Tag Archives: marriage

Bedtime Routines …

13 Mar

 

How Things Work

From Becky Mansfield @ ModernFamily.com

 

 

 

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When Your Molly Ringwald Story Becomes a Diane Lane Adventure …

15 Sep

At first you’re in love.

You got that Corinthians passage memorized and you go in with hope and faith.

You go in thinking you’ve met you’re Jake Ryan.

But then you realize this is not Sixteen Candles and your girlish idea of romance is just that … an idea.

Although … sometimes it pans out and runs the course. You celebrate 50 years, but not just 50 years, 50 good years. Nicholas Sparks romance novel good years.

Other times love gets you to the seven-year itch mark and you find yourself being Diane Lane in any of the Diane Lane-I’m-gonna-dig-myself-out-of-this-disasterous-break-up movies.

 

 

But what ends up happening is that you try your best not to be like the lead in Tyler Perry’s Diary of a Mad Black Woman.

This is what’s happened to three of my friends in the last two months.

They say half of marriages end in divorce, my side of the block is up to 75%.

I feel pretty bad about that as none of them did anything to deserve the situation they currently find themselves in, and I couldn’t find the words to express how bad I felt about the situation. All I could do was listen and do my best to make them laugh with whatever personal disaster was happening to me at the moment.

And then I came across a fellow blogger that hadn’t posted in months.

I was happy to see her on my reader until I realized what happened.

They say it’s rare when people get hit by lightning. Extremely low percentage. Even more rare when you get struck twice. But it happens.

And unfortunately for her it happened this way.

However she’s handled it with such strength that it blew me away. What’s even crazier is that she managed to find humor in a completely unfunny situation.

Dude.

Duuuuuuuuuude.

So in an effort to champion my friends back to a better state I sent the posts to them. I was hoping it would give them strength and laughter when they needed it most. And then I realized that there could be others out there living the same quiet moments of sadness who haven’t discovered this blogger. So I thought I would post links Mikalee Byerman’s blog.

Me 2.0 … If necessity is the mother of invention, then divorce is the mother of re-invention…

Here is her story.

The Brick(ginning)

The Brick Part 2

Even if you’re not going through relationship issues, it’s a good blog, full of comedy and heart.

So if you know someone at the end of their Molly Ringwald romance, help them get through their Diane Lane Adventure.

Step one?

Encourage them to visit Byerman’s blog and read her story.

It will get you out of any funk.

 

 

I Hate Slow Deaths

7 Nov

 

It's either hot or cold ...

Image via LeFunny.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Death of Chips

5 Nov

Dear Corinthians Love is Kind Chic,

I don’t know what to tell you … Maybe you just know love during the cloud-nine stages.

Maybe you need a refresher course on how to survive love taught by the genius comedy kings  Louis CK and Chris Rock. Maybe there’s a reason why your love is kind theory isn’t on family newsletters, because after all family includes mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and in-laws. Love needs a different speech for this particular subset group. Maybe you need to update your whole schpeel because when I see this in my household …

 

Do you see what's wrong with this picture?

Do you see what’s wrong with this picture?

 

… love is not kind or patient. It is easily angered and irritable after a long day.

This sort of catastrophe happens all the time and it boggles the mind. Love does not conquer the breakage of vacuum sealed. I mean for crying out loud nitrogen is added to help preserve and protect these chips. Vacuum sealed needs protection to survive. Once this seal is broken the freshness itself escapes and you must do your best to combat staleness. You must!

I know you know. Everyone knows.

Yet this still seems to happen to cereals, pretzels, Goldfishes, Ritz crackers, graham crackers and the Almighty Pirate Booty. The death of vacuum sealed burns me out. The death of chips burns me out as does leaving the cap off the toothpaste, playing Tetris with the garbage can so you don’t have to throw it out, spilling stuff in the fridge and then mysteriously not knowing why it’s dirty. This is not what love is about. This is not kind, or patient. This is does not bear all. This does not endure all kinds of things behavior. This type of behavior results in episodes of Oxygen’s Snapped!

