What Motherhood Teaches Me about Me

Obviously, I suck at blogging.

I’m a decent writer, but thank God this isn’t my bread and butter or my family would be emaciated by now. I love writing; in fact, I think of at least 10 things to write about a day. But in the day-to-day functions of my family, they get pushed aside. I’m ok with that. I’m also a lot more OK with a lot of things. So here goes.

* The house can be a mess and the world goes on. Obviously, my goal is that everyone has clean underwear or diapers, work clothes are accessible, and there’s at least some semblance of clean utensils to eat/drink on. Everything else is a bonus.

* I will never stop worrying. I know Jesus was talking to the world at large when he said, “Don’t worry about what you will wear, etc.” He wasn’t talking to moms: he knew we would keep worrying. In the last ten months, I’ve never thought a second about what I would wear. I have worrying a billion times about having something for the baby to wear, if anything would fit him, if he was warm enough, if he was comfortable, if he didn’t look like the orphans or poverty stricken photos of children because his shirt is stained and won’t come out.

* Banana stains. Who the hell knew that before you have a baby? You don’t. You know why? Because before a baby, you just ate the banana.

* I haven’t thought this much about what I was eating since loooong before rehab for my eating disorder. Seriously: is it ok to drink coffee? Is this too spicy? Does this have any nutrients that are really good for milk? Is any of this an allergen to a new body? What about dairy? What about hormones?  Sheesh… Now, fortunately, I’ve almost always eaten very well. Blame it on 30 years of dance training and knowing that food=fuel and you will get out of your body what you put in it, but we don’t buy junk food. Ever. But it kicked into high gear when I was building a human from scratch and then feeding a human with everything my body intakes.

* I absolutely HATE to watch the news. I didn’t like it before, but now, everything from news articles on Facebook to local news has some article on child abuse, a rabid daycare center, or a child death. It’s enough to make me want to run to my sleeping baby, and just hold him for the rest of his life.

* I’ve become more judgmental and then less judgmental of every parenting practice you see. As I’ve said before, I live in a very rural city. There are things that I see that I will never, ever, EVER, do. And then there are things that I see occasionally that I will never, ever, ever, do – and then promptly do them.

* I haven’t purchased new clothes in months; my son has a great wardrobe. I’m totally fine with that. I have purchased new shoes for a body that cannot walk.

* I am obsessed with cloth diapers. Sorry-not-sorry.

* I’m the mean mommy; he doesn’t get junk food, cookies, or ice cream. His newest love is mom’s fruit smoothie and all natural peanut butter. He will probably not know what a crappy McDonald’s chicken nugget tastes like, Kraft Mac n’ Cheese, or Kool-Aid will taste like for a very, very long time. I’m fine with that. He loves momma’s mac n’cheese, mom’s nuggets, and applesauce. He’s ten months, and over 22 pounds. I think he’ll be ok.

* I’ve never been this bonded or in love with something that beats the crap out of me, bites me, yanks my hair, yells in my ear, scratches my eyes, and keeps me awake for days at a time. If anyone else did that, they wouldn’t stay around long.

* I’ve never questioned my beliefs, values, or sanity like this in my life.

* I’ve never been this in love with my husband. Seeing him as a father is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

* I only blog when I’m procrastinating folding the laundry 🙂

See you guys soon.

 

Family Feud

source: Huffingtonpost

I do it. You do it. And it has to stop.

Ever talk to someone about something, and their response is so condescending, so pious, and so unrealistic that you just want to punch them in the face?

Then you hear them say something about everyone being “so judgmental” and “not as spiritually mature” as they are.

This is total crap. It has to stop.

It goes like this; you watch a cool show on Netflix, or on TV, or catch the news, and you ask someone about it, trying to make conversation…

You: Hey, did you see that thing on the Colorado blah de blah? It had Blah de Blah from So and So… very cool.

Them: Well, we don’t watch Blah de Blah. Actually, we don’t watch TV at all.

