (well, parts of it, crazy enough it’s actually gotten better in a myriad of ways.)

Free time (Different from just "time" in general.  Free time, empty minutes with which I haven't a clue what to do with, nor do I care how I fill it because "there's more where that came from!".  What in the world DID I do before kids?? No, seriously?)

The ability to purchase just about anything without thinking twice.  (I can recall days of marathon mall shopping, breezing through stores while tossing item upon item onto my arm without so much as glancing at the price tags … or even having to try the garmets on.  Or checking my watch to make sure I wasn’t there for too long.)

The carefree nature that comes with having no one who depends on you, but you.

Having virtually no one else to consider but my own selfish needs and desires.

The ability to pick up and go on a whim with little to no preparation or planning.

First’s butterflies.  And experiencing different kinds of passion, intellect, and men whenever I so desired.  (Not that I ‘got around’ too much.  I’m just saying…  The option was there.)

Girl time.  The gab fests, the chick flicks, the shopping sprees, the beach weekends, and “make overs”.  All without being interrupted a thousand times over by the demanding offspring of mine or my gal pals' and without having to plan this ladies only fest far in advance.

Rest.  Sleeping in.  Noontime naps.  Dozing off during reruns of Will and Grace sporadically.  All gone now.

But what I’ve gained is hands down incomparable. 

Love for life.  (I could stop right here.)

The monumental task of instilling values, compassion, and a love of life into two flawless new human beings.  (Because, while brain wracking at times, it’s an appreciated responsibility and the hugest privilege to have.)

The daily opportunity of learning some of life’s greatest lessons….  From children.  And when least expected.  

Unconditional love.  Truly.  Love- with NO conditions.  (Isn’t that what everyone’s looking for in life?)

Finding out that the heart could have feelings so vulnerable, so full of adoration, and drenched with a love so deep it feels as if it could burst wide open.  Daily.  (I mean, who knew the heart was capable of experiencing these emotions before kids enter the picture?  It is AMAZING!)

A new sense of “drive” in myself- because nothing I do is for myself any longer.  Nothing.  (They inspire me, they encourage me, they light a fire in me when before only a mere tiny flame existed that slightly flickered and for mostly the wrong reasons, ie competitiveness and self absorption.)

I could absolutely add more.  But I’ve covered enough right here….

I wrote this list because it’s so easy for me to fall into Debbie Downer mode sometimes or even have moments of nostalgia of days gone by.  I am faced with tremendous responsibility for these lives I created, and to be honest that can be overwhelming and stressful to where migraines and stomach ulcers occur.  Sometimes it’s as if I’ve got sunglasses super glued to my face, making it impossible to find the bright side.  Worry is the name of the game most days.  (“Will my child be accepted into this great school we applied to?”…  “When will our home finally sell?”).  Much different than the old pre-kids me who pondered life’s great queries such as, “Which movie should I check out this weekend?”    And, “Which shade of OPI do I pick at the nail salon this time, Your Villa or Mine Coral or I’m Really Not a Waitress Red”?)

 If single and childless me fails, it’s an entirely different beast than if married, mother me fails.  Now, when I fail- I’m failing them.  The choices I make weigh much more heavily on my mind.  The beautiful, smart, energetic, wonder-filled, blissfully happy, loving and adoring sons of mine are subject to deal with the consequences of my choices as well as me.  If I fuck up, they have to deal with the consequences either directly or indirectly (my bad mood.)  If I do something that puts them in distress, in a situation that is not conducive to their best interests, or sets them back from being in a place that fosters their unique qualities and opportunities- it’s devastating to me.  (Yes, I can be dramatic.)  The mental pressure translates to physical ailments at times.  And it's ever so unpleasant.

I knew that everything would change when I peed on that stick the afternoon of April 27^th 2006.   But no matter how many books I read, or how many TLC “A Baby Story” shows I watched- nothing came close to preparing me for the realities of being a mother.  The world is vast in information about birthing a baby, but what happens forevermore afterwards is all on you to figure out.  And what I've come to know is nothing I'd ever contemplated during those nine months of pregnancy.  

