Forty-Seven Years

As I sit here, separated from my husband and living with my oldies, it is not lost on me that I have not excelled at marriage.

My oldies (my incredible parents) were married 47 years ago today. They continue to be living examples of what a marriage should look like. It's not all roses and sweetness. It's a quiet devotion and respect of each other. It's love and concern that truly wants the best for each other. It's snapping in frustration and snapping out of the mood or the attitude before ugly things are said. It's Honor with a capital H.

Sometimes I watch them ... I've been doing it for years. I was born 17 months after their marriage and I've been studying them my entire life. Of course they have had their struggles and rocky times. Even in those circumstances, they somehow remain steadfast in their union.

We all know it takes two people to make a strong marriage just like it takes two people to screw it up. We're supposed to believe that no problems are insurmountable. Sorry, I don't believe that anymore.

I do believe shining examples of strong and healthy marriages are all around us. I live here. I see it every day.

I Love You but I Don't Like You Right Now

Do you experience this feeling? I do. A lot. I also tend to zoom in on one occasion, one comment, one offense and fret about it. The other day, one of my friends told me to "let it go." Good advice but I'm not skilled at it. I prefer to beat it to death. I'm convinced it's a genetic disease.

Anyone who's been in a marriage or a relationship for longer than six months knows this feeling. I don't trust people who won't admit to it. They may be kidding themselves but they're not kidding me.

You might think I'm only referring to marital relationships but that is not true. I've been in this place with friends, children and parents. Okay, truthfully, with the parent thing, it's only my mother because my father lets her do the dirty work. This does not make him weak; it makes him smart. I could not hang up on him but my mother and I have moved it to an art form. It's not an offense -- one of us immediately calls back.

I think this is one of the greatest gifts you can give a child. The ability to speak his or her mind, the ability to apologize, the ability to stand back and realize where the fault may be. The ability to argue a position and make the case.

In my childhood, I was allowed to disagree. I was allowed to make my case. Sometimes I won and sometimes I lost but I learned to do it respectfully.

Neither of my parents are attorneys, nor am I. But, they would've served our judicial system well.

Process of Elimination

I was trying to be nice last night. I was out of town for most of last week and the husband sometimes gets an attitude. Secretly, he likes it when I'm gone but he has to pretend to be irritated. It's part of our marriage dance.

The first thing I did was to cook dinner. And, I tried a new recipe that sounded like something he would like -- kind of a jambalaya sauce over pasta. If I do say so myself, it was yummy. (Rachel Ray says it can be made in 30 minutes. She's a big liar.)

My second nice thing was to listen to golf stories. I did not make the gagging noise. I did not roll my eyes. I slipped up once and said, "Did you forget this is a HOBBY? Unless you've joined the Senior Tour and forgot to tell me about it, get over yourself." He let that pass.

My third nice thing was to let him play his iPod and have control of the remote. (You cannot imagine how difficult this is for me.) At one point he extended his hand -- the universal symbol for "May I have this dance?"

As we danced, I commented, "You don't even like me." He said, "I know. But, you're the only one here."

Divorce Parties

Have you heard of these? I have not attended one but I was aware that they exist. There seem to be two types:

Women who have some cocktails, put his photos on a pinata and take turns bashing his face in; or

A couple who chooses to throw a party to celebrate their years together right before they go their separate ways.

I'm sounding like an oldie but both versions of this party give me the creeps. I hear the Belle in my head, "That is not proper behavior." I'm trying to imagine the invitation. Is it:

Bring your favorite baseball bat, or
Bring your favorite memory?

As much as I hate the idea, there is a little logic to it. You invite your friends and family to watch you join as a union. They celebrate your accomplishments and your family over the years. When you end it, it extends far beyond the two innocents who said, "I do." It changes lives. It makes friends question their own relationships. It is not fair to children. Parents on both sides wonder where they went wrong. Traditions get changed and rearranged.

I picked up a small book called, The Divorce Party by Laura Dave. I believe it is her first novel. The concept is simple: one woman at the beginning of her marriage and one woman at the end of hers. Their intertwining struggles made me laugh and cry. It's a quick read: a few hours on the beach or an evening alone. I hope you'll read it.

