Married Musings

Google "marriage memes," I dare you. This came up about halfway through the page. It's not wrong. 

My best friend told me her husband of over a decade says that marriage is likely to consist of a lot of bad years and he wants to conquer those to get to the good ones. I kind of like that idea. No, I LOVE that idea. Why? Because marriage is hard.

Marriage not an easy thing. It can be painful, frustrating, infuriating, defeating and completely stressful.

Princess Bride, in its infinite wisdom, is quoted too often in my marriage. Things can be less romantic and more routine, then turn to rough and real in a moment's notice. It's all a matter of give and take, and communication.

We are 6 weeks away from 10 years of marriage and all I can say is, we've had our fair share of bad times and I'm all for pushing towards the good. Anyone who is married and says they don't have a phase like this might be lying or better yet, inhuman.

Marriage, like childbearing, is a club we all want to be accepted into, but no one tells you how challenging it is once you're in. No one is honest about it, until you're honest about your marriage with everyone else. That's when all the stories come out of the woodwork.

It took me a good 4 years of motherhood and family life rough waters to realize that most relationships have the "Titanic" moment of one person on the door and the other person in the water hanging for dear life. 

We can all admit now, there was room for both of them on that door! Regardless, I digress; marriage is anything but simple and easy. I now understand the growing divorce rate in our country. We often wonder how people make it for so long, and I'm unsure as if anyone has a magic answer, I sure as hell don't. I just know that it takes work from both parties.

Staying hopeful in a marriage, to me, is more important than staying happy. "Happy" can have a million definitions, but hopeful is the real, deep stuff. You're going to be horrible to each other. You're going to hurt each other. These are facts. But when you just want to keep up the good fight at the end of the day, and still annoy just that one other person, I think you're probably doing okay.

I used to find comfort in comedies that made fun of how ridiculous marriage can be and brought some lighthearted moments into it all. I still do, which is why I revisit these in times of high anxiety.

Of course the Friends moment the day after Monica and Chandler's wedding where Chandler fakes wedding photos at another wedding to avoid Monica being upset their photos were lost and Monica opens every gift without him will always live in infamy: 

Compromise at it's best; makes me laugh every time.

Albeit there are cute Lily and Marshall-esque moments: 

    

Those are the moments that get you out of the bad, more often than not. The moments where you stop being cranky at each other and stick with being cute. These are the social media moments people live for.

However, there are also some pretty serious moments when things get real:

We totally embrace and thrive in therapy and I make no apologies for it. I advocate therapy to EVERYONE. Sometimes you just need a little extra help so you can get away from the tension and back to life as a couple. It's like having a mediator to get you away from the same fight, the same dizzy dance and same bad habits, and recenter your views. I'm a fan.

More and more I'm finding as we age separately and as a couple, that we are just not alone in our issues, but no one is talking about it. In some ways, keeping your personal life personal is great, but sometimes it's nice to know the cheese doesn't stand alone.

My balance become being a complainer in general, and learning to cultivate my frustration with my tribe has been such an intense experience. At my worst I was just on a diatribe. At my best, I grew up and started to take control of what I wanted out of my marriage and stopped apologizing and started working towards those goals. It's definitely a work in progress, but it's worth the job!

We are 6 weeks away from celebrating the big 10 together and for the first time, in a long time, I'm feeling beyond hopeful, but excited. As strange as it is to think about the time gone by I'm definitely happy to put some chapters behind us and to continue onward and upward. 

Thanks Michael Scott, we won't!

It's Not All Bad

One of my favorite quotes from my all time favorite movie, "The Princess Bride," which rings true regularly is, "Life is pain, highness, anyone who says differently is selling something."

I think we can all agree that life is hard. EVERYONE has completely different challenges, trials and things that make it difficult for them. Everyone handles those difficulties differently. There is physical pain, mental pain, people being a pain. Everyone has something different that makes life a little harder.

I've started to wish that I was brave enough to just lay it all out for the world to see, like "Okay, this is what has actually, truly, legitimately been going on, and it's kind of been really shitty." But that unashamed honesty can be unwelcome and it definitely can give you quite the stigma, or so I have experienced previously. 

With my last two jobs I felt emotionally cornered into making unfair choices. A lot of this came from really difficult personal life circumstances, but in both cases, rather than fight for something I was unsure of and lay all my cards out on the table, I just decided to fold and take the loss. I wish I could have had a heart to heart with each employer and apologized for my home life affecting my work, but I also think I wasn't meant to stay in those positions long term anyway so I kind of let life just figure that one out and did what I could with what I had. 

That is my exact coping mechanism I may have just mastered; when you can control almost nothing and the decisions have been made without you, you have to make the best of what's in front of you. It's all we can do, right?

I think admitting that life is really rough, and that sometimes bad things just happen, is something we don't want to say out loud for fear of coming across as weak or unable to handle things, or maybe that's just me. I've said time and time again, I pride myself on my ability to keep it together and never let them see me break. I may have a good late night cry, or even a lunch time car cry session, but I always pull myself together before I'm back in the public view.

It would be nice if "mental health days" were a real thing and we could call our bosses and say, "I really need to color, take a nap, and watch 4 hours of Friends today, I'll be back in tomorrow." But, for now, we kick up our self care and coping mechanisms and remind ourselves "it's not all bad." It's actually not ALL bad. So much of life is a blessing, but I also don't want to take away from the fact that we all have real, personal, and sometimes unfair turmoil going on.

With that, I wish we could be kinder to each other. About 4 months ago, in what I consider to be an "anxious relapse," I let myself get talked into a tizzy over something really stupid. It felt huge at the time, but it really was dumb. You see, I'm that person that works diligently on being unconditionally understanding. People have real lives and a million things going on and it's not for me to add anything to anyone else's plate, I'm just there to offer for whatever they may need. But I let myself take things too personally as though, the lack of responsiveness was due to "hating me," "ghosting me" or "un-friending me." 

In my experience, when people are going through rough times, the best thing you can do is listen to their answer and asking "how can I help?" Then find some way to do it. Maybe it's a ride somewhere, a gift certificate to Publix, money for pizza or leaving their favorite beer in their fridge when you stop by to check in. Sometimes it's a card that says, "you're doing awesome considering things kinda suck right now" or other times it's a simple text of "I know how busy you are, but I'm here if you have time to chat or to schedule time to hang out."