I’ve changed in countless ways.  What I once saw as strength, conviction or gumption before, I now understand to be immaturity, stubbornness, and foolish pride that I had.  I probably would have walked away from my relationship with their father a hundred times over the way I walked away from every man before him, if not for him being Their Father.  I’d most likely still be a member of our old church and religion, because I was too lazy to force myself to look at it without my blinders on, and instead stubbornly defended it to anyone who questioned it because I was immature and lacked a real reason to go on a quest for truth.  I volunteer now, because I’m compelled to be a good example for the kids, above other reasons I have.  I’ve omitted people from my life who are not in line with my values, and I’m much more cautious as to whom I allow in my life- because they’re also in my children’s lives.  I’m a self proclaimed “cat person”, yet now have the most lovable and cute dog that I can’t get enough of, and who can’t get enough of me.  All because the boys wanted a pet pup and I’d do just about anything to see them smile.  I’ve had much practice in honing the art of holding my tongue, and in knowing when to stand up for my convictions and demand respect now that I’m a mother.  The changes keep happening as I evolve as a woman with children and a spouse.  The experiences, all brought on by the birth of my sons and my marriage with their father, have shaped me into a much more authentic and careful person.  And even more exciting, is that as they continue to grow- I grow right along with them.

 

In the end, it helps to tick off the impossibly fortunate aspects of your life.  Corny as it may seem, I feel better already.  I’ve got a lot to stress about, sure.  But I’ve got more to celebrate.  The “bright side” is lookin’ pretty darn bright.  Maybe today I'll put on those figurative sunglasses for another reason- our future together is so bright is blinding! Thanks, Julian and Lucas.  You fellows keep me on my toes, make life worth living, and brighten up even the darkest nights. And thanks to my sweet hubby.  You do a pretty good job with those things, yourself. ;-)

“I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring.” ~Liz Armbruster

I thought about you today, again.  I was discussing the delivery of an item to Mom and Dad’s house this morning that could potentially arrive while no one is home.  “I can’t even have Poppop keep an eye out for it”, I’d thought.  Just one of the many things you did for me and our family- keep an eye out for our packages and bring them inside for us.  …Just another daily reminder of the void that your leaving has left behind. 

And last night I fell asleep thinking of you, as I often do, having to silently wipe away tears from my eyes until gratefully, sleep finds me.  And you appeared in my dreams, as you’ve appeared several times since you left.  I’m grateful for these dreams.  Although, I awaken more saddened by them most times, and later become angry at myself for forgetting the details.

I do recall, however, one specific detail about my dream of you a few nights ago.  As I’d often done when you were here in the past, I’d held your hand in this dream.  Only this time was different.  I’d held onto it so tightly, with such bittersweet urgency and angst in my heart, wishing all the while to feel our fingers interlaced this way forever.  I’d squeezed your hand, and stared down at it.  Your long fingertips reaching the middle of the top of my hand.   Studying your large strong hands that had done such miraculous things throughout your lifetime, I can recall with crystal clarity the feeling of never wanting to let go.  Those hands saved people from burning buildings…  They held your infant children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren tightly.  Yours are hands that held onto steering wheels for hours on countless drives to the beach for years and years to vacation with your most prized possession- your family.  They are hands that held wiffle bats and pitched baseballs, and created, built, tinkered and worked, that softly patted the tops of my children’s heads when we’d visit your sick bedside; hands I held onto until you took your dying breath.  Holding your hand is something I miss so terribly.  But, certainly, it isn’t the only thing I miss.  My dreams of you are bittersweet. But I never want you to stop appearing in my dreams, so that I may again look into your crystal blue eyes, and hear your distinctive voice and boisterous laughter dance through the air like music in my ears. 