You: (in your head) Oh that’s right, I forgot you had the perfect family and never do anything that us simpletons do. Your three-year-old will most certainly get into Harvard by the time they’re 10. Thank you for opening my eyes to the truth about everything. You know what? Maybe I should just follow you around for a day or so, and just write everything down that you do…

Ok, maybe I took that last sentence a bit too far. But not that much.

Two mothers are at a playground. The kids are all being kids; playing in the dirt, swinging on the swings, and making up a game where only they will understand the rules.

Mom 1: Which one is yours?

Mom 2: One in the red shirt. Yours?

Mom 1: One in the green shirt. They look like they’re playing really well together!

Mom 2: Yeah, well ever since we removed gluten, dairy, red dye no 5, cartoons, puppies, and peanut butter from his diet, as well as limit his screen time, got him a private tutor for his brown-belt in jujitsu, he seems like a different child. I mean, who would have thought that only using purely organic essential oils on his solely organic, non-gmo steamed vegetables would have such an effect? 

Mom 1: (in their head) I would kill myself.

Two parents are talking in the lobby of a crowded restaurant. It’s a family friendly place: lots of kids, lots of noise.

Parent 1: Oh my goodness, she’s so cute! How old is she?

Parent 2: Seven months.

Parent 1:Oh, wow… so she/he’s on solid foods, talking, crawling, and playing the bass?

Parent 2: Uhh… actually, we’re breastfeeding, so no, he hasn’t had anything solid yet. He’s definitely trying to crawl, though! nervous laugh…

Parent 2: Oh, I guess I don’t know what the norm is for kids these days. I’m sure he’s fine.

Parent 1: (In their head) Well, golly, I’m so freaking glad we got that out of the way.

Every family does things a little bit differently. I don’t think most of us are trying to offend someone when we respond the way we do, but at some point we really do have to take a step back and reflect. If you’ve been friends with someone for years, or you just met them, or you have no idea in the Sam Hill who they are, take a second to realize the reality that their situation is going to be different from yours.

And besides that, unless they ask you for your stance on TV, fast food, global warming, the Presidency, books, or child development;

Shut up. Just shut up. No one cares about your stance on food, GMO, breastfeeding, child rearing, or yoga. No one cares unless they ask you what you care about. It’s not you; it’s them. They have a life too and are doing what they need to for their family.

Not everyone has a dairy/gluten/peanut/puppy/allergy, mmmkay? Are there those of us that do? Yes, and I have a family of them. Ironically, we’re all allergic to different things. But I am trying, and I think we all need to try a little harder.

No, I didn’t see that show. I should look that up.

Yeah, they are really having a good time!

Aren’t babies so beautiful?

Is it that hard to lift someone up without lifting yourself up higher than they are? Is it that hard to tell someone else that they, too, are doing a great job rearing their children? Is it that hard to be positive, without a political spin on your own praise?

Tell me I’m wrong.

So, You’re Just Giving Up??

I recently had a truly groundbreaking conversation with my husband over one of the single, most frustrating occurrences in our marriage.

For the last 4 years, it has been a huge source of contention, disappointment, and definitely some heartbreak. It’s started more arguments than I care to admit, and has even been used as an apology if the cause has warranted it.

But I’m done. I’m done talking about it. I’m done asking, reminding, begging, pleading, and nagging. I’ve never wanted to be a nag – lest of all to my husband, but fewer things have driven me to the brink of insanity. It’s especially worse now that we’ve had a baby.

The conversation was this:

Me: Honey, will you remind me to take the garbage out this evening?

Hubs: Don’t you mean, ‘Don’t forget to take out the trash out?’

Me: No, my love. I don’t. I’d like to mean that, but then it wouldn’t get done, and instead of me nagging you and it still not getting done, I’m just going to do it.

Hubs: When have you nagged? You don’t nag. You haven’t even asked me once this week about the trash.

(Yeah, actually I did, but we’ll let that go)

Me: No, I haven’t, and that’s ok. Just please help me remember to take the trash out.

Hubs: So, you’re basically giving up on this.

Me: Yeah. This way, if I forget and it doesn’t get done, then it’s my fault.