The thing is, and I think even Taylor Swift sang it once, "That you don't know, what you don't know." So I think we should all work harder to be a little kinder and gentler to people. I post a lot on Instagram pictures of quotes, inspirational words and even just phrases that affect me in some way. Sometimes they say "Hey I'm having a bad day," others signify, "Been there before;" some are funny, some are dark, and rarely I'll even sneak an inside joke in there. 

Everyone has their shit, I like to say. But at the end of the day, life isn't all bad, and we need to remind each other of that when we are struggling. I have found myself getting caught up in technological whirlwinds of never returned text messages, unresponsiveness or miscommunication and taking a big step back from it all has made me feel more receptive to essentially being a better friend and person. 

It's really easy to see all the happy posts and cute pictures and write people off as having "perfect lives," "perfect vacations," and "better circumstances," or "easier lives" than yourself. You never see pictures of the bad times, right? I had to work really hard on not succumbing to those negative twinges and now thinking, "Wow, that looks awesome, good for them!" Because I never got anything from feeling like life was all bad, but I get everything from appreciating more and more that everyone deserves to enjoy a little good.

I've paid close attention to people recently and I am consistently in awe of our capacity to persevere. We are a resilient bunch, especially us wives and mothers, in my humble opinion. It takes a lot for us to really speak enough to be heard and it takes even more to be loud enough for things to resonate but when we do, we make waves. As someone who generally believes women don't think much of her, I've found in motherhood that we are far more similar than we are different, and when we open up and let our guards down a little, we get even stronger as a bunch.

When I've been at my lowest, I've had plenty of people remind me, it's not all bad, and I'll be damned if I don't do the same thing for them. Because the thing that makes it worse, is when we try and push through it alone. The Beatles didn't write all those hits about love and togetherness for us to learn nothing. So if you start your week with this, let us remember to get "By with a little help from my friends," and encourage them when they are feeling immersed in the darkness, that it's not all bad after all. 

It Ended Up Being A Baseboard Day

Every weekend I clean. A lot. For many hours. Sometimes just Saturday. Sometimes I span it over two days, depending on my energy level. But every weekend I clean, like it or not.

After horseback riding lessons we got home and I had a small lunch type situation and then started my mental checklist. A friend who recently moved away left us an obscene amount and strange array of leftover cleaning supplies. I had slowly been using them for random things around the house, as I usually do vinegar based things and have some weird aversion to the smell some cleaning products, bleach especially.

I found an all purpose cleaner and looked down and realized...it had been a good month since I did the baseboards. I saw one particular spot that was completely gross. And then it began...and it ended up being a baseboard day. 

I can only speak for myself, but have to ask, does anyone else loathe doing baseboards? I have this weird wave of emotions and hilarious thoughts as soon as I start the task. It goes from, "I immediately regret this decision," to thoughts like, "oh my gosh, how gross are we living?" 

I start and I'm like, "Hey this isn't that bad." But as I progress I'm like, "Ugh why did I even start this? Well I already started it so I have to finish now. How did dirt get there?" Before you know it, I'm internally having a full on conversation with myself, and therefore have entered crazy town. 

I was cleaning the baseboards thinking of writing this blog and how, you have to get in all these weird uncomfortable positions to clean them, and reach all these weird angles. All of the sudden, then I wonder, why do we even have baseboards and why did I arrange the furniture to make this so difficult? Again, cleaning the baseboards becomes some weird internal philosophical conversation. It's so strange how my mind wanders when I'm doing cleaning tasks.

Cleaning the baseboards is gratifying and annoying all at the same time, and I totally wish it were less exhausting, but when I'm done I feel that amazing sense of accomplishment. So I'm bending and squatting and conforming and scrubbing, all to clean the dog hair and every day life of the spot that buffers the wall and the floor. All the while my daughter is scurrying around clearing her messes and getting ready for a play date.

I finally start to see the light at the end of the tunnel and then hit that mental wall about the rest of the things I need to clean. There's a huge part of me that gets a sense of pride knowing that I'm the one who does the bulk of the cleaning in my own home. My husband has recently been a huge, huge help and even the kiddo pitches in from time to time but mostly it's all me that keeps up with the chores and maintenance making the house a home.

Of course I dream about having a house cleaner and not having to spend my weekends cleaning, and if I ever had room in the budget I would spend it on freeing up my time in that way, but I also like knowing when I cleaned what and with what supplies. I think it's more of that control in the chaos thing that I live by. I love knowing there are certain things I have full control over, no matter what else is going on in my life. And cleaning arranging is one of those easy things to manage.

I always sleep better when I have a clean house. I can start my week successfully knowing that kicked butt at home ownership and did all my necessary chores. I also feel better mental health-wise knowing that I keep my house tidy and the filth minimal. 

So today ended up being a baseboard day. And in some ways that was not at all what I had in mind. In other ways I'm glad I decided to get that done so it was one less thing for me to do tomorrow or next week. There will always be a to-do list. The husband will always have a "honey-do" list. There are times to kick back and ignore the chores and then there are baseboard days. Whatever your Saturday brings, I hope you get that sense of accomplishment too!

First Friends Are The Best Friends

I had just messaged my friend, the one who has known me the longest, since I was just 6 years old, and asked him if I could write a blog about us, and the next day at Publix I come across this cover on Life Magazine. And let me tell you, it could have been us.

I think of this tale as beyond epic so here we go. When I was in Kindergarten I went to some private prep school and met my best friend/ "first boyfriend," also known as Bradley. He was an older one, all of 7 and had red hair just like me. He once told me that when he was in like first grade, next to my picture he wrote that he would marry me some day but then scratched it out in older years. The universe had different plans anyway.

We may have made it a year or two together as inseparable. We had beach trips, sleep overs, camp outs, and endless play dates. We did lots of hand holding and kissing on the cheek, if memory serves. We watched E.T. together and I gave him my E.T. stuffed animal as a gift to my new "boyfriend." I should have dug out pictures of us from when we were beyond adorable.

When his family moved on from having him attend that school and living in that that area, my mom didn't stay in touch. We kind of just faded with nothing but pictures and memories of our childhood adventures. I didn't know if we'd ever speak again, let alone what would happen 17 years later.

See, this was back in the day before Facebook, MySpace, and Google took over so you could find ANYONE. All you had was old mailing addresses or a phone book to track people down. I can't tell you how many times he crossed my mind but I never would have thought he'd remember me.

In about 2002ish, Bradley had tracked down my dad's phone number in Oregon but admitted he was too afraid and intimidated to call. Knowing my dad he would have been rude at first and then relieved it wasn't some 20 year old boyfriend looking for me, and instead an old friend.

