Irritated today, which means the cork is coming out tonight.
Marriage. At this point, all I can say is "Are you fucking kidding me???"
I'm Christian. Which means I'm not supposed to be a fan of gay marriage. Eh...I'm not the best Christian. Two men or two women can absolutely love each other. I personally have no problem with it. The only time it's offensive to me is when I get hit on by another girl. Then again, I take offense when I get hit on by a guy too. My Bub didn't buy me all sorts of bling to have it be ignored by some perv with a complex. Gay marriage isn't ruining the sanctity of marriage.
Here's what's got me steamed: where the hell did reality twist and marriage is supposed to be all rainbows and unicorns and sparkles and perfect all the time? And who the hell said when things get tough, the best thing to do is quit and bail while you still have your money and youth? I want to meet this person, at that time, and kick his/her ASS!!!
First problem: The "perfect" marriage. I blame Disney. Little girls, for generations, have been dreaming of growing up and meeting their Prince Charming, (at 16...and singing about everything, and being friends with animals...) marrying him, and living HAPPILY ever after. Let me tell you what; this girl got a slap of reality when I changed in Bub's Jeep Wrangler on the way to the County Courthouse. (Not that I would change a damn thing I love you Bub!)
Marriage isn't happily ever after. Oops, sorry, did I bust someones bubble? Suck it up. In our short 4 years of marriage, we've been through deployments, infidelity, lying, not knowing if our daughter would live or die, moving four times, disowning family, and HORRIBLE communication skills. And if you ask either of us, any day of the week, any time of day, we'll both tell you that we are each other's soul mate, and best friend, and that we'll be together until we die; maybe even afterward, depending on how things work up there. How, you ask? Simple. We don't give up. When we got married, we both knew divorce was not an option. Not "well, maybe if you get fat" or "if we ever fight we're done." NOT and option. Period. The only way I would leave him is if he were to hit me or my children. Well, he would leave. The earth.
News flash people: Marriage isn't about the good times, or even the great times. Everyone has good times, or else they wouldn't have gotten married. A good, strong marriage is based on the bad times. The fights, the nights on the couch, the anger, the guilt, the fear, the loneliness, and the unrelenting doubt. Those are the bricks and mortor of a great marriage.
Now you're saying "Uh...what the f#$@ dude? If I'm feeling all those things, why would I want to be married."
Now I'm saying "Sit down, shut up and listen."
I know a couple who's been married for over 5 years. Recently, she found out that he was doing things online that he wasn't supposed to be doing. Blah-de-blah-de-blah... they decided they needed to "take a break" from their marriage. Literally "put it on hold" while they focus more on themselves. For 6 months!!! Anyone else see the problem here? Let's count.
1) What we have here is a learning experience. Take this oportunity to say "I fucked up. I'm sorry. I'll do anything to fix it." Or, "I'm upset with you, but I still love you, and I'm willing to give you another chance Ah-ha!! Bricks and mortor. Go get counseling. Watch Fireproof. Do the Love Dare. Duke it out for all I care. But don't give up. That makes you both weak.
2) Hate to break it to you, but your marriage isn't about yourself. Marriage is supposed to be selfless, for both parties. Which, by deductive reasoning, means that both people are still satisfied, taken care of, and loved.
This is only one example. Cheating, lying, not communitcating...all solvable. It's just a matter of how hard you want to fight.
I liken this to survival. Visualize with me: You're at the gas station. A guy walks in behind you weilding a shotgun, screaming about how America has gone to shit, and he's exterminating everyone who he believes is materialistic, glutonous, selfish...7 deadly sins stuff. You have a Coach purse on your arm. You might as well have a target painted on your forehead for all he's concerned. What he doesn't know is that you have a 9mm in that cute little purse. Now, he's looking at you, and you're looking at him. His name is Divorce. You are your marriage. Who are you going to let survive?
I think I've sparked enough fires tonight.
Who are we kidding. The cork comes out every night.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
My indulgences
I loooooove me some wine. Chardonnay, if you please. This has been passed down to me from generations before me. My grandfather makes homemade wine from everything from grapes to rhubarb, and my mother can't go a day without at least 2 glasses. I have more alcoholics on both sides of my family than an Irish family reunion in a vodka distillery. I once asked my husband if he thought I was an alcoholic. God bless him; he called it my indulgence. So we're going with that.
Another one of my indulgences is getting my nails done. Nothing beats a manicure or pedicure with a paraffin wax dip, listening to soothing music and reading from my nook. That's right, I read while I get a pedicure. I usually don't talk to the "nail specialist." Mostly, because almost everywhere I've gone I can't understand what they're saying. No, I'm not racist. No, I don't have a problem with immigration (legal, that is). But for the life of me, and just can't discern a single word. So I pick a treatment from the "menu" and sit back and relax. I do it but twice a year, so I think I deserve a little relaxation. Hell, it took me me 14 years to finally get my hair cut shorter than my waistline...I take pampering when I can.