I have no plans to get divorced. If, Heaven Forbid, that were to happen. I will not have a party.

Are You Happy?

During our goldies weekend, we did our traditional questions in a box. We all write our questions individually and dump them in. It's not unusual to draw a duplicate question. In some way it's a validation that we're all on the same page.

Asking "Are You Happy?" is a great conversation starter. We're not going for euphoria -- just more good things than bad. Turns out we all have a bunch of unhappy stuff in our lives but it's manageable. The outlets we choose (like this girlfriend weekend) help us cope.

I'm suspicious of people who are always happy. Are they drugged? Are they in denial?

Lots of our questions made me think. Some of them have been repeated but every year brings new challenges and opportunities to remind each other that we are not alone in our various struggles.

We go from whimsical to morose. Here are a few of my favorites:

Do you wish you'd had more children?
When your marriage gets tough, what makes you stay?
What worries you the most about your kids?
Are you trying to live a greener, eco-friendly life?
Are you becoming your mother?
Shoot me if ...

It probably helps to have 30+ years under our belt. We're a safety zone.

Will I Ever Learn?

I have been married to the husband for umpteen years. He is one of the most social men on the planet. We have always welcomed people into our home -- no invitation necessary. As long as I don't have to wait on you, come on in.

Between tromping around in the yard to assess storm damage and taking the dog for a walk through a fog of humidity, I felt pretty grungy yesterday evening. After I put dinner together (which I knew would shock the husband,) I took a shower. It was after 7pm so I opted for pjs and my ratty bathrobe.

Picture this: Dripping hair, scrubbed face and an ultra-cute outfit. The back door opens and the husband says, "Look who's here."

I tried to be nonchalant. (Like I always eat dinner in my bathrobe.) So I tossed the salad and served the pasta. Some women would've run to get appropriately dressed. I did not. I decided to go with the drowned rat look.

Hard to Undo

As difficult as it may be to believe, we are still dealing with the oldies' paperwork. I ran to pick up carry-out food and came home to hear the husband having this conversation:

"You are not listening to me. I do not authorize further charges. You are not listening to me!"

I know this tone and I know this phrase. It's been thrown at me once or twice or twelve million times. I know that throbbing vein when he's frustrated. I know the look on his face when he's about to lose it. Ah, love.

The oldies were extremely responsible about their bills. They set up automatic payments for a few things and this has been a nightmare. We've sent death certificates. We've paid the balance in full -- yet those automatic charges just keep on coming. You can set it up in minutes. It takes weeks to undo.

Sometimes, life situations need a delete button.

Sleeping Around

I've slept with lots of people. That does not mean I've had sex with lots of people. Mostly, I've slept with my husband(s) and some girlfriends. And my parents. When scared or lonely, I've crawled into their bed. I haven't done this in a couple of decades but I suspect they wouldn't kick me out.

The 70s brought freedom for lots of young women. Free love and access to the birth control pill. Burn that bra and flash your sexual freedom! I might have been the missile but my parents were the silo. They held the key and the pass code.

A couple of times, my built-in moral code emerged. We must get married! Yeah, that worked out well. I've had more than one wedding but only one marriage.

My cousin (one of the smartest people I know) and I had an email conversation the other day. In the midst of solving the problems of the world, I asked, "Was marriage meant to be hard?" His response was, "It just is." I used to watch the oldies get cranky with each other and I was amazed that they had anything left to bristle about.

Having participated in the rearing of two children, I will be the first to acknowledge that the double standard still exists: Men who sleep around are studs. Women get the bad rap.

I know women who wish they had saved their virginity until their wedding night. I know women who regret not sleeping with someone in their past.

I know friends who come from huge families and sleeping with a sibling was the norm. I never had to share a bed with a sibling. I did crawl in bed with my parents the night before I left for college.

I had a roommate in college that had no qualms about having sex while I was in the room. I pretended to be asleep.