Hubs: Am I supposed to feel better now?

Me: Honey, this isn’t about you. I can either think you’re a selfish man by never once taking out the trash when you say you will, or I can get off my butt and take out the trash. If this were a life or death issue, I’d hold out for more, but I’m just too tired to keep thinking about it. So, I’ll just do it.

He was hurt, but only for a little while. Ironically, I forgot to take it out last night after dinner. So, this morning after Little Boy woke up, I had Hubs hold him for a second while I grabbed and emptied all the trashcans, and ran outside to put the big trashcan to the curb. At the last bag, the garbage truck was starting down our street.

He tried to put up a fight. Honestly, I think he’s happy it’s not on his plate anymore, but felt bad that I was doing “one more thing.” And it is “one more thing” but it’s better than it being ONE MORE THING that I get hurt feelings about because I always do everything and he is so irresponsible blah blah blah blahhh!!!!

We’ve had more than one conversation about this topic. In fact, other than our finances and where to find the best school district, it’s the numero uno topic of conversation that turns into a serious debate. He always wants to do more, and I totally love and adore him for having a heart that wants to serve his wife.

But I just want him to pick up his socks off the living room floor.

He wants ways I can feel cherished, valued, and loved.

I want Him. To Pick. Up. His. (@$%ing socks. Off. The Living Room. Floor.

I’ll take out the trash.

I know the feminists that read this blog just made a kitten, and I’m ok with that. I will be the first to agree with all that read this that it isn’t a fair solution. But Life isn’t fair, and neither is Marriage. I hate taking out the trash. I’m not sure if it’s all the years that I was a custodian or what, but I dislike cleaning bathrooms, and taking out the trash. That’s seriously too freaking bad.

But I also love my marriage. And I know how much of this was me just having him do something because “it was a guy’s job” to do stuff like this. But if I waited for him to do it all the time, then our house would be condemned by now. I finally came to the conclusion:

I’m already doing this. What is to prevent me from continuing to do it – and let my husband off the freaking hook?!

God, grant me the serenity….

So, remember my post about vacations and car problems? (you can click here to catch up.)

Ok, good. Because today we look at part two. Ironically with the same vehicle.

Last vacation, aptly named our “babymoon” since it was our last hurrah before our son is born, we took a vacation to the beach. It was beautiful. Seriously. South Padre will always have a little bit of a soft spot in my heart, but admittedly, some not-so-great memories started to resurface.

The first time Hubs and I went together,  it was horrible. Hubs managed a terrible sunburn and a jellyfish sting. We fought almost the whole time, and it was a nightmare.

I was terrified that it was going to happen again. Terrified that I told him that I would be willing to go to Colorado (against my better judgment) to make him happy. He finally cornered me on where I wanted to go, and I sobbed. I really didn’t care where we went (although the altitude made me nervous) but I was just so nervous that we were going to have a repeat of every beach vacation that we’ve ever taken. He promised, and then got excited about going back.

And part of it came back to haunt me.

For those of you who have never been, South Padre has several points where you can drive directly on the beach and get a great parking spot. We found the bestest parking spot.

And proceeded to get stuck in the sand.

Seriously.

Long story short, we ended up snapping at each other, and it sent me into a tailspin. I apologized no fewer than 20 times, desperate to get him to acknowledge my penitence. He kept saying he wasn’t mad, and proceeded to get the car unstuck from the ditch of sand we had dug ourselves into. That’s when it hit me;

He wasn’t mad.

No, seriously. LIke, he wasn’t mad at all. Gave me a quick kiss, and looked over to see tears streaming down my face. He gave me a beautiful hug, and literally reiterated. He wasn’t mad. Instantly, we were back to ‘normal’ and had a blast.

We parked (differently) and had an absolute blast in the water. Napped in the shade, snacked and had sandwiches, and didn’t spend more than $4 on the whole day. And that’s when it happened:

The check engine light came on.

