Who knew the highly anticipated camp phone calls could be such a blow to a relationship? Oh well, when my baby is 1500 miles away from home, and I get a few minutes to talk — It’s every man, ahem mom, for herself!
It’s sleepaway camp time and everyone is getting their calls from the kiddos. I’ve found a pattern, in that I desperately want to strangle my husband after each call. Luckily for me (and not so much my husband), I’m apparently not alone.
Look, us moms are ready. We’ve stayed up until the wee hours waiting for the pictures to download — sometimes hitting “refresh” every minute, (and by minute I mean second) as they download one at a time. We’ve studied them like highly trained CIA agents, analyzing their smiles, their friends, their body language. Continue reading →
For better or worse … that’s what we agreed to, right? Who new when we signed up for this by saying “I do,” that our mates would become so annoying?
Sure, we love them, but let’s face it, when you live with someone day in day out for what feels like an eternity, the little quirks that were once endearing, or at least easy to ignore, can become somewhat irritating, exasperating, irksome, maddening, and grating. Have I said too much?
Last week, my husband — who has pretty much no idea how to use most of the items in our home or where we keep them for that matter — screamed from the kitchen (after having a tooth extracted), “Hey honey, where do we keep the saltwater, or do we not have any in the house?” I was tempted to send him to the store to futilely search for a bottle o’ saltwater simply to avoid dealing with the ridiculousness of that question, plus I needed time to think of reasons I love him.
Instead, I made you this list of annoying things husbands do (well, mine at least), for the purpose of female bonding and personal sanity… Continue reading →
I know, that was a stupid question (and frankly, “stupid questions” are number 1 on my list of pet peeves), but at this point in my marriage, I’m thinking it’s possible that most things my hubby does falls into the “annoying” category, which probably makes living with me and absolute pleasure!
So, I’ve decided to take action, well action — in the form of an experiment. We’re all told, “You can’t change people, you just have to accept them,” unfortunately I can’t accept that advice anymore than I can accept my hubby’s, ahem, little ticks.
But maybe if we try not to sweat the small stuff slowly, you know, one small thing at a time, we can change our outlook?! That said, each week, I will TRY to accept a different (most likely NOT) Earth shattering annoyance, until I have accepted them all … or I’m too old to notice them anymore, whichever comes first.
I would love for you to do this with me!!! Because, like running a marathon, it helps to have someone to train with and complain with and stretch with. Though, no stretching will be required for this experiment, unless you want to stretch, I mean, it’s not prohibited either and if that’s what you need from me I say let’s do some toe touches.
For MY first week I will attempt not to complain about my husband’s parking for an entire week! This will be extremely hard, as my husband likes to take the first available spot upon entering any lot, which is usually also the farthest. He clearly didn’t read The Secret, which explained that you CAN get the best spot everyday, if you believe. I am a believer and frankly, I’m also lazy, and willing to circle endlessly, which ensures I ALWAYS get an impressive spot. In fact, I wish we all compared spots when we entered a mall or other establishment, so that I could show off my parking prowess!
To add to my hub’s penchant for picking bad spots he likes to park between cars when there are corner spots available (hello, only one side of your car is exposed to damage!), and he doesn’t know to park slightly closer to the nicer car or to car on his side!
He NEVER, well, only after my constant whining, reparks to straighten out the car (we’ll add my insistent whining to his list of pet peeves). We could be hanging off a curb or parked on a diagonal, and it just isn’t worth going into reverse, because apparently that’s a major chore.
Lastly, he doesn’t consider the fact that I’m usually in super high-heeled shoes and wedges! How is not thinking of my foot attire at time like that, or all the time for that matter?
By the time I enter a store I’m tired from having walked a mile. I’m possibly limping from having twisted an ankle and I’m most certainly hoarse from saying, “there’s a spot, look there’s a spot” while pulling in and continuing to point out ALL the spots we could’ve parked in as we walk through the lot.