In 2009, when my husband and I joined Facebook, in the MOST unlikely of ways, Bradley found me, and this happened as soon as we moved to Florida. Bradley had been searching for me under my maiden name, my dad's last name, and tracked down my niece on Facebook, because on Facebook I've always had hubby's name. My maiden name, Lodjic, was pretty darn rare. He messaged her asking if she knew of me at all and she responded saying, "That's my aunt, she just got married, here is her Facebook name."

And that was it, the boy who knew me the longest and had been looking for me, finally found me when I was just 24 years old, after not speaking since we were maybe, 7 and 8? It was completely astounding.

Bradley was kicking ass in the Airforce when we reconnected. We spoke via the magic of the internet A LOT. We did IM and Facebook, I called him as much as I could. We emailed. We stayed up hours talking about everything. He remembered my family before everything turned sour and he remembered things my trauma had blocked out. I knew him before his personal family stuff and there was a sense of home and familiarity that never left us.

My husband never seemed to be phased by the interaction but perhaps because there has always been an ocean between us. Bradley asked me all about my husband and what I was up to. He read all my poems and blogs. He told me all about his then ex-girlfriend, now wife, and how he knew she was the one. We left no stone unturned in conversation. We picked up immediately as best friends, like we'd never missed a day, let alone close to two decades. It was weird, but completely natural and normal all at the same time.

Ten years ago Bradley Facebooked his way back into my life, and I can honestly say, I couldn't have gotten through that decade without him. There is not a doubt in my mind that he found me because he was meant to be a true friend, a comfort and support that I needed. He is someone from my roots, to keep me rooted. Now, let me elaborate.

Bradley has heard me complain and cry about everything. He calls me out when I'm being unfair in my perspective with my personal relationships and totally has my back when it comes to parenthood and all the ways of me being all that is Alison. When he married his gorgeous wife, I thought he might fade away because you know, life, but we check in often and they happen have a beautiful daughter a year older than Luna. She and Luna are the same age difference as Bradley and I. I desperately want them to meet someday!

Okay back to some history. When I told Bradley why I disappeared from life and reconnecting and he told me about everything he'd gone through, there was no judgement, from either of us. It was the same little boy that held my hand when I got freaked out watching E.T. He was just an amazing friend. And still is.

In March of 2016 for an Airforce training something or other Bradley traveled to Melbourne, Florida. This is only 3 hours away from us. He wanted to meet us all. We hadn't seen each other in 25 years! And we were planning on reconnecting finally. 

My husband had to work so I packed up Luna and we went to Melbourne. We decided to hit the zoo. As a father missing his daughter, he immediately befriended Luna and what was both so strange and perfect, was how watching him with her made me remember more of our childhood together. He was silly and hilarious and all about her. He even got her to try her first snow cone. It was the perfect day, like in Tangled, "Best DAY EVER!"

I know that men and women aren't supposed to be friends. There will be people waiting for me to declare some kind of romantic love but it's the opposite. He's like my brother. He has talked me through some of my darkest moments. He has asked me to help him with some of his perspectives on parenting, marriage and life in general, and of course I harass him for the same. 

We've gone weeks without chatting much but we always check in and keep tabs on one another. When we got in the car accident he was living in Hawaii. When he saw the stuff on Facebook he messaged me in concern. I had just settled down at 11PM at night after an 8:30AM accident and worst day ever, and I just couldn't sleep. My husband was in a separate hospital and all I could do was lay my bloodied head down and try not to cry. 

I remember when he messaged me just mentally collapsing and Bradley calming me down over Facebook messenger because I told him I couldn't rest and was cold, and shaking, upset. I was sore, bruised, and uncomfortable while watching Luna sleep. He told me I was in shock and probably had some intense PTSD. He said that I should be in shock and needed to be gentle on myself. From thousands upon thousands of miles away, he calmed me down enough to get some rest.

These are the seemingly simple moments that confirm he's meant to be like an older brother to protect me from afar. I know this because when I've told him my worst attributes, my most regrettable acts, and all the bad with the good, he's never been mad at me or told me to go away. He's also kept me strong and fighting, never letting me give up on myself or my life.

Don't get me wrong, I have women friends who are my life blood, but there's something about the story of Bradley and I that is just too...stupendous to act like it doesn't bear meaning and purpose. He did give me permission to wax on about this and make this a big deal because...I mean look at that history. Nothing short of epic.

And maybe we won't be around each other in the way that we are now, forever, but I like to think that Luna and his daughter will meet and create the same kind of bond that will outlast our lifetimes. His daughter even inherited E.T! I'll have to report back on that chapter though. I better message him that I actually published this thing though...

"It's Really Liberating Saying 'No' To Sh*t You Hate," And Other Discomforts

I'm sitting on my newly revamped porch area with my pug all bundled up on a windy winter Florida day while my little one is at a neighbor's. And before I do all the obligatory cleaning I decided to put on some vinyls, make some lavender tea and blog it up.

When I'm in times of deepest turmoil, I always revisit a series of some kind that also seems to be dramatic and rife with human pain and emotion. Or I join the hype of a show that was the coolest 5 years ago and finally understand what people are talking about. Last year I watched the HBO gem "Girls." While my mom talks about her distaste for Lena Dunham, I actually loved watching that series and quickly took to her writing and her character.

Not only was she a middle-sized, big mouthed writer, much like myself, but she really had to go through some crazy growth within that show and I liked watching the journey. To this day one of my favorite quotes she says is, "Ya know it's really liberating saying "No" to shit you hate so I'll just be over here, livin' my truth." I've recently started embracing the whole, "saying no to shit you hate," stuff and she has a point.

I feel like we are constantly under pressure to do more so we feel so very obligated to do so on a regular basis. So, we say yes to things that are inconvenient or challenging. Now, to be clear, saying yes to things that get you out of your comfort zone and into finding new friends is something I advocate, but being pushed into doing things you dislike or that make you stressed, miserable and dreading the situation, I don't see the point of that. So I've stopped that whole charade as much as I possibly can. 

This isn't to say I don't show up for my kid, either. Of course I go to the birthday parties I don't really want to, the school events that makes me roll my eyes, and all of those type of things but when you're asking me to do something I really have a distaste for I think you know your answer. 

I hit a wall last year mentally and opened my eyes to something important about myself; there's only so much controlled chaos I can handle. I stress out about planning things or being at the mercy of others plans. It's not a simple thing for me. With the right notice, I can properly psych myself up for certain events but when you put all of your energy into setting up for something, based on someone else's request and the idea that you were "needed" only to have then become completely unnecessary it can make you feel really frustrated. 