Now, to give a brief history, the car has a background with that little orange light. Namely, it usually means that the gas cap isn’t tightened all the way, and it shows up as an emissions leak. It’s never once had a major problem. Never. This car has 206k miles, and the most expensive part I’ve ever replaced was an alternator. And I replaced the gas cap to keep stupid stuff like this from happening.

So, while we had a blast for the week that we went through Texas, there was also something lurking in the back of our minds.

Please oh please oh please oh please don’t let something BIG be wrong with the car.

I didn’t say anything too much, until we went to Galveston. I asked very nicely if we could find an auto parts store to do a reading on the light. Hubs didn’t say anything either.

What I didn’t know is that he knew had pushed the transmission to a pretty high rev. He was terrified something big really was wrong. Finally, after a few days, he stated, “I just hope it isn’t the transmission”

I just stared at him.

“Baby, if it was the transmission, the transmission light would be on instead of the engine light.”

“This car has a transmission light?”

“My king, it has several of them: for the trans itself, the fluid, the temperature, and something about the pressure of the seal” (which I still don’t understand)

Instantly, his mind was relieved. He never told me how stressed out he was. He never went into any description. He had rehearsed 18 different scenarios of survivalist maneuvers, only to find out at the auto parts store – it was the gas cap.

Fast forward to last night.

As most of you know, We are currently expecting our first baby. I’m about a week OVER my due date, and we had an appointment with the midwife. Of course, we were hoping that we would get in there, I’d be dilated to like, a 9 or something, and we’d get to stay. So we packed for battle. As we’re driving the hour commute to the hospital, I look over and see that the temperature gauge is over the halfway point. I start panicking. The last time that happened, there was air in the line, and it would overheat without warning. I asked Hubs about it.

“Babe, it’s fine. It’s just warm.”

IT MOST CERTAINLY IS NOT FINE. We are going to be stranded with the dog and all of our bags, and I’m going to have to walk 10 miles just to get to the Highway patrol station, and He’s going to have to get a second job to afford all of the repairs. I can’t believe this. He drives this car every day. How could he not notice the coolant was low? How could he be THIS IRRESPONSIBLE??? He knows what our financial situation is right now! How are we going to do this???

My head took off a little without me.

God, I really need your help here. Pleeeeese help me just keep my mouth shut.

I’m near tears. I’m furious. And, that’s when I realize… I’m scared.

I’m not just scared. I’m terrified. Is this just about the stupid thermostat? No way. Our lives are about to change forever, and I’m totally letting my hormones run amok with everything else.

After the appointment (which was completely non-eventful, btw) he decided that I should drive. Hubs HATES driving in traffic, and we were in rush-hour everywhere. That’s when I was the most humbled I have been in a long while.

I was looking at the wrong gauge. The one I was fixated on: was the oil pressure.

The thermometer was normal. Completely and totally normal. No lights. No problems. Car was even full of gas.

Yep.

“Oh, God… ” I said.

“Yes, my love?” He says, giggling quietly.

“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.” I said.

“I wondered why you were freaking out.” He said “Do you really not trust me when I say, ‘everything’s ok’?”

“I do. I really do.” I shake my head.

I’ve decided to change the serenity prayer.

God, grant me the serenity

to keep my stupid mouth from talking

my mind from creating 100 terrifying scenarios

and my heart from not trusting you.

More Than Just Marriage.

I don’t think the issue is divorce. Ever.

That “D” word has been a sensitive topic in the church for eons, and I don’t think it will ever change. Marriage is a powerful force on this earth. A good marriage is a force to be reckoned with. A great marriage just drives people crazy.

We use a scripture to prove our point, and then hammer it home with nails of shame, guilt, and anger. Malachi 2:16 does indeed say, “I hate divorce.”

Now, you can either get over it – or you can read the few chapters that comprise the book of Malachi, and gain some perspective on what God is trying to say.

He isn’t happy. In fact, I’ve never really seen in such great detail on how p!ssed God is at the Israelites.

And divorce isn’t the issue. Seriously.