I miss everything about you, Poppop.  I guess that will never stop.  Even though I’ve become used to your absence from my life- now nearing two full months since you passed on.  The normalcy is settling in, unwelcome as that notion is.  I’ve accepted the sorrow that creeps into bed with me each night as the house is silent and dark, and my thoughts drift to memories of you.    I expect the empty feeling left over after my dreams spent with you have ended.  And, I’m a pro at shaking off that morning sadness as I hop out of bed to prepare the kids’ breakfast and move forward with my day. But it’s the unsuspecting socks to the gut which I’m not so good at.  The ones that take place in the middle of a Verizon store on a weekday morning, reminding me of the fact that I don’t have you in my life anymore for even the smallest of things that somehow hurt the most.  That I haven’t yet gotten “used to”.  That I maybe never will.  That, actually, I may never want to….

Even now, there’s no mail carrier to bring you this letter I’ve written, as they have in the past.  So, I’ll be sure to try my very best to remember to tell you in my dreams, Poppop.  To let you know over and over how much you still mean to me, and how much you’ll always be missed and thought of.  And until then, rest easy… I’ll see you in my dreams.

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.

Let's Get Back to Meaningful Conversations

When did we become a generation of people who shies away from having serious discussions?  I’ve got a hunch I’m not the only one who has noticed this growing trend of folks steering clear of any topic they think could potentially turn ugly.  I find myself wondering more and more often why this is, and if it’s everywhere or just here in my small state of Delaware. 

Whenever I try to speak about say political, spiritual or religious beliefs with family or friends, the overwhelming majority either doesn’t want to touch the topic with a ten foot pole or they immediately go on the defense.  I’m not someone who goes around perpetually seeking out this kind of conversation.  It’s just that it sometimes come up.  A news story may come onto the television, an article on religious wars is featured on the cover of a magazine, the new political election season or something to this effect will come up in some way, shape or form.  And when I comment on it, or ask the views of the person I am with, I usually get the same reaction.  An uncomfortable expression takes over their faces.  They either flat out state that they don’t want to have the conversation or they take on an automatic argumentative tone if they feel I’m not coming from the viewpoint that they are.  Sometimes, in rare instances, I’ll hear an opinion but it’s rarely ever backed with an explanation or facts, which I find equally irritating.  And now with more corruption in our religious institutions, with a plethora of new political campaigns being launched, and an endless supply of thought provoking news stories on a wide range of topics all right at each of our fingertips, why are we reduced to “small talk”.   Why can’t we intellectually discuss controversial issues anymore? 

I know there is a time and a place for everything, but the question of when that time is and that place is begs to be answered.  Do we need to schedule meetings with one another to talk about thoughtful and social issues, on such and such a date, and at an agreed upon time?  That would just never happen.  I believe the fact that we can generally only converse about “safe subjects” with those in our families and in our social circles is incredibly damaging to our society.  But I’m reduced to discussing the “safe” things with them all out of fear of a falling out, and hard feelings taking place.  And, quite frankly, because almost no one wishes to ever have these discussions.

I see that these important discussions often take place on the Internet, where people feel comfortable expressing their true opinions from the safety of their anonymous computer screens.  That’s great that important issues are being discussed in different forums online, however; it’s online where it tends to go down in a seriously less ethical way.  Perhaps the words “humane”, “fair”, and “mature” could all be equally interchangeable with “ethical”.  It’s on the Internet that many individuals turn to nasty remarks; mean-spirited posts and hatred fueled discussions ensue.  These discussions lack merit in the end, because instead of sticking to facts and being civil, there’s always those “trolls” who sling figurative mud at the others whom disagree with them.  I’d love to see these conversations taking place face to face, in a civil manner, with people we actually know, love, and socialize with regularly.  Especially intriguing, is when you can talk to another person who believes completely opposite of what you do.  So I can’t help but wonder:  Why can’t we all just “agree to disagree” as the cliché goes?  I’m asking myself more and more, “Where’s the passion!?”  Sure I hear the same griping about how our politicians could do better, be better, how there are no jobs, how inflation has gone through the roof, the housing market is corrupt and unjust.  But show me the thought process behind how you feel things could be made better!