So, I imagine my barking and bitching could also be on his list of peeves. Yes, I know, we seem perfect ladies, but we have little miniscule tiny barely noticeable flaws (we’re only human).
So, I will bite my tongue all week and see if I can let it go … and if letting it go makes us less bitter by the time we hit our destination, we call it a score. If not, I will of course, go back to complaining and pointing and whining, duh.
You can obviously pick your own peeve for this week and let me know what it is so I may use it in a column and of course, dedicate it to you!
Next week, be ready for (forgetting trash day)!
PS- Go check out my new show – The first episode it up!!!
Like with debacle that was Tom and Katie’s marriage, or the demise of any celeb union, for that matter, Danny Devito and Rhea Perlman’s split, directly impacted my chance at a lazy happy marriage, don’t act like it didn’t affect you!
Everyone remembers when Devito and Perlman got together right? I mean, I wasn’t born yet but I heard tales. Yep, just like Brad and Angie, it was a whirlwind — or something like that. Fine, I just know that they’re both short and funny and if short funny people can’t stay together… who can? Who can?
Ummm lesson learned. Do not marry someone as short or funny as you!
Listen, following the love lives of celebrities is like couples therapy … only cheaper. I think we’ve all learned some pretty amazing things for the price of a weekly gossip mag:
The Travolta’s taught me to avoid marrying arguably gay Scientologists, but if I must marry one, to now know that the house must be staffed with people who give happy endings and sign confidentiality agreements.
Brangelina justified me spending our entire life savings on a Chateau in France for my family to live in. That was the best week ever! Hey, do you think I can trade my food stamps for flying lessons?
I learned from TomKat that marriages with buyout clauses and auditors rarely work. Though sharing lipstick and Louboutins with your 4 year old is always a super awesome idea.
Posh and Becks made me see the need to conceive another child, with the sole purpose of naming it something totally random like, Stockbroker or Almondbutter or Miami.
R. Patz and K. Stew’s recent reconciliation taught me that the love of your life should totally take you back if you get caught on camera, making out with another man. Which is why I unexpectedly mounted a local anchorman in the middle of his “Live at 5” newscast (BTW they really don’t wear pants behind the desk!).
And yes, “DiRhea” once gave me the impetus to stick it out in the tough times to attain similar longevity.
Sure, their celebrity morph name wasn’t the sexiest, but it didn’t stop me from asking Mark during heated arguments, “What would DiRhea do?”
He rarely answered, but I like to think the mere inquiry got us through some tough times.
Now, with the news of DiRhea’s marital demise, I realize, there’s no finish line. You can never throw your hands in the air, run through the proverbial ribbon, and scream “We won! We lasted 3 decades, now we get to coast!”
No, on the contrary, it proves that we’re gonna have to work at this whole marriage thing for like, ever, which sucks because I’m pretty much phoning it in already. At this point my kids are numero uno and after a short list of important things, like our pets, success, and freshly folded laundry, comes my man.
So thank you DiRhea, because of you I’ll make my hubby a higher priority in my life. Well, within reason.
I mean, if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that when women get divorced, they find younger, hotter, more energetic men — with abs! Madonna, Halle, Demi, Katie C., Mariah, Susan S., Ellen B., you give hope to us all… mmmmmm abbbbs!
Before having children, I had no idea how much of a control freak I actually was. Yes, I always had the anxiety part, but even that grew 10 fold. My hubby and I lived in an apartment in NYC, where he was able to mask his inability to do simple household things like, change lightbulbs, hang pictures… use a screw driver. We had people to do that. Yes, the maintenance men were my BFFs — a small tip and they were caulking or hammering away.
Then we had kids and moved to the ‘burbs, where I realized that not only was my hubby not the type to do stuff around the house. I was not the type to delegate. My anxieties and need for perfection made his work seem incomprehensibly inferior. (The cause of many an argument)