When I was already dealing with personal chaos, putting myself into social chaos just became too much. So unless I could accept the variables of how an event could go, I started to say no. And it was indeed personally liberating.

There are millions of memes going around about toxic this, toxic that and self care. I'm a quote hoarder, meaning I hoard quotes and sayings on my Pinterest boards non stop for inspiration or because they hit me in some way that I feel they are worth holding onto. I started realizing that not only was it okay to say no from time to time; it was very necessary. 

And it's not even all about stuff I hate but cultivating what helped me grow. When I'm in a bad place mentally I find the people who I can vent to and who will complain with me as cheerleaders, which can feel supportive but also keep me in a darker zone. When I'm focusing on growth and positive change, I find the people who are constructively there for support and don't get bogged down with the "have nots," but instead with the "haves." Concentrating on what we don't have instead of appreciating what we do, is a downward spiral in my opinion and personal experience.

As mentioned many times before, when you're coming off of years of "rough terrain" in life and finally seeing potholes filled and traffic cleared with more green lights ahead, you can see things more clearly, or so I feel I can at least. So I'm able to reflect on the progress and how far I've come.

It's hard to feel like you're "letting down" people when you say no, but then there is a feeling of redemption in it too. I used to just go do all the things whether I could really afford them or not and then lose sleep because I overspent or, now I have to cut back and redo this all for one night out. And this was because "Well they invited me and it's rude to say no." Or I'd decide all the ways I might deserve the night out as a justification. It just amplified my anxieties. 

It took me a long, hard year. I had to take a huge step back from and identify the triggers. And I learned to carry less and just shoulder what I could. So when I couldn't afford it, I said so. I said "nope, I can't, sorry," and it felt weirdly awesome. If it was something I knew would make me mentally or socially uncomfortable, I said "no," but if it was something new and exciting or a chance to better get to know people, I jumped in.

There's a fine line. It's different for everyone. I'm not saying you have to say no to shit you hate. Some people hate working out but we definitely all need it for our health in some way, shape or form. I'm saying, let's not do the things that take away from your "okayness." When I was already not okay and I kept putting myself out there for event and party and gathering and everything without taking a single moment to reboot, I was very much not okay. So I had to find my boundaries.

It's not been easy, but I found ways to make it work for me and I write this to encourage any reader to do the same. Maybe this isn't a "mom" post technically but instead is just a general shout out to those feeling wobbly. Feeling wobbly sucks because it's hard. You just want to get your bearings. But finding your footing is liberating. And finding your own personal triumphs of "yes" and "no" can be freeing. 

So for this Sunday, I said no to some stuff, and I'm saying yes to anyone who wants to discuss this more. You may comment and email me or anything. You can always say no though, hence the post.

Kids Are Honest, Brutally, Rudely Honest

On our drive to church last week my daughter just blurts out, "Grandma's getting old mom. You're getting pretty old too." Thank you dear, daughter, thank you for that honest and astute observation.

Last week when my daughter was doing her horseback riding lessons, on a pregnant horse no less, she was talking about the horse having a big belly and her daddy having a big belly but daddy can't have a baby so his belly shouldn't be that big. Kids say the darnedest things!

When I was a nanny and in that awesome phase where you just turn 21 and begin drinking all the sugary, fattening things and dine out every meal and calories are just a concept, I became thicker, and much faster than in my pre-drinking age days. One afternoon one of the two year old girls I watched pushed on my stomach and said, "Is that your belly Ali? Is it FAT?" Her mother was a former model and her father was a neurosurgeon. I laughed and said, "Yes, but I'm working on it." Her father heard the exchange and said to her, "That is rude! You apologize to Ali!" I reassured him it was fine. She was two, after all.

The worst part is, she was completely right. Kids are usually right when it comes to these inconvenient observations. My daughter is a chatterbox from the moment she wakes up until she falls asleep but when she sneaks in that random honesty, it is brutal, hilarious and most often, heartwarming.

I have tried to raise her to not use silly, inane and mispronounced words and to have a very strong vocabulary. Although I will admit I love when she calls Nutella, "Nella." Her vocabulary bites me in the ass on a regular basis. My daughter is the one in the supermarket telling me how big her poop was. "It was enormous mom, HUGE!" She'll talk to me about how we should only pick our noses at home or in the car, not when we're at the store. She'll tell me how stinky daddy's farts are and that her vagina was really itchy today, all in public. I'm at least proud she is using descriptive, complete sentences.

I try not to act as though she can't say things out loud or be heard but say, "That's more talk for just you and I, maybe not the whole bread aisle at Publix." With her commentary comes wonderful conversations about random things, although sometimes can get a little dark.

She's about to be 6 so that death fixation phase is real and she told me recently I would definitely die before her, which was sad because she would miss me a lot. So with the dark truth came the heartwarming part. 

My favorite to date though, was her talking about who would die first, Brodie, her 8 year old pug, or her Grandpa. That one is really a coin toss because both could easily make it another 10+ years but it's all completely health dependent, which is a sad, harsh truth.

I try to deter her from using "unkind" words. We don't say "fat" about other people but maybe "I made a big fat bubble with my bubble wand," or "I had a big, fat sandwich today." I don't let her say "Oh my god," but instead, "Oh my gosh," or 'What the heck or hell," we quote Liz Lemon with "What the what?!?" And we don't say "Stupid;" that one isn't allowed at all.

I have these ridiculous mom moments where I laugh and get a little bit momma bear when it comes to altercations at school. Luna had been in Kindergarten about a month and got in trouble because she "Called a friend a name." I asked her to tell me what happened and she explained that one little boy called her a "Poopy face," and she said "Well, you're an idiot." As much as I had to be the mother who detests name calling, I mean, she was right. Calling someone a poopy face is indeed idiotic and can we give no points for a great retort and wonderful vocabulary?

This is why my mothering can be so...questionable but also kind of awesome. But this is also where their honesty is just amazing. Sometimes I wish we never learned to have those filters and blocks of "appropriateness" and we just were brutally honest because what I love is it's rare to see kids this age actually speak these words maliciously. They just observe and report. So it's kind of endearing. It's when we use the words in mean ways that we get into trouble. 

A few years ago I had said something as a joke with Luna in earshot when she was like 4, because a little boy had pushed her and I was talking to her about using her words to express herself, not using her hands and I said under my breath, "You can hurt a person way worse with your words anyway; lasting damage." My husband looked at me horrified, and barked, "Don't say that!"