The baby will be 20-years old this summer. When he was in high school, my slightly demented father used to ask him, "How's your sex life?" I think he liked to watch his face turn red. I come by it honestly because I made him watch everything possible about STDs, teenage pregnancy, etc. Then, although he rolled his eyes a lot, I made him discuss it. At some point, he figured out that he was bigger than me and he could just heave himself on me to shut me up.

I still sleep around. You might find me on the patio. I have wandered into the guest room trying to escape the television. I have napped on the dog pillow. I have a key to my parent's house and I know their alarm code. More than once, I've been tempted to drive over and crawl in bed. Of course, their dog would bite me.

Office Weirdness

As you know, I write on every available scrap of paper. I keep loose notes and ideas everywhere but most of them wind up in my office. Some may pertain to client thoughts; others can run the gamut from gift ideas to menus. When the stacks get overwhelming, I try to bring the paperwork into the manageable range.

The computer in my office is slow but it's the fastest one in the house. There are laptops and another desktop computer in the baby's room. Yet, everyone seems to want to go in the office. I allow it but it makes me crazy.

I have an inexplicable desire for space that is just mine. I've gotten pretty militant with commands -- "You may not download anything on my computer!" I put notes on boxes, i.e. "Not Trash!"

Hangdog and the Belle used to wander in my office. I never thought I'd say it but I miss that. They never touched anything. They just sort of hung out in the doorway like it was off-limits.

The husband can occasionally rival Heloise. He feels like he's helping if he puts things away or consolidates stacks of papers. The problem is that I probably just spent an hour sorting those papers. I leave pens and notepads everywhere. He puts the pens away and moves the notebooks. I have a meltdown. I put them back where I wanted them. We'll do the same cycle until the end of time.

It's Me and My Six Dogs

The Belle and I used to share stories. I suspect I know more of her premarital history than her sons. These were our girlfriend moments.

Once I was in a domestic situation -- okay, some called it a marriage but I don't remember it that way. I wanted out in a big way.

Beyond the obvious issues of ending a relationship, I had no idea what to do with myself and my dependents. They weren't children; they were dogs. One dog had been with me for years. One I had recently rescued from the Target parking lot. She repaid the favor by having four puppies in my closet.

I don't remember what tipped me over the edge but I do remember that night with great clarity. It was a Friday and the upcoming Monday was a holiday. I couldn't fathom a long weekend. I called on girlfriend support which meant an emergency meeting for a drink after work.

I went to my house. I paced a lot (in between tending to my six dogs.) I gave myself a window to wait for him. I rehearsed what I would say. I threw a few items of clothing in a bag to get me through. When it hit 7:00 P.M., I could wait and pace no longer. I put six dogs in a laundry basket and I left a note.

It's humiliating to remember. I am actually one of those people who has left a "Dear John" letter as I fled. You know where I went.

One of my parents opened the door. They knew I was unhappy but they were not expecting me to show up on their doorstep. One of my favorite quotes is from Robert Frost:

Home is where they have to take you in.

He didn't mention hauling six dogs along.

Houseboy to the Rescue

Houseboy has come to my rescue more than once. Actually, more than I care to count.

When the oldies were with us, he dealt with many body function disasters. He never complained, even when Hangdog referred to him as "That man." He picked them up, took them places, ran errands for them and hauled many things up and down the stairs. After a major shopping trip, they would leave things in their trunk for him to unload. He installed lots of "must have" gizmos.

There's an Amish market near his home and he regularly brought them treats. Hangdog could not remember his name but he gobbled up the pastries.

I get teased for it but I admit, he does tons of things for me, like getting on ladders or toting things I cannot lift. He (and his crew) fight the weekly battle with the lawn. Or snow. Or storms.

This week, Houseboy and his wife are headed to a sunny destination to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I have witnessed them together and they are still madly in love. They have two children and their individual schedules are crazy. Yet, they stay connected. I don't think he's ever been in my home without talking to her and/or one of the children.

I tease him with the nickname "Houseboy." He's not a boy; He's a man. He's a man that I would be thrilled to see the baby emulate.