Maybe it is just me.  I like a good debate.  Challenge me on my thoughts.  Make me question my beliefs.  I’ll either come away from it clinging more strongly to them, or I’ll be enlightened by the other side of the argument.  Only, that’s just it: these conversations need not be actual arguments.  I know I can’t be the only one who’s noticed a growing trend in people feeling personally attacked if you question why they feel the way they do.  The reality of it is, not everyone agrees with everything you think and believe in.  And I’m beginning to feel like the minority because I truly believe that’s a wonderful thing.  The fact that there are so many different people in this world keeps things interesting and keeps us as a people progressing.  I strongly believed in what Barack Obama and Joe Biden stood for in the last presidential election, and I had no qualms about broadcasting that.  An email conversation back in 2008 regarding the candidates running for office and their platforms took place among several individuals with different political beliefs during that time, and sadly it quickly went south because not everyone could respectfully disagree.  It’s very frustrating when people cannot remain calm, cool and collected (or at least refrain from insults and personal digs) during these debates of ideas.  Personally, I can still like you even if I think your opinion on the Jobs Bill is ridiculous, or if your ridicule of our Commander in Chief seems unfounded.  You can believe in a god that I find baffling, practice Judaism, Voodoo, Christianity, or be a Hippie Child, and as long as you are authentic, good natured and friendly I will judge you solely on your core.  Likewise, your view point on the immigration laws or the Wall Street Stand In may completely differ from mine, yet I will still show you respect and hear your thoughts without slandering you.  I may still question your decisions and feelings on these topics, but that only means I find interest in people and their behavior and because I’m curious as to why we people do the things we do and believe in the things we choose to believe in. 

I’ve been told, “I don’t want to have this conversation” when I casually bring up an article I read on Christianity, with a close relative.  I read constantly on social networking sites, statements such as “There are certain things that should never be discussed, like religion and politics” by friends of mine, and their friends.  I also see many poorly thought out responses made on these social networking pages to postings about one’s personal beliefs, instead of a thoughtful and respectful reply.  It’s infuriating for me to see. 

My own sister told me a few years ago that she thought I was an “extremist” because I called up my state representative and let my opinion be heard on an upcoming piece of legislation.  Why are regular folks being labeled as extreme when they show passion for something more than their immediate families?  Since when did it become over-the-top to demonstrate interest in more than shopping, media and celebrities, and our kids’ little league games?  And is there anyone else who feels the way I do about the lack of conversations taking place about the more profound and important issues in life?



If we all ceased to have these types of conversations, what will happen to our future?  If religion and politics and everything in between had never been discussed in the past, and if people like myself and a handful of others I know didn’t speak up and not only cast their votes but make certain to do what they can to make their voices be heard amongst their friends, families, and neighbors as well as their representatives- where in the world would we all be right now?



It’s a terrible thing if we “regular” adults aren’t having these imperative conversations, being that we are the ones who are responsible for making things happen in our own lives and in the lives of our children.  If our kids don’t hear us having these talks, these healthy debates of ideals and beliefs, how can we expect them to be passionate, proactive and caring individuals that will take responsibility for the ways things happen in their world?  These conversations can be thoughtful, respectful and a wonderful lesson in passion, civility, acceptance and accountability for ourselves and for our children.  They help us to grow, they aid us in understanding one another, and they give birth to new ways of thinking.  It all starts with conversation.  Let’s get back to meaningful ones.



Stay Away from My Husband, I'll Stay Away from Yours

On my most recent waiting room adventure, I happened upon the Ladies Home Journal.  I flipped through the pages, killing the time and avoiding the dual annoyance of both The Situation’s & Larry the Cable Guy’s voices pouring out from the television bolted in the corner.  Normally I enjoy a bit of “LIVE! with Regis and Kelly” in the morning, but with these two on the program (yes, at the same time, if you can believe it) I opted for the least boring looking magazine I could find and settled in for an unknown amount of time while my grandmother had her ultrasound. 