There was truth to it though. Kids get hurt by the name calling and being told they aren't friends with so and so anymore. But they bounce back from cuts and bruises. That brutal honesty bounces off most little friends and from kids to other adults too. If only we could keep varying degrees of that honesty and amplify our kindness to a good medium.

In an exchange with one of my friends recently they were complaining about gaining weight. In no way was I going to be like "Yeah you're so much fatter," but I didn't want to discount what they were saying to me with like "Oh you look fine who cares, it's the holidays," so I responded with honesty and kindness. I said, "Look you've mentioned this before and I have your back no matter what and support you going to the gym and getting into a routine. I can even go with you, but I do think you still look awesome, even if you want to improve upon yourself." It seemed to have a calming effect with their worries but also give them a positive affirmation. This is something I feel like kids do so much more naturally.

When Luna says, "Daddy makes grilled cheese way better and you make pasta so crunchy," she often then says, "But I like your quesadilla better and daddy doesn't make good eggs." 
I've worked harder on finding this medium within myself but kids just seem to have a knack! Having a filter does come in handy, though, especially with my own parents, and my boss, which is something children don't even have a little bit. It's all about balance.


I intend to keep this momentum in balance and mindfulness this year, especially. Although, for now, I intend to enjoy the young, brutal honesty because when she's 16 and telling me I'm a horrible mom, I can revisit these moments and miss her stating I'm getting old. Those are more palatable truths and we all need those!

An Unfairish Life: The Bitter Diatribe of a Working Class Family

Just a warning, some of this may border on ranting but let’s just get it all out in the open.

Now I like to think of myself as traditionally untraditional, meaning we take a little bit of morality, ethics, and ideals, and mash them into what works for us. By nature, I’m a very cynical, sarcastic and outgoing being. My father forced me into optimism. Every time people screwed me over he kept reminding me that faith in the human race is worth it after all.

Now I don’t want to say certain things are “right” and others “wrong” but there is a societal and social order in which things are more easily accepted. I chose to follow that order and it came as such: Date some boys, play some games, find the one you can make it work with, move in together to test the last-ability, get engaged, graduate school, get married and have babies.

We live in a universe where families of all shapes, sizes, makes and molds exist, but in the secretly conservative world we coexist in, should we really expect the idea of first comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage to be out of style? Sure we’re more accepting of the out of tradition molds. Divorce is like a staple of the nation now, but can I just ask for some brownie points for doing things as society asked and really making it work?

Not only that but to come into a union out of choice instead of circumstance? Where’s the certificate of achievement for that!? There are so many walks of life, and we are forced to recognize, respect and celebrate all of them at one time or another, but what about those of us that worked at it? Yes, all relationships and facets of life itself are “work,” but some have it harder than others.

Personally I have overcome severe depression without medication, family addiction, personal losses such as death and grief, and the general betrayal by and of loved ones in the form of money, personal conflicts and judgments. And who hasn’t?! But there is a dignity with which to accept the lot in life you are given, and even with a fit of rage and many mistakes, the choices to guide yourself out of the darkness should be rewarded.

My husband and I CHOSE to be with each other because we knew we were a great match. I CHOSE to turn my outlook on life around without being medicated. I CHOSE to finish school and create an opportunity for myself. I CHOSE to take my family history into account when making lifestyle choices to better my situations. My husband and I CHOSE to live within our means, to move into new surroundings to enrich our lifestyle and adulthood and we CHOSE to have our amazing child.

Many aren’t so lucky. Although I may seem ungrateful at times, I know how lucky I am, but that doesn’t deter the periodic frustration with the general dealings of the world we live in.

So many American households have mountains of debt, student loans and consumer credit issues. My husband and I have never had more than 5,000$ in debt at one time. We have both sustained full time jobs and taken care of ourselves without too much dependence on the outside world with two exceptions, and one of those was a medical emergency.

Since medical debt is as trendy as divorce, it shocks me that this actually counts against you. Even when someone has great health insurance, you still end up paying medical bills, and the amounts of said bills are enough to put you right back in the hospital with a heart or panic attack!

We have no car loans or outstanding tickets. We’ve never had a car payment and have come into car ownership within the means of the money we have. When we needed extras, we turned to credit cards, like most. And by extras, I don’t mean flat screen TVs and fancy vacations. We paid for a vet visit for the dog that snuck up on us, a repair on the car that was overlooked, and new shoes for work, new glasses, or a walk in clinic visit for a minor medical emergency.

So after the birth of our amazing daughter and feeling triumphant that we’d done so well with money and hadn’t racked up too much in my absence from work, we thought we should really do some future discussion and enter the world of grown-ups: house ownership.

One of our closest friends had just purchased a house and we thought, well why not. Now all the hoops you have to jump through could practically be written in Greek. I don’t get it, but that word “pre-qualify” came up and we knew the numbers would have to be “run.” Now I knew my husband’s credit was trashed but mine was pretty good, but he made all the money.

After being optimistic out the ass as I always have to be, even when I really just want to run into a cave and hide from the unfair nature that is our lives, the nice lady over the phone with the results basically told us that our ideals and optimism were shot. No house this year, and we had a bit of a yellow brick road situation with some flying monkeys to deal with. Perhaps having a house actually fall on us would be the most viable option.

As she was winding me around all the jargon I don’t understand on the phone and I’m shaking my head to my husband all I could picture was the moving poster from Harry Potter reading “Undesirable #1.” And then I got a bit worked up.

Why is it that some of the most rotten people we know get things handed to them like inheritances, newer cars, and an endless supply of family hand outs, and we live paycheck to paycheck, pinch pennies and have no luxuries in our midst and can’t catch a break? And it’s not just us! Some of our most wonderful and hardworking friends ALSO have shit luck, and then we watch these thankless, selfish assholes make the grade!?!

For lack of a better word: Bullshit. So I wound myself into a mental cyclone and then look down at my daughter, who had a very challenging first month of life, and was reminded of something: things aren’t really THAT bad. And as bad as it is to say, they can always get worse!

It’s an unfairish life if you ask me, but in turn, I shouldn’t be looking for others to justify my life. Sure I may have played it “by the book” and made choices as close to the guidelines I’d been raised with as I could, but just because some of our “frenemies” lived outside of it, is no true reflection of what we have made for ourselves. We get enough judgment in the world without asking, so I shouldn’t be seeking approval from anyone. Why waste time longing for brownie points when we could just be making brownies?!