When you [priests] offer blind [animals] for sacrifice, is it not evil? And when you offer the lame and the sick, is it not evil? Present such a thing [a blind or lame or sick animal] now to your governor [in payment of your taxes, and see what will happen]. Will he be pleased with you? Or will he receive you graciously? says the Lord of hosts.
Malachi 1:8

In the words of Joe McGee, “I see that one-eyed, three-legged goat that you put on my altar. You can’t breed it; you can’t sell it. But you don’t mind giving it to me.”

In other words; we’ve treated God like our garbage disposal. He’s getting our leftovers. Not our best. The Laws that tell the Jews of what is supposed to be a sacrifice are the foretelling of the Lord Jesus Christ – the final sacrifice.

The next part is a little long, but please bear with me:

And this you do with double guilt; you cover the altar of the Lord with tears [shed by your unoffending wives, divorced by you that you might take heathen wives], and with [your own] weeping and crying out because the Lord does not regard your offering any more or accept it with favor at your hand.

14 Yet you ask, Why does He reject it? Because the Lord was witness [to the covenant made at your marriage] between you and the wife of your youth, against whom you have dealt treacherously and to whom you were faithless. Yet she is your companion and the wife of your covenant [made by your marriage vows].

15 And did not God make [you and your wife] one [flesh]? Did not One make you and preserve your spirit alive? And why [did God make you two] one? Because He sought a godly offspring [from your union]. Therefore take heed to yourselves, and let no one deal treacherously and be faithless to the wife of his youth.

16 For the Lord, the God of Israel, says: I hate divorce and marital separation and him who covers his garment [his wife] with violence.
Malachi 2:13-16a

God is now calling the bluff of the men of Israel. They have divorced the wives that they married in their faith, to marry a “heathen” or Gentile. They’ve deliberately mistreated the women, so that they would run away, then they can accuse the women of leaving – according to Moses, that was grounds for divorce.

Then they griped and moaned that God wasn’t honoring their sacrifices. Really? They were unrepentant of the treachery that they had committed on the altar of the Lord, they were mistreating their wives so badly that the women were literally fleeing, and they were complaining because God somehow had a target on their back until they repented.

God hated divorce for the same reason he hated the retarded goats that were being placed on His altar: Marriage is a symbol of the Coming of Christ. We, his church, are presented as a bride to our bridegroom. And I can guarantee that God has felt like wiping out his children and not making any more. But he didn’t. He’s in love with us.

They were making a mockery of His LOVE. No wonder God was furious!

This is why I contend, and have said it before, that God isn’t mad at us for leaving abusive situations. In fact, He’s seen it before, millions of times. Men (or women) who deliberately mistreat their spouses to the extent that they leave, only so that the offending spouse can marry another or play the victim as the other one leaves.

It’s a story as old as time itself.

Proverbs refers to it again and again: The foolishness of man subverts his way [ruins his affairs]; then his heart is resentful and frets against the Lord. (Prov 19:3)

We screw something up because of our own mistakes, then we become bitter, or worse yet, think God is behind all of this. The most pious will claim that their faith is being tested and ask for prayer; instead of just repenting and changing our behavior, it becomes someone else’s fault.

God’s not super happy about that. It’s not about the divorce; it’s about what it represents. Broken hearts, broken promises, broken homes. And so many think that God’s love is just like their ex’s love; temperamental, codependent, and passive. Because someone who promised to love them changed and went back on what they said they would do, the broken heart assumes God will do the same.

And that is NOT the God I serve.

I urge those that are going through the Respect Dare to continue until the end. I hear so many, see so many that just trash their husbands: how much money they make, how little they do, etc. behind their husband’s back. Many “do their own thing” because they can’t stand the way their husbands do small things. I’m not saying that women can become that cold-hearted, but… many become so hell-bent on proving something, that they sacrifice the beautiful oneness that is an amazing marriage. For many marriages, it’s not about having an “ok” marriage but about having a GREAT one. A marriage that truly reflects God’s love and purpose is a powerful commodity!

But for those that are victims of abuse, don’t feel like you could have done something to save your marriage. The abuse was put there deliberately as an attack. It was the abuser’s fault; not the victims. Are there ways to handle someone who mistreats you – YES. If you need some pointers, go here.