To my delight, a pretty interesting article caught my eye.  Coincidences never cease to follow me, as its content bore extreme relevance to a recent conversation I’d had with a good girlfriend of mine.  If this was some higher power’s way of attempting to get me to see this particular topic from a different view point, it failed miserably.  I’m pretty open-minded, but I couldn’t help but believe that this author is full of baloney.  (Either that, or she buys her own bs she’s selling, in which case I’ve got no doubt that one day the error of her ways will make itself known.  It’d be interesting to follow her to see the outcome!)

I use the term “selling”, because she’s got a book.  Here it is:

The title of the magazine piece is “Why Every Married Woman Needs a Guy Best Friend” and it is written by a woman named Iris Krasnow.  It starts out like this: “I'll Just Say it: I believe every married woman needs a cute, sensitive, slightly flirtatious guy best friend. Discuss.”  Well, discuss we shall….  I’ll start.  I think this viewpoint seems like a dangerous recipe for marital disaster!

The author of this piece goes on to explain that we married gals must all have another man in our lives: one to flirt with and to feel mysterious with, because the mystery is of course gone for our husbands.  These men we’ve married and whom many of us have procreated with, obviously, could never still find us as fascinating and intriguing as they did Pre-Marriage.  After all, they see terribly unflattering sides of us, like a baby making its way out of our vaginas or the feces we’d forgotten to flush in our sleep deprived stupor after having taken care of said baby all night.  Both, we can all agree, are seriously unsexy things.  And even if some of our hubbies haven’t bared witness to either of the above mentioned scenarios, they undoubtedly know many other dreadful truths about us: that our legs aren’t naturally silky smooth, because (you guessed it) they’ve seen proof of the razor and some stray shavings left over in our shared shower once or twice….  And because they’ve smelled our morning breath, have seen us flip out, fall apart and watched as our breasts plummeted to depths that no one’s poor boobies ever should.  ERGO: The mystique is gone.  Never to be retrieved.  And we conceited females naturally need a man in our lives at all times who finds us to be wonderfully mysterious.  (Excuse me while I gag.)  Other men who believe we’re as smart, gorgeous, and wonderful as we pretend to be with our witty conversation, plastered on make-up, and squeezed into Spanx undergarments.  These “friendships” with other men, however, should remain strictly “passionate of mind and chaste of body”, says Ms Krasnow.  Because, she tells us, only an idiot would ruin this good thing they’ve got going on by complicating it with sex.  (Holding back sarcastic laughter.)  Oh how naïve a concept…………………

I’m not saying I didn’t, at all, understand her viewpoint.  I actually did.  In theory, it sounds pretty nice.  She points out that even though we love our spouses and “connect” in other ways than in just the bedroom, there are still some things that we do not connect on.  There are the moments where we desire to share excitement over something that our significant other will only half pay attention to, say, while the big game is on.  And we may want to talk topics and do things with our spouses that they just really don’t understand our enthusiasm about.  Of course this all makes sense.  No one is interested in every single thing that their partner is interested in.  And let’s face facts here, after being married for years married folks can have a tendency to tune one another out.  But I don’t believe her prescription to this problem is the right way to go about dealing with it.  I mean, seriously?  Enter: other straight male to pick up all of husband’s slack.  This hardly seems conducive to having a better marriage.

I’m not going to be completely unreasonable and try to crucify this woman for her opinion.  I get it that there’s different strokes for different folks.  But I can tell you right now that what works for her would not work for me.  And I think I’ve got a pretty solid argument as to why it would not. 