I think about the people I admire the most that have had to deal with some horrible things in life. I think about the people who work so hard and who have shared their worry and stories with us. I think about karma and how the truly wretched people will pay for their wrongdoings and mistakes. But mostly I realize that those people who seemingly have it “better” than you or us probably have a whole set of problems we couldn’t even fathom! The more money the more problems, right P. Diddy?

So I put myself back into check and realized no matter how bitter the diatribe, no matter how bad the moment, the day or the situation, we have more than we’ll ever need: each other. It’s corny and cliché for sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

We, as a society, live very closed and secretive lives. Somewhere along the timeline we lost our ability to sympathize and share heartfelt stories and now relate almost everything to a “status” change or “check in.” These updates currently allow us to call ourselves socialized. Well, my status change will read “On our way to the life we want, one day at a time.” And I guess we’ll check in as we end up in each stage of life, however bitter the diatribe that the unfairish life had brought us from.

ODE to the ECHO

On Halloween 2012, I lost something very dear to me…my car. You can roll your eyes; you can brush it off but let me explain something to you: that car has been with me longer than my husband, and it’s taken me everywhere I’ve ever lived!

In 2000 my dad had to get a new car for us. After he and my mom split up he picked his own car out. He really wanted a Toyota Prius, but if you think those babies are expensive now, imagine 12 years ago! The Toyota Echo was a new model they’d released that boasted 35 miles per gallon. He chose a four door forest green version and this new car sported the first I’d ever seen in the “middle dashboard” style interior. No more odometer and gauges through the steering wheel; they slapped that sucker in the middle and tilted it to the left. It was almost like a little alien car!

My dad bought her in Lancaster, Pennsylvania at Lancaster Toyota. Let me explain something about my awesome dad, he hated most new technology with the exception of musical equipment. He wanted a CD player and a tape deck, but no power windows and no air conditioning. The air conditioning wasn’t a choice: he had to have it, but the windows you had to roll down. Nothing too fancy in the new car!

When he and my mom split up we left Lancaster.  I left for Delray Beach, Florida to try and live with mom my junior year of high school and my dad headed out to Oregon after purchasing 40-some acres of isolated woodland property. He took the Echo with him.

When my life with mom went to shit, my dad drove the Echo from Eugene, Oregon all the way to Delray Beach Florida to pick me and my possessions up and take me back to Oregon. That Toyota Echo towed a trailer with my bed, my furniture and all my other stuff I deemed important. Under complete protest he dragged me to the west coast in June. The car was so overworked the check-engine light came on before we even got out of Florida. We couldn’t tow my crap with the air conditioning on or she’d overheat. So we rolled down the windows, sweat profusely and had a lot of ice to munch on. We had to crawl up the mountain ranges. And eventually she got us to Eugene safely.

For my senior year I shared that car with my dad. Occasionally he’d allow me out on the town with that car, and so began the legend of Enid the Echo. By 2003 she was still relatively new. My dad kept her in pristine condition. I helped wear her in.

Much like the Queen classic, I’ll admit, “I’m in love with my car.” I snuck cigarettes in that car. I went on drives to nowhere and everywhere. It took me to concerts, to work, to school, to events, to new apartments, to visit friends and boyfriends, and to visit family. That car took me practically everywhere I’ve ever been.

Enid the Echo didn’t officially become mine until my dad bought his truck. After she was paid off, he needed an all terrain vehicle to help him get further into his rustic property and Enid just wasn’t that kind of car. She could hit the Oregon coast highways and curvy roads like no other, but she wasn’t a rough and tumble kind of car.

When she became mine I’d just started my punk rock princess phase, so I immediately outfitted her properly with bumper stickers, cartoon air fresheners, interior stickers and stuff. My car became local legend. Everyone knew the bumper sticker car.

Anyone who knows me, even remotely well, knows me with that car. That car took me to meet my old best friend for the first time, and without that trip I would have never met my husband. That car took me to and from the nannying job that changed my life. Enid drove me to and from Lane Community College so I could get my Associates Degree. My car took me to University of Oregon every day to get my Bachelor of Arts.

My horrible ex almost stole my Echo and when I drove three hours to retrieve her, I then drove home in her alone crying, listening to Modest Mouse and she rocked out with me. That car took me to so many concerts and then was festooned with souvenirs from those epic adventures.

Enid the Echo took my husband and I on our first date. He wanted to drive because his car was filthy and didn’t have a reliable heater. That car drove half of my husband’s band on their one and only multi-state tour. That car took my husband and I on our first anniversary when we were still dating. She took the little ones I babysat to feed the ducks and one day when I gave her stickers, she decorated the passenger, back sear window. Dora the Explorer was all over, and I never took it down.

I got my first and only two speeding tickets in that car. That car had more memories and stories than most and anyone who ever knew me, even just a little bit, probably rode in it. That car was a part of me, and she was tough to let go.

I’ll tell you one story about Enid the Echo. It sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear this is true: Back in High School I went through a classic music phase. My friend and I were obsessed with Led Zeppelin, Elton John, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Doors, The Grateful Dead, etc. My friend and I got the Echo and went on one of our afternoon drives. It was just after we graduated high school and we were rocking out some “Tiny Dancer.” We had the windows down and the music up. We were on a quiet but main road in Eugene at a stop light singing, and we look over and on the front lawn there are three hippies playing hackey sack and they join in with us and we’re all singing “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer!” And we all knew all the words.

Enid the Echo was there for me in all other changes. When we moved, when I broke up with my exes, fought with friends, needed to run away, needed to get from job to job, she was there. She was my constant in a world of chaos and change. She was my first and only car up until recently.

She took my old best friend to say goodbye to his grandparents when they passed because he didn’t have a car. She took me to and from the airport to fly to see my grandparents for the last time and to say goodbye. She took me to and from the airport so I could see the world and study for three months in London. She took me to and from my in-laws houses. She was my wingman!

The night my husband and I got married, we packed her to move to Florida and left her in front of my Aunt’s house. Someone broke her window and stole a bunch of our stuff. We took that car, on a trailer across the country again on our honeymoon moving adventure, with a busted window. We duct taped a Forever 21 bag on her and it didn’t budge in the scariest storm we’d ever seen. There were still marks form the duct tape on her when we said goodbye. She took us around San Francisco and even down Lombard Street. She took us all over Memphis and New Orleans. She took us to Tampa. She’s always brought us home.

Enid the Echo had 253,000 miles on her! She still got 29 miles per gallon! She lived in Tampa for three years with no tinted windows and unreliable air conditioning. We had a scare with her last year but because she’s a rock star she cost us very minimal amounts to maintain and I swore I’d drive that car until she just didn’t drive anymore. But sometimes life has other plans.