Work ethic. Kindness. Laughter. Loyalty. Family love. He's the poster child for all of these things. That's probably why I trust him with my dog and he has keys to my house.

Know When to Hold 'em

I was pretty broken hearted to learn that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus were living in the bedroom next door. I like denial so I put off reality as long as I possibly could.

My heart has been broken by more than one boy or man. Some things are not meant to be. Some things don't ring true. I try to learn the lesson.

People act like friendships are the easiest things in the world. They're not. Hi hi, kiss kiss friendships are easy. Actually, that's not friendship. It's being an acquaintance. Friendships involve knowing your faults, knowing your parents and children, knowing the disaster of your financial situation or a marriage on the cusp of disaster. It's not easy. Just like a marriage or any other relationship you've chosen, they require commitment, dedication and a strong dose of faith. It's a choice to fold 'em or hold 'em.

You can't divorce your parents or your children. You can surrender a pet but I truly hope you are not one of those people. You can resign from a client. When it comes to friends, all options are open. I've been way, way too obsessed with my own issues, my oldies and my life that I forgot to look around. I've let some people down.

I'm on a mission to fix it. I choose to hold 'em.

I Take it Back

Other than the classic orgasm scene, one of my favorite moments in the movie "When Harry Met Sally." is this exchange:

"I take it back"
"You can't take it back; it's already out there."

I don't spend a lot of time with regrets. What's the point? What's done is done. But wouldn't it be nice if you could take it back?

Of the million lessons I learned from the Belle, several of them include:

Any complaint is easier to swallow if you start the sentence with, "Love ..."
Marriage will continue to throw curves. Take it or go take a dodge ball lesson.
Spousses are allowed to bark at each other. No one else is allowed in the dog park.
Children will disappoint you. It doesn't change the love.
Laughter may not cure it all but it's a pretty good salve.

We Can Still Date

The husband hates cold weather. Winter in Indiana makes him a little nuts. We're not exactly Seattle but the gray skies and the snow and the cold temperatures can really mess with a golf game. So far, we've had a mild winter. It doesn't matter. It's a mindset.

He's in Florida now. It's an annual trip that sounds dreadful to me but they enjoy it. Who plays 36 holes of golf every day for seven days? Who would find that fun? Here's the answer: The husband and 15 of his friends.

It may be my job as a spouse to support his dreams. And I do. I have to find the compromise. He wants a condo here and a second place somewhere warm. Since neither one of us lacks for invitations to warm places, this perplexes me.

Yesterday he reminded me that he would love to have a place in Florida. Super supportive Sheri said, "Great! Gabby and I will drive down occasionally. We'll have a date."

The Keeper

Every marriage or relationship goes through spells where you just don't want to talk to one another. And then you have to because one of you is the keeper of information.

Even when the husband and I are not feeling super friendly, we have these conversations:

Where is the tuition bill?
What is my dad/mom's social security number?
Did you mail that paperwork in?
Did he call today?
Did you talk to the nurse today?

I am the keeper of information. I know where the files are kept. But it's a risky venture. I am Pigpen. It's kind of like asking the dog to be in charge of one particular twig.

Thinking About Tomorrow

I usually read novels when I go on a trip. But last year, I picked up a book, "Thinking About Tomorrow -- Reinventing Yourself at Midlife." The author is Susan Crandell. I read it on a plane and put it aside.

It's haunting me.

We all need to evaluate and make sure the choices we made yesterday still work for us today. So, I am trying to do that and it's hard. I can't figure out how I blinked and the daughter is grown and thriving in another part of the country. I can't figure out how the toddler who used to snuggle with me is grown and off to college, with bigger adventures to come. I can't comprehend that we just buried the Belle. I can't get over the sadness of Hangdog in the Home. He hates it and I hate it for him, yet, it is the only solution we seem to find.

There's a blank page in front of me. The decisions are mine and mine alone. The husband has dreams and aspirations. He thinks I've lost mine but they're still there.

I guess that's the dance of marriage.