But at some point, we have to climb down off the cross. Jesus was done with it; so are we.

We can admit that in our own brokenness we did things that were really stupid.

We can admit that some things were done to us that were downright evil.

We can admit and come clean with everything, and repent and know that God loves us anyway.

We can refuse to stop hurting other people because we are so engrossed in our own pain.

And we are free.

The Marriage Goal

I heard the most heartbreaking thing I’ve heard in a while just a few days ago. A young woman was looking for a job, but it would mean considerable time away from her family – something that she claimed she never wanted.
As I cautioned her about this her reply broke my heart:

“but with that job I could be completely financially independent.”

“Is that your goal in marriage? To be financially independent?” I said.

Does that confuse anyone else that a goal in marriage is to not need the other person at all – except for when it’s convenient?

I am at a loss.

Marriage is dangerous. It’s a powerful weapon in the eyes of God. It sets thousands to flight in our faith, and creates a bond that can never be broken. Marriage changes everything. It changes how we see things and make decisions. It puts two families together, and creates children that will forever be connected to both of you.

Marriage changes everything. Or at least it should. When two people come together, a man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home, and they will become one flesh.(Gen 2:23-24) The two people who make that covenant start creating a life together; ONE home, a conglomeration of furniture that doesn’t match, two eating habits eating one meal, ONE bank account, and ONE household. One head of the household.

Marriage is dangerous.

And the world hates it.

Why is it that events such as weddings get very little attention over such dramatic things as divorce and break-ups?

Why is it that a cheating scandal will plaster the cover of several magazines, but celebrities who have been married for several years having their third child are lost, if they’re even mentioned at all?

Happy couples make people sick. Happy MARRIAGES drive people crazy. Some argue that you lose part of yourself in an attempt to be who someone else wants you to be. Some argue that you become more of whomever you are in an attempt to assert your independence.

My argument is that you DO lose part of yourself – because you ARE becoming someone else. You don’t get married to HAVE a spouse. You get married to BE a spouse. But you also become more of yourself; you just have to pick what part of yourself is increasing. Is it the part of you that doesn’t feel like you can trust anyone else and constantly feels like you have something to prove? Or is it the part that embraces the changes that you now experience? Do you love creating a safe place for someone to fall, thrilled that they are succeeding in their career? Or is it a constant one-upmanship?

Do you have a five-year plan that only includes YOUR goals?
What are the goals for your marriage?

Yes, the marriage. If you’ve ever played or worked on a team of any kind you may understand that the team has a goal to WIN. A team plays against an opposing team; there are rules and goals, and they have an objective.

What does your objective look like for your marriage? Because, let’s face it: there’s a whole world out there that’s on the opposing team. Proverbs has warned about the women who will – on purpose – seduce your husband into committing an affair. There will be decisions about our emotions, ladies, that can lead us to commit emotional and physical affairs that will destroy us.

If we don’t have a goal, we will be destroyed.

“Where there is no vision, the people perish” (Prov 29:18)

You can make a decision that your marriage will succeed. Or someone will make that decision for you.

 

Do YOU need respect lessons?

My job is pretty awesome. I get to people-watch in courtrooms, and fight the urge to yell, “Jer-ry! Jer-ry!” at some of the parents. I get to drive around a few different cities, and am very seldom trapped in an office. Except for when I have to do paperwork (and NO ONE hates paperwork more than me) I rarely even use a computer. The world of blogging has been a comfort and a blessing. I get to stare at a little white screen and pretend that millions of people will soon swoon over my obvious writing skills and pass it on to others that will do the same.

Think “A Christmas Story” – Digital Version.

Except by the time I come home, all the cool ideas I’ve had for a blog during the day get lost in the maze of spaghetti that is my female brain. Lost forever. But this one has been rattling in there for a while. As so many of our friends here are doing the Respect Dare by Nina Roesner, and many of my clients are being escorted through the 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman, it occurred to me. There are WAY more people that are doing things half-right. So, in light of my very own experience with the Online Marriage Evaluation, I prepared a short questionnaire that may lead you to see if any of this stuff is for you – or if you’re doing it perfectly.