When we found out I was pregnant in May, we’d already been discussing, getting a newer car. We’d decided on Toyota or Subaru because my husband and I had seen great longevity with both. Finally I won out on trading the Toyota in for another Toyota and I had my heart set on a Yaris or Matrix. Every time I wanted to test drive new ones, my husband came up with something else we needed to do.

Finally, about 5 months into my pregnancy we realized that with my not working for three months, having a new car payment and insurance wasn’t exactly a smart plan. We also realized we’d have no down payment. We thought we’d just keep Enid for one more year and then turn her in next summer.

In the midst of all this we had some other unexpected expenses come up, as they do in life. We were desperately trying to bounce back when my husband told me Enid really needed new brakes, which we’d put off long enough. We took her in and it cost twice what we’d estimated.

It was around this time and opportunity came up. Our best friends had just been given a brand new car and were getting rid of their old Pontiac Grand AM. They’d planned to just take it to Carmax but they offered it to us for a very fair price. Up until we took Enid in for the brakes, we’d toyed with the idea of having both cars. But when they came out to quote us on brakes they came out with a laundry list of other issues totaling over $2000. This was it. She was a goner.

We looked at her bluebook and even with a few dings and a LOT of bumper stickers she was worth about $1400. We took her to Carmax and they offered 500$. That was a slap in the face. I started to mentally let her go but to be honest, I just wanted it to be done. I couldn’t handle it.

Being pregnant and getting rid of my car was intense. I realized she was the first car our fuzzy pup, Brodie had ever been in. He loved to go on car rides and he knew which car was ours. I realized that someone else was going to take her away because we needed to put her on Craigslist to get a fair price.

Even though our amazing friends gave us the Pontiac, it took us a few days to sell Enid. It was very stressful for me because I wanted it to be over with. I’d told so many people I had to let her go but the whole letting go thing was not easy. I spent as much time with her as I could before we showed her to a buyer. I had this sneaking suspicion that she would just sell. That someone would see her and just say yes and that would be it.

My husband is a saint because he knew this whole thing would suck so much for me. I would never ever recommend selling a car you are attached to while pregnant. It’s unfair on every level. I’d already taken almost everything out of her and she looked barren and sad. But on Halloween my husband had a buyer. He took them on a test drive. He let me stay in the apartment and I just cleaned up a storm to distract myself.

He came to get me. He told me the offer and he said we should take it. I agreed. I asked if I could keep my key and he said no, we needed to give them both. I went to change and get the title and I started to well up. I felt the tears bubbling inside me. I went downstairs and met them. They had heavy accents. I have no idea where they were from. They gave my husband the money and I had to sign over the title.

As I was signing I had that moment. That moment out of “The Goonies” where you’re about to sign something and you hesitate and double check what it is you’re signing, while someone is leering over you to make sure it happens. I signed and we were going to have to give them the keys. The buyer said “Is that the only key?” My husband looked at me, and then him, and said, yes, just that one.”

We shook hands and they left. I saw them pull out and I lost it. I couldn’t watch her drive away from me. I bolted up to the apartment and just started to ball. My husband handed me my key, and said, “Here, she’ll always be yours.” I looked up at him red-faced and cried, “This really sucks!” He told me he knew and he’d miss her too.

It was the end of an era; the end of Enid. Everyone put the realistic and positive spin on it for me but I still needed a good cry. I know that the Pontiac was a better family car. It had more room, 150,000 less miles than Enid and was a better investment for the next year. It was definitely better to get rid of Enid while we could before she really broke down. And our friends saved us from having something seriously complicated happen and helped keep it simple and on our own terms.

BUT, it sucks saying goodbye. I miss her; a lot! And like I said, you can make fun of me as much as you want but when you have a car with that much history, that many memories and that many miles, it’s bound to stir up some emotions…especially when you’re nearly 7 months pregnant.

So goodbye Enid! I’m so sorry we had to let you go after taking such good care of all of us for 12 years but you’ll always be a rock star and I could never watch you really die. Thanks for being the best car ever! YOU WILL BE MISSED AND REMINISCED! ALWAYS!

The Relationship Contribution Ideal

I guess it all stems from some weird family thing where we buy each other’s love. Rather than constantly saying “I love you,” we just spoiled the shit out of each other with stuff and things. Perhaps that’s where I got my inherent need to contribute to relationships, both romantic and platonic. Buying gas, food, fun and entertainment just became a regular thing. Oh, it got
taken advantage of, let me tell you, but with the people that count, it counted me in as a person who wasn’t afraid to contribute.

When it comes to work, I never really had a problem with getting a job and making my own money. That comes from my mom’s side; with the exception of her, they are all workaholics. I liked paying my dues. At the end of the day, I could close the book and say, “I worked hard, and with my earnings I’m sure going to play hard.” I have always done what I was supposed to do and what was asked of me with my work. As a nanny I even ventured to do a little more than just that. I liked to be a good worker, and someone who was valued by my employers. Although this is another area I’ve been taken advantage of in, for the most part, I just want to participate and be present.

When it comes to my husband and me, we like to be equal participants in this marriage. Even though we both bitch to each other about it, we end up wearing it with pride. As two people who have been screwed over in more ways than one, monetarily, emotionally, and even with our own
possessions, we are all about sharing the wealth as often as we can to keep the karmic cycle on our side, rather than repeat earlier fallbacks. Sure, the standing joke from my husband is “My money is our money and her money is her money,” but we have an agreement when it comes to family finances: He works more and brings home the bacon, and the rent check, so I keep up the house and work part time to pay the bills and keep us fed. We are masters of our craft, masters of our relationship and of our marriage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

One of my best friends and I always say, “Do you work to live, or live to work?” I think we can all agree that all work and no play makes us all dull people! My bestie and I also agree that no one WANTS to work, but as a part of society, that’s usually just how it is. Some people have this sense of entitlement, which I've never understood. We are entitled to working to earn a paycheck and we are entitled to general human rights. This does not include the American Pop Culture trend of laziness, a general disregard for basic responsibilities and being a loaf upon society.