My last indulgence is cooking. I love to cook. I try out new recipes all the time. I have a killer pulled pork recipe and I'm still tweaking the BBQ sauce for it. I won the "better than my mother-in-law" cooking award in our first year of marriage. My husband gets mad sometimes that I spend so much time in the kitchen, especially if we have company over, but it's my stress release. When I'm nervous, anxious, stressed or (most of all) angry, I cook. And, poor Bub (hubs), is now called "Puzzle Pieces" because he's in charge of fitting it all in the fridge. He does such a damn good job of it, and packing the car for a trip, and fitting a picnic for 12 in one Igloo cooler, that he's been hired.
I lived in San Diego for 4 years, and realize that I sound a little like a bleach blonde who gets her nails and hair "did", drives an SUV, screaming at my bluetooth, ignoring my children, and getting sloshed every night. Believe me, I've seen them. It's scary.
I do drive an SUV (stupid-f%#$&%*-piece-of-gas-guzzling-two-wheel-drive-shit-in-the-snow-piece-of-crap-I-can't-get-rid-of). I like getting my nails done, but can never put enough time aside in the month to get them "filled" so they end up breaking off (I swear, I'm never getting acrylics again...until a holiday comes up and I wanna look faannncceeeyyyy). I used to have a bluetooth, for when my husband was deployed and I wanted to be able to answer his calls at any and all times. Until it went through the washer. I do ignore my children...especially in the car.* Two glasses of wine per night, nonnegotiable. I am my mother's daughter. And I have natural brown hair. I get points for that, right?
But.
We are a one income family. My husband is a stay-at-home dad. I have a job that where I am part of the 6.8% of women in the industry. I fight for every penny I earn, sometimes literally. So my indulgences are earned. My children get everything they need and want, even if that means me and Bub go without. And by go without, I mean our tax return is our only "spoil ourselves" money. My Christmas money went to car registration this year. We, by no means, indulge to the extreme. But there are certain things I just can't give up. I am, after all, a mom, which, proven so eloquently, means that things have changed for me. No more pee-ing alone. No more road trips. Hell, no more grocery trips without a melt down. Get spit, spit up, puked, pee'd, pooped, drooling, leaked (ear infection) on without so much as a cringe. This is my happy, amazing, awesome life that I wouldn't give up for anything in the world. All I ask for is my little glass of wine, mmk? And by gawd, I'm gonna have it.
*By the way, I don't actually ignore my children. Even when they're both screaming, whining and crying for a piece of cheese/yogurt/candy/"uppy". My kids are my world. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. ;)
Another one of my indulgences is getting my nails done. Nothing beats a manicure or pedicure with a paraffin wax dip, listening to soothing music and reading from my nook. That's right, I read while I get a pedicure. I usually don't talk to the "nail specialist." Mostly, because almost everywhere I've gone I can't understand what they're saying. No, I'm not racist. No, I don't have a problem with immigration (legal, that is). But for the life of me, and just can't discern a single word. So I pick a treatment from the "menu" and sit back and relax. I do it but twice a year, so I think I deserve a little relaxation. Hell, it took me me 14 years to finally get my hair cut shorter than my waistline...I take pampering when I can.
My last indulgence is cooking. I love to cook. I try out new recipes all the time. I have a killer pulled pork recipe and I'm still tweaking the BBQ sauce for it. I won the "better than my mother-in-law" cooking award in our first year of marriage. My husband gets mad sometimes that I spend so much time in the kitchen, especially if we have company over, but it's my stress release. When I'm nervous, anxious, stressed or (most of all) angry, I cook. And, poor Bub (hubs), is now called "Puzzle Pieces" because he's in charge of fitting it all in the fridge. He does such a damn good job of it, and packing the car for a trip, and fitting a picnic for 12 in one Igloo cooler, that he's been hired.
I lived in San Diego for 4 years, and realize that I sound a little like a bleach blonde who gets her nails and hair "did", drives an SUV, screaming at my bluetooth, ignoring my children, and getting sloshed every night. Believe me, I've seen them. It's scary.
I do drive an SUV (stupid-f%#$&%*-piece-of-gas-guzzling-two-wheel-drive-shit-in-the-snow-piece-of-crap-I-can't-get-rid-of). I like getting my nails done, but can never put enough time aside in the month to get them "filled" so they end up breaking off (I swear, I'm never getting acrylics again...until a holiday comes up and I wanna look faannncceeeyyyy). I used to have a bluetooth, for when my husband was deployed and I wanted to be able to answer his calls at any and all times. Until it went through the washer. I do ignore my children...especially in the car.* Two glasses of wine per night, nonnegotiable. I am my mother's daughter. And I have natural brown hair. I get points for that, right?
But.
We are a one income family. My husband is a stay-at-home dad. I have a job that where I am part of the 6.8% of women in the industry. I fight for every penny I earn, sometimes literally. So my indulgences are earned. My children get everything they need and want, even if that means me and Bub go without. And by go without, I mean our tax return is our only "spoil ourselves" money. My Christmas money went to car registration this year. We, by no means, indulge to the extreme. But there are certain things I just can't give up. I am, after all, a mom, which, proven so eloquently, means that things have changed for me. No more pee-ing alone. No more road trips. Hell, no more grocery trips without a melt down. Get spit, spit up, puked, pee'd, pooped, drooling, leaked (ear infection) on without so much as a cringe. This is my happy, amazing, awesome life that I wouldn't give up for anything in the world. All I ask for is my little glass of wine, mmk? And by gawd, I'm gonna have it.