The Man with Three Wives

I love all those cheesy Lifetime movies. My favorite is the one about Betty Broderick. It's called "A Woman Scorned." It's actually two movies and they usually run them back to back.

Some of my other favorites are:

Dead By Sunset with Ken Olin(another true story)
When Husbands Cheat with Patricia Kalember (super cheesy and extremely unrealistic!)
The House of Secrets and Lies with Connie Selleca
A Chance of Snow with JoBeth Williams

There are countless others and I'm pretty sure I've seen them all.

The other night I couldn't sleep so I watched "The Man with Three Wives." Beau Bridges plays a doctor who is married to three women: Joanna Kerns, Pam Dawber and some other woman. The juggling and the deception ultimately kill him. (Sorry to spoil the ending.)

I'm living a different version of this movie. The husband is only married to me but he IS a man with three wives. Many women would have a problem with this but I don't. Many, many people feel free to comment to me that our friendship is unsettling. I don't care and frankly, I don't think either of my wives-in-law care either.

There are legal bonds and there are ethical bonds. These are the mothers of his children. Their safety and well-being is important to him. We all may squabble over different things but like any family, we're a unit. That really hit me full force when I stood in front of the Belle's casket (in Mississippi) crying with my wives-in-law.

The daughter and the baby are better off for this relationship. (Although they probably complain about having too many mothers.) We all try to put them first but the truth is, we also genuinely love each other. There's a reason people get divorced but there's also a reason people get married. I did not marry either of these women but I see why the husband did.

We celebrate many things together ... holidays, graduations, and this week, a funeral for the Belle.

And Now There is One

We have returned from the trek to Mississippi, the funeral and the whirlwind. Planes, automobiles and wheelchairs! (I will write more about that later.)

Although I hate this expression, it is what it is.

The Captain/Hangdog/the Unabomber is a lost soul. He didn't just lose his wife. He lost it all ... best friend, nurse, protector, soul mate. In his world, he just lost the biggest part of him. He doesn't know how to be a person without her.

He wanted to go first but apparently, God had other plans.

Shock Proof

There's a difference between legitimate shock or just being jumpy. I'm extremely jumpy but very little shocks me anymore.

People get divorced. It's sad but it no longer shocks me.

XXXX number of people were killed in the Middle East today. It no longer shocks me.

Some politician (local, national, international) has done something corrupt. It no longer shocks me.

Teenagers push the limit, get caught and still do some stupid things. This is not a shock to me.

Marriage is a marvel of good times and bad times. It took me a long time to learn this but it no longer shocks me.

Sometimes people who you think are on your side will throw you under the bus. I forgive. And, I'm never shocked -- just disappointed.

The moment you're flip enough to think all is under control, God has other plans. Doesn't shock me.

The cutest and most animated puppy in the litter will turn out to be the dog that's hardest to train. Doesn't shock me and doesn't stop me.

Jumpy is harder to cure.

What Choices Will She Make?

I spend a fair amount of time thinking about the daughter. She lives in another state and our communications are limited to email and phone. (Although, she and her father have mastered texting each other.) Still, there's nothing like the warm embrace and the familiar comfort of the hug. I took a million of them while she was home for Christmas. She probably felt a little smothered. I hope she felt the love.

She is happily in love and we are thrilled for her. Then I do the life comparison and realize that I had worn more than one wedding dress by the time I was in her stage of life. (Not a recommended path!) I did not birth children but I know she plans to do so. As if this was any of my business, I wonder when? Am I so conservative that I would expect her to be married? If there was a little grandbaby in the picture, would I care?

We embraced the decision for her to move away, have her adventures and get out of Dodge. The husband did it and I wish I had done it as a young person. Yet, I'm selfish and now I like it best when we're all in the same city.

The oldies do not understand. She is their eldest grandchild and they are a bit perplexed with her choices. Not married? What is she waiting for? No children yet?

Education has been a focal point. She has far surpassed her father, her mother and me with degrees in hand. So far, the best use of those degrees is something she struggles with and we less-educated people can only advise. Like all parents, we just want her to be happy.