Love and Marriage Part 3

Asked the secret to their long, 60+ year marriage, my grandmother's stock answer was, "ignore." I'd always thought that a cynical approach. Now, 12 years into my own marriage I think I catch her drift. Ignore the minutiae. Ignore the things that drive you crazy about your spouse because you'll probably never change them. Focus, instead, on the true purpose of the union: Love, Friendship, Compassion. But my grandmother was a tough lady and maybe she was being literal....

NYT Here I Come

I began writing for the monthly community lifestyle magazine. I fell into it, really. They had an advertisement for a proofreader, in which they misspelled "proofreader." That gig didn't work due to logistics; but they asked me if I wanted to write. I accepted a few assignments, then learned the pay was abysmal (the kids who clean the kennel at my spouse's veterinary practice make more per hour). Still, I was happy for the work and exposure, and enjoyed interviewing people in the community. Then they asked me to sign a non-compete. My attorney advised against it --an unreasonable exclusionary period, lack of professional wages, etc. Once I told them, they said they were moving in another direction. And so goes my short-lived career in journalism.

Cubby Hole

There's a new girl at camp; and our daughter says she is "not her friend." Why? Because when this girl opens her cubby it swings into our daughter's cubby. I have to wonder, wouldn't it be great if life could be this black and white? "She swings her cubby door wide. She is not my friend." I wish I had the moral compass of a five year old.

Hold 'em, hold 'em, hit 'im again

I went to a powder puff football game. The lingerie league, as it's officially called. The spectacle started with a good half an hour of women stretching in front of the crowd, almost like a dance routine. They changed out of their short shorts and tank tops for the game though. Uniforms were even more scanty. Essentially bikinis, with the tops accentuating their boobs. They had very little protective gear, only shoulder pads, and the game itself was rough. Not a game of tag football with the family in the back yard..

I was told that these women just want to play the game and this is their only opportunity. They don't get paid and it sounds like the promoter is slime. I have no problem with women playing this "man's" game. It's just sad they have to consent to exploitation to do it.

Dream House?

Banned from the Xbox and the computer for the weekend, our son was itching for some screen time, any screen time. Desperate, he actually asked his little sister if he could watch a Barbie movie with her.

Love and Marriage: Part 2

My spouse is a bit of an exercise freak. Five mornings a week at the gym plus CrossFit as many times as he can cram it in, and something on Saturday --remember, this is the man who takes his jump rope on vacation. Upon occasion, I note that his zeal borders on obsession and, yes, I find it annoying it sometimes cuts into family activities. Maybe this is his form of the previously noted "mid-life crisis." Still I thank my lucky stars that he isn't out with a twinkie.

Ode to House Rules

I meandered into our office
remnants of the evening's cocktail in hand.
My spouse unceremoniously expelled me from the room.
No food or drink out of the kitchen.
No exceptions.

Love and Marriage

Perhaps chalk it up to mid-life crises, but my spouse and I know several marriages that have either weathered the storm or are kaput due, in part, to infidelity. So when he comes home and I haven't folded the laundry or dinner isn't anywhere close to being served or, like the other day, I've rendered the Internet useless and  he has to spend an hour and a half of grief with Time Warner just to find out that I've accidentally put the computer in "Airplane Mode," I have a reassuring refrain: "but I didn't cheat on you today."

Scope It Out

I had the pleasure of getting it from both ends --an endoscopy and a colonoscopy at the same time! Unfortunately, the doctor could not perform the latter. Seems I'm still full of shit. Big surprise.

Ode to Anne

Your spouse spilled
some wine
and you
apologized
with a
poem.
Your son froze
on
a walk
on my watch.
All I can offer
is this
blog post.
Mea culpa.

Show Time

The annual auction to benefit our children's school is Saturday night. This year's theme: A Night at the Oscars. Many women are going all out. Gowns, bling, etc. I've scrounged through my closet for an outfit, and count myself lucky that my spouse acquiesced to be my date.

Man Hands

My currently predominant middle-age ailment has my knuckles enlarged to barnacles and my hands swollen. I can't wear my engagement and wedding rings. A boon for dating.

Quote of the Day

This from our nearly 10-year-old son: "I'm glad you're not one of those moms who's totally obsessed with sex and fashion." And so you have my first tweet.

On the right side of the law

To clarify, my spouse is not the aforementioned convicted felon. Rather, he is, and always has been, a law abiding citizen --though he is still smarting about a 2001 traffic violation.

Past is past

I unearthed a box of old letters during our move. These morsels date from the mid 90s, those post-college, pre-marriage days. I'm struck by several things. First, there are cards and letters from people professing eternal friendship and love. Some of these gals have hung in there; most I haven't spoken to in years; others I don't even remember.

Second, these were more turbulent years, the "I dated a convicted felon" years; and I owe thanks and a shout out to people (my big brother, for instance) who bailed me out and helped me through it --because I wasn't altogether mature or responsible. Playing the victim, a bit of a whiner.  But then I'm reading letters from friends detailing their failed romances and jobs. And I see that we were all whining and kvetching. Must have been something in the water.

Don't judge a book....

My new cashmere sweater, and I'm wearing the dog crap out of it. My spouse says it looks like something plucked off the clearance rack at Wal-Mart --only further proving that I really do have class, but no one would know it. And that's the beauty of it.