And if you’re doing it perfectly, stop reading my blog and get your own. I have a feeling it’s the same ones of you that can fit into your highschool jeans. Go eat a cookie or something. The grown-ups in the room would like to talk.

1) Are you nice to the waiter/waitress, but rude to your spouse at dinner?

2) Would you ever speak to your dog/cat/goldfish in the manner you speak to your spouse?

3) Do you and your spouse have separate bank accounts because you (or they) have trust issues?

4) Do you have a 5 year plan written out together? What about a Dream Plan?

5) Are you or your spouse inventing reasons, volunteering for activities or overtime – just so you don’t have to come home?

6) When was the last time there was a good ‘rustle under those covers?

It’s not an exhaustive list, by any means. But I see a LOT of families a day. I see mostly families that are in some serious trouble – enough that when they come to me all I get is: “THEY’RE the problem (pointing at the kiddo) and YOU need to fix them.”

That kiddo isn’t usually the problem. They’re usually the symptom. They’re the running nose, the cough, or the fever. They’re the sign that something else is seriously wrong. Sometimes it’s “just” drug abuse or alcohol, and they’ve made some stupid choices. Most of the time it’s because dad (or mom) is in jail, Mom (or Dad) has made some seriously selfish mistakes because of their own entitlement, or a combination of all of the above.

And a lot of it comes from a lack of respect.

If you’re saying that they don’t deserve respect, then I suggest that you check out this little gem right here. Odds are most of us don’t deserve respect. I don’t actually “respect” my dog, but I’m pretty nice to him. In all fairness, he’s a seriously awesome dog. But if I’m nicer to the dog than my husband, I need an attitude check. If I’m really nice to the server who has been so generous to refill my water 18 times, but the second they turn their back, I’m pouncing on my husband’s eating habits, what kind of message does that send?

Maybe the world does need a little more respect. I know mine can always use more, and I have the best husband on the friggin’ planet.

What is Romance?

Who actually looks like this?

So often, we think of romance as the infamous February 14th holiday. Every man fears it. Every woman secretly hopes that something wonderful happens.

It’s ridiculous.

My husband did something far more romantic just a few weeks ago. He fixed the toilet!

This is romance. Seriously.

That evening the toilet had been acting funny. We only have one bathroom, so if THE toilet isn’t working, it’s a state of national emergency. I thought it was going to overflow, so I turned the water off and let it drain down. Then I turned it back on, and flushed. Same MO. Dang. I told the Hubs, and he said he’d fix it.

But that doesn’t always follow my timetable.

In the middle of the night, as my usual 8-mos prego routine, I went to pee. I was terrified that it would overflow so I sat there and listened to it stop.

It stopped. I waddle back to bed.

Later that same night, Hubs goes into the bathroom, and apparently there was water on the floor. He told me the toilet overflowed (and sounded kinda mad) and that he would fix it in the morning.

I was a little defensive, but in all the strength I had, I just said, “I’m sorry” and let it go.

Then I get this beautiful note.

Cool, huh??!!

This past weekend, Hubs and I learned a valuable parenting lesson:

You will be putting stuff together for the rest of your life.

All those cool boxes of stuff: do not come assembled.

Who knew?

Hubs knew. And He. Was. Ecstatic.

He spent 2 hours putting together the stroller and swing/bouncy chair. He worked on it steadily almost an entire evening home.

I thought it was pretty romantic. Until I read his Facebook status:

My first night spent putting together J’s toys. The first of many over the next two decades. This is so AWESOME!

Sigh. Swoooon.

What is romance? Is it the man who works a 50-hour week and wants to get a part-time job so I don’t have to work as hard considered romance? Is the man who gets up early so he can work in the garden to provide good food for his family less romantic? Is it romance when you send someone you love to bed early, and take care of the “getting ready for bed” sequence for them?

It’s romantic. Flowers die. Chocolate is nice, but honestly none of us actually need it.