Personally, I would go crazy if I was stuck at home all the time. I would have to find all kinds of crazy projects to keep me busy. And I love being an active participant in my world, my marriage, and in all of my relationships. We may not have a million dollars and money to just throw away,
but we can care for ourselves and the people we love. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Sure, someday my husband and I will settle down and have little ginger kids and I won’t be working all the time. We’ve already agreed on my staying home for the first handful of precious years with the little ones. I agreed on my staying home, because I want to be an active contributor and participant in my role as a mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I would LOVE to see my husband’s face if I just said, “Yeah I don’t really
wanna work anymore. It’s not very fun.” He may pee his pants laughing at me as he gave me the “Tough shit,” look. But the again, I would never say that. Working gives me sense of purpose. No one loves their job 100% of the time, but both of us have found a place in our lives where we are pretty happy with the general state of it all. This is a new horizon for us. We'll embrace it! Things could always be worse.

This isn’t some sanctimonious statement of how I’m some holier than thou, bad ass
wife and lazy wives and single gals suck; this is just my way of saying that you need to find
whatever makes you happy and fit it into your lifestyle. Contribute where and when you can to whatever relationship you feel most strongly for! We’re in a very progressive age. I doubt most women have the simple goal of being taken care of and pampered these days. I’m just saying, why spend all your time and energy doing nothing when you could be doing something!?!

My husband constantly taunts me. As an Aries, I’m a busy-body. I can do everything all at once but relaxing is the hardest thing for me. Sitting still and indulging in “nothing” is something I’m not very receptive to. Lately I’ve heard so many friends talking about work, long term plans and
life as we know it. When you leave the grace period of your “early twenties,” you’re all of the sudden just expected to have it all figured out.

I’m coming to realize, however, that if you can’t contribute to your immediate realm, how are you going to contribute to a plan? It all goes with that whole, “If you’re not a part of the solution, you’re part of the problem,” thing. I feel lucky that I didn’t marry some macho pig who thinks my
job is to cook, clean and cater to his needs whilst pumping out a parade of kids. I feel lucky that I have a job and that I can pay my bills and afford a few frills here and there.

I think it’s safe to say that my relationship contribution is that I want to be truly IN my relationship. I want to be an active being, rather than watching the world go by as a spectator. I love being lazy as much as the next person, but when I look back and I give advice to the generations behind me, I’ll tell them I had to work my way through this world too. I have a feeling the end of the journey will be just as rewarding as the journey itself! I guess I’ll let ya know.

The Old, Boring, Married Couple

I’m not even sure we realized it. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but we made the shift into the old, boring, married couple. I blame the dog.

We went through a phase a few years ago where staying home was social death. We were broke all the time because we hated our tiny, little apartment and our tiny, little existence so much we had to escape. Escape = bar, restaurant, concert, whatever! But it was never cheap! Even when we moved in with family, then we had to escape the drama that created so we were never home and we never had money.

Before the puppy, we weren’t out all the time but we generally reserved being at home for sleeping and getting ready to go out. The dog just gave us a great excuse to be at home and really enjoy some down time. Our old apartment started wearing on us, though. We hated it. In retrospect, it was kind of a shit hole, but it was what we could get, easily and fast, when we moved across the country to our brand new life. We took what was in front of us. We did a few upgrades and always tried to be the social couple, inviting people over, but we still loved going out. Who doesn't?

Now, though, things have changed a bit. We don’t have much time to go out together. We don’t have much time to do much of anything together, so we're conservative with our time-spending choices. We live in a brand new, bright space. I’ve worked really hard on making our home an oasis. The dog loves it, and we love it. We like being there, why go out?

We’ve had some personal revelations too, one of which definitely comes with age: Going out and drinking; not so worth it anymore. It’s great fun with friends and there are always nice occasions but, it’s not a necessary thing anymore. We barely even drink at home, and when we do it’s a glass of whatever or two, max. We’re not party animals. We’re lazy animals. We like to relax and watch our Netflix Instant Queue. We like to curl up with the pug and unwind. We kinda like to be left alone.

I have days where I barely even touch the computer. I’m not constantly on it looking for entertainment and distraction anymore. We have days where we don’t even use our phones to speak to actual humans, we just text. We are boring, wonderful, homebodies. But maybe that’s not so bad.

There is something comforting in being relaxed with the person you are in love with. It’s nice when you don’t have to wear make-up, or care about whether or not you stay in your pajamas all day. It’s cliché and very typical, but being that comfortable is awesome.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re active. Bike rides, jogging, using the fitness center and soon enough a new gym membership will come around, but we value our down time so much, we really make it count. I’ll spend many hours making the house spotless, all so on our only day off together, we can master the art of doing nothing. I love days with lazy mornings, late breakfasts, long walks with the dog, and watching new movies together. One crazy cleaning spree every once in awhile is just par for the course.

Sure there are those moments when you worry you’re “too comfortable,” and that the joke of the thrill being gone, and sarcasm about being boring and married, isn’t much of a joke but at the end of the day, it’s all about growth and growing up.

We’re a year away from our 10 year high school reunion. We’re finally settled into steady workplaces, paychecks, and routines. We’re finally, pretty friggin’ happy! This is something that is anything but boring for us. It’s exciting! We’re talking about epic leaps into grown-up-hood on the horizon. New car, matching furniture, real vacations, new electronics, business gatherings, nights out with other couples; what’s boring about that?

Okay to some people the above list is just sad, but when you’ve finally found your happy place, it’s actually comforting. College is about completing your requirements to get this done, to graduate, to get that internship or that job. It’s all about getting to that one, single goal, but things are constantly changing. Life evolves from day to day. One day you’ll wake up and realize that things aren’t what you ever thought they would be. For some people, this realization is tough to accept, for others it sparks new opportunities and challenges. You have to embrace your old, married, bored-ness and make it count!

You have to ask yourself what you really want. If all you want is a home-cooked meal or even Chinese food delivered and a great movie on a Saturday night, that’s okay! Wear it with pride. You don’t have to go out on Saturday night and drink and party! You don’t have to go to the beach just because it’s a gorgeous day. It’s so easy to get caught up in what the rest of the universe is doing, don’t forget about what you are doing and what you WANT to be doing.

What do I want? I want a nice cup of tea in the evening while I’m arguing with my husband about what series we should watch. I want to grab lunch while we’re out running errands before we come home to spend quality time with the dog. I want to rearrange the pantry to make it more efficient. I want to snuggle up with my Kindle and my little family more often, without worrying about all the other things I could or should be doing. I want to be boring, and be old, and be married.

Maybe we did fall into the couples vortex and we’ll never get out, or maybe we’ve stumbled into normalcy, maturity and that elusive idea of happiness that felt so far off just last year. Either way, with us Chriss’ and the pug, we’ll always have our own, un-boring, un-old adventures…after our chores, errands and workdays are done…and so long as it’s not too late!