So Corinthians Love is Kind Chic … it’s time for a rewrite.

But wait!

Now that I think of it, you might be a dude, because only a dude would leave out finite details of this nature from the very most important love/marriage speech and still expect patience.

People. Be warned: bags will not be sealed even if they have Ziploc capacities, toothpaste will runneth over and dry out, trash will be piled high and even when taken out the bag will not be replaced, empty toilet paper rolls will suffer the same fate, cupboard doors will remain wide open so that you can smack yourself in the face, juices will be spilled and refrigerators will become sticky with no owners to claim the mess.

This is a part of love. Marriage love, partner love, family love. Be warned … Corinthians lied. There’s anger, irritability, and record of wrongs. So check yourself.

 

Stay Strong … The Right Guy Is Out There

30 Jul
:)

Author Unknown

 

 

Fixing Broken Windows

23 Jul

Dear Broken Windows Theory,

I had never heard of you, but after getting that background check courtesy of Google I think you apply more to relationships than law-enforcement theories.

I know that originally you define yourself as a policing philosophy that believes if a neighborhood tolerates small examples of crime, like broken windows, public drunkenness, or graffiti, people are “more likely to commit more serious crimes”.

I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know that you definitely apply to relationships.

Yes.

Definitely.

Here is the list of a few “Broken Windows” that cause disorder, frustration, and out of control feelings, which may eventually lead to Snapped! moments.

 

.

.

Leaving wet towels on the floor and then wondering why the towel smells moldy.

Not replacing the toilet paper roll and leaving the sad empty roll clinging to bits of tissue.

Leaving the toilet seat up.

Throwing dirty clothes right next to the hamper, not in it, just next to it.

Drinking out of the carton, leaving one drop left, and then putting it back in the fridge.

Throwing out the garbage, but never replacing the trash bag.

Never “finding” anything in the refrigerator because you never look behind anything, and then asking your better half … Where’s the _____?

Driving the car for two days and then failing to put gas in it when the “empty” gas light is on.

Leaving piles of baby bottles with milk still in them on the counter. Not washed. Not even rinsed. Just there … smelling of stale milk.

Never making the bed knowing full well that the sheets on the floor are due to your non-diagnosed Restless Leg Syndrome.

Shoes left in the middle of the room, so that I can trip and fall on them in the middle of the night.

Leaving all the kitchen cabinet doors and drawers open so that when I walk in I smack myself with the very sharp corners.

Piles of clean laundry scattered about the room, folded, but not put away.

Channel surfing at the speed of light.

 

All these “broken windows” by themselves don’t seem that catastrophic, but a few of these in a row can definitely require meditation and a chocolate emergency. Everyone has broken windows, I guess the trick is to be aware of your own and make sure you board those up before hostility erupts and someone gets thrown off a cliff. I’ve got plenty of hammer and nails because there are a couple of broken windows here in Guatville. So Broken Window Theory, I think you definitely could expand passed the neighborhood watch program and into our Everybody Loves Raymond existences.

So I Bought The Chocolate Mousse

9 Jul

“There’s something about that night that I need to tell you …”

Who says that and doesn’t finish the sentence?

This is not movie or a Young and the Restless cliffhanger … this is life. So I was surprised when I heard it.

Who says something like that?

Who?

A guy … you guessed it … had to be a guy.

I was people watching at a restaurant when it happened, and I couldn’t believe it.

Dude.

She just sat there waiting. He took a call in mid-sentence and she just sat there waiting. I’m not one to get into anybody’s business. In fact I have trouble keeping my own business situated, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued. I hadn’t heard the entire conversation, just that one piece. So it could have meant many things. He could have been talking about a night at his parent’s house and how his dad accidentally crashed their car. He could have been talking about a night at work where he got demoted or fired because he told off the boss. It could have been a night with the baby and how he accidentally cut the baby’s hair. It could have been many things, but her reaction led me to believe it was something more serious. She seemed to be fuming and had that I’m-trying-to-contain