*By the way, I don't actually ignore my children. Even when they're both screaming, whining and crying for a piece of cheese/yogurt/candy/"uppy". My kids are my world. Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. ;)
Friday, December 23, 2011
The (psycho) people I can't live without
In true holiday spirit, we drove the back-splitting 4.5 hours to spend a week with my family. This is much better than the last 4 years of 6+ hour flights from California, with at least one layover, two screaming toddlers, carseat, diaper bag, two carry-on's, and a hubby who gets in a specific type of panic in crowds that induces a temporary lapse into Tourette's syndrome. BUT this is INFINITELY better than visiting the in-laws. Enough said about that.
I suppose everyone's family has the token black sheep cousin, or the grandma who talks insanely too loud, or the uncle who gets so shit faced and pees on the Christmas tree, but I never thought of my family being THAT crazy. At least until I was old enough to think for myself.
My aunt is a knitter. Some people are chefs, others businessmen, nurses, real estate agents, or homemakers. My aunt's true calling is knitting. Of course, she has a day job, that keeps her busy enough to say "CAN'T TALK! CALL LATER!" and slam the phone down when I call. She has two children, one of which has moved to Alaska (do I really need to explain?). Her house is immaculate, her dinner parties are only rivaled by tea time with the Queen, and her sewing skills make Martha Stewart jealous, which is where her nickname comes from. She is the Martha Stewart in our family. Okay, cool, hand-made sweaters, socks, scarves, and hats for the kids. The presents for us adults however, not so much. But still within the realm of sanity; odd but sane. Let's just say her husband golfs...a lot.
Where her yarn addiction gets weird is that she physically can not put this shit down. Mom and I would spend all day cooking dinner, and cleaning the house for company. The doorbell rings, and my aunt walks in without so much as a blink in our direction, makes a beeline for the couch with her overflowing bag of knitting supplies, and proceeds to clickity-clack her way into a stupor. She only pauses to scarf down dinner, while simultaneously, passive-aggressively insults the food, then leaves the table a good 15 min before everyone else to get back to her crack. She's even let my daughter play with her stitch counter once. OOOooooo. Ain't that nice.
The rest of my family, fairly normal. Grandma is quiet and giving. My cousin and I get along like sisters. Grampa doesn't show up. Okay, maybe that's not normal. But it's best for everybody. My mother is...my mother. My no less than 25 bottles of wine in house at all times, take pictures of my dirty dishes and laundry as "evidence", obsessive compulsive control freak mother. I get my wine addiction from her. And ta-da...there is the secret behind the name.
What are your crazy family stories? Do you have a knitter? Or drunks? Or is your family *GASP* sane?
I suppose everyone's family has the token black sheep cousin, or the grandma who talks insanely too loud, or the uncle who gets so shit faced and pees on the Christmas tree, but I never thought of my family being THAT crazy. At least until I was old enough to think for myself.
My aunt is a knitter. Some people are chefs, others businessmen, nurses, real estate agents, or homemakers. My aunt's true calling is knitting. Of course, she has a day job, that keeps her busy enough to say "CAN'T TALK! CALL LATER!" and slam the phone down when I call. She has two children, one of which has moved to Alaska (do I really need to explain?). Her house is immaculate, her dinner parties are only rivaled by tea time with the Queen, and her sewing skills make Martha Stewart jealous, which is where her nickname comes from. She is the Martha Stewart in our family. Okay, cool, hand-made sweaters, socks, scarves, and hats for the kids. The presents for us adults however, not so much. But still within the realm of sanity; odd but sane. Let's just say her husband golfs...a lot.
Where her yarn addiction gets weird is that she physically can not put this shit down. Mom and I would spend all day cooking dinner, and cleaning the house for company. The doorbell rings, and my aunt walks in without so much as a blink in our direction, makes a beeline for the couch with her overflowing bag of knitting supplies, and proceeds to clickity-clack her way into a stupor. She only pauses to scarf down dinner, while simultaneously, passive-aggressively insults the food, then leaves the table a good 15 min before everyone else to get back to her crack. She's even let my daughter play with her stitch counter once. OOOooooo. Ain't that nice.
The rest of my family, fairly normal. Grandma is quiet and giving. My cousin and I get along like sisters. Grampa doesn't show up. Okay, maybe that's not normal. But it's best for everybody. My mother is...my mother. My no less than 25 bottles of wine in house at all times, take pictures of my dirty dishes and laundry as "evidence", obsessive compulsive control freak mother. I get my wine addiction from her. And ta-da...there is the secret behind the name.
What are your crazy family stories? Do you have a knitter? Or drunks? Or is your family *GASP* sane?
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