When my husband looks at me like I’ve got three heads, or worse he doesn’t look at me at all, I’ve got my girlfriends to turn to.  When all else fails and I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall, I’ve got facebook to vent to:  A “wall” that typically answers back.  I just think that by going to another (straight) man instead would be playing with fire here.  We’ve all seen the gay man taken up as the “hottest new accessory” in recent years.  Gals nowadays have a fab gay guy on their arms like it's this season's hottest new Prada bag, parading him around while introducing him as the "gay husband".  (See here why one gay male detests this trend.)  These men provide for the women who befriend them, the filling in of a void that Ms Krasnow speaks about.  They give compliments when the hubbies have long since stopped, “You look GORGE!”, “That outfit is FIERCE!”, “This new Louis Vuitton corset you’re wearing makes your tits look AMAZE!”  There’s no shortage of ego boosts here.  And they will accompany their lady pals on marathon Neiman Marcus shopping sprees, and to be fair and not stereotype too much, anywhere else they and this female friend like to go, doing things that they both similarly enjoy.  They’re the companion to things which these gals’ husbands would never want to be a part of in a million years, and discuss all the latest gossip that the husbands could not care less about. They’re essentially filling in all of the blanks left by the husbands, without the bitchiness or cattiness of that another female may posess.  But when you throw in two heterosexual people of opposing genders who find common interests, confide in one another, and do things like laugh over wine with each other (Please see article in which the author gushes over Derrin, her incredible next door neighbor who is a master chef and whom she describes as “curious and extroverted, a divorced man of 60 with a gorgeous smile.”) you are playing with fire, in my most humble opinion. 

She addresses the label “emotional affair” and argues that all relationships outside of our marriages could be labeled as such, whether between two women, two men, or a woman and man because they are all relationships we’ve sought out to “stimulate our whole beings”.  She completely rejects the notion that her relationships with straight males who are not her husband are emotional affairs.  But this is where she’s lost me.  I’ve got some great gal pals, and I do not disagree that they help me to be my best version of myself, but there’s no possibility of messy emotions coming into play for us.  See, even though I’ve got some beautiful friends, I don’t think in speaking about our friendship I’d have addressed how gorgeous their smiles are or anything else about their outward appearances the way she did when describing her male friend.  There’s also no physical attraction there at all, because simple biology dictates that our “doors don’t swing that way”.  Well, in most cases.  But even with my gal pals who are homosexual or bisexual, it would take for me to also be of the same sexual orientation for there to be any kind of “risk”.  And yes, I believe there is a certain risk involved when a woman chooses to have male friends like this author suggests having.  Take into consideration that many a man and woman have tried through the years to be just friends, and then one day those folks weren’t in the right mind or were not strong enough to resist the temptation that had built up between them.  I understand that while in these friendships those individuals may have completely intended to keep things platonic.  (“Intended to” being the key words.)  But why put yourself in the position of being around a person of the opposite sex whom you admire and that you get along fabulously with, when you are married?  We as adults know that emotions are messy, and life is messy, and we’ve already got minimal time with our spouses in between all of life’s other attention stealers.  Children, jobs, in-laws, finances can all interfere with our relationships with our spouses.  And sure, we all need someone to turn to when we’re stressed out or broken down, or going through a rough patch with our husbands.  I just happen to believe that our mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and therapists are better alternatives to charming men who listen to us, show compassion towards what we are feeling, and who are seemingly perfect in the ways our husbands have failed to be. Is it worth the possible repercussions? 

I want to be specific in my disagreement, here.  I am all for mixed gender friendships, but when you are in a monogamous marriage, these male/female friendships should be kept strictly as “couple friendships”.  This is to say that if I have a male friend, he’s a friend of my husband’s as well, and this friend and I don’t “kick it” alone.  We do not have lingering conversations, whether over a glass of wine or over a telephone.  We don’t have one on one outings where my hubs isn’t present.  And there’s no way in hell my hubby would be one of these “straight male friends” to another married woman.  Oh HAIL no! 

Here’s the part where you chime in…  I’m prepared to hear it all- how right I am, how you believe this lady who wrote the article must be on crack, how some homewreckin’ whore stole your man after claiming she was just his “friend”….  Or, how insecure I must be, that I’m close minded, that if I trust my husband then I’ve got nothing to worry about so I obviously must NOT trust him.  Whatever it is, I promise to respond.  I want to hear what others think about this theory.  Whether you agree or disagree, I still want to know what you’ve got to say about it.  Because, the idea that our husbands should be completely comfortable and confident with themselves, with us and with our marriages and happily welcome another heterosexual man into our lives to make up in the areas they’re lacking, is just mind boggling to me any way I twist it. 

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.