We need to feel respected. We need to feel safe. We need to know that the toilet isn’t going to drown the dog in the middle of the night when we get up to pee.

I know so many of us long to be “swept away” in a beautiful vacation, or a wonderful dinner. So many single ladies view romance as candlelight dinners, fondue restaurants, and jewelry. Most married women get pretty excited about our husbands doing the dishes, quiet(ish) evenings with a bowl of cereal and a Unit marathon, or simply seeing your husband put together a toy that requires an engineering degree just to hold a person the size of an eggplant.

It’s still romantic. Really it is.

What Do You Have to Prove?

Last summer, Hubs and I went to Rocky Mountain National Park for a week-long adventure of hiking, whitewater rafting, hiking, photography, hiking, and taffy eating. But mostly hiking. Our major adventure for the week was a TWENTY MILE hike down over a valley, over the Continental Divide, and up the other mountain. Our goal was to get to a lake that was actually the starting point of the Colorado River. Hubs, being ex-military and hiking enthusiast that he is, packed his rucksack like a pro. We had food, a poncho, a pony, a flashlight, and a first aid kit. That thing was HEAVY. What did I carry?

The water. One, measly little Camelbak full of water. It weighed maybe 9 pounds. I was furious, but I tried to keep my mouth shut.

We started off with a considerable amount of layers on. Being that we were already pretty high, the air was thin and it was cold that morning. We both had multiple layers of breathable clothing, ate a good breakfast (in relative terms) (ok, it was crap from McDonalds) and were excited about trying to do this. I had never done anything like this, but I was with Hubs, so I was invincible.

The views and the atmosphere were absolutely stunning. We weren’t running, but we did hit a pretty impressive pace. We’d stop for water and realize how high we were. Hubs had to teach me something they learned in HALT training: how to breathe. Shortly, how to force air to your brain before you pass out. It wasn’t long before we realized that all the people who were joyfully hiking with us were no longer behind us. We were on our own now. And Hubs looked like he was getting tired.

I wanted to show him that I could be an asset. I wanted to show him that I was just as capable as he was.

I wanted to prove to him that I was valuable.

We stopped for a snack break beneath a beautiful tree on Thunder Pass. It was quietly sleeting/raining, and it was so amazingly peaceful. Literally no one was out there. I really wanted to give him a break, so we laughed over dried cherries and beef jerky. It wasn’t until later when I’d learn the best lesson I’ve ever learned about myself.

Fast forward about 9 miles, we are soooo close to the lake that we’re almost running trying to get there. Ok, running is a strong word; we were dying. Combined with altitude, the fact that the “trail” was literally a 45-degree angle, and we had already hiked 12 miles, we were shuffling.

Desperate to give my husband a break, I asked and asked and asked to help carry the rucksack. Finally, he was tired enough to let me help him, and switched me.

That thing weighed at least 200 pounds. I swear to God. It was like carrying a bag of concrete strapped to my chest. The belt hit right below my diaphragm and made it impossible to breathe. I was determined to at least help him a little, and shuffled my way about 8 miles – or 9 feet, whichever came first…

He took the rucksack back from me. I almost puked. That’s when it occurred to me: he needed to do this. He needed to be this man. It was never about how I could help him or what I could do for him: it was about what he needed to do. I wasn’t built to handle his job.

Now, I could go into 100 reasons why I wasn’t able to complete this task: I wasn’t doing gluten-free anything, and so my muscles were filled with MSG, I was tired already, the pack was situated weird, my mommy didn’t hold me enough, whatever. The point is, feminism only goes so far in a relationship. Love never asks about our ability to do stuff. Love only asks that we BE what we need to be. Hubs didn’t need me to carry his load; he needed a cheerleader.

And I was so caught up in proving I was as good as he was, that I missed my chance to cheer him on. I missed my chance to be what he needed me to be. I missed my chance to let him be the leader he wanted to be.

And we missed the lake.

We promised ourselves that we’d go back to Thunder Pass when baby J gets a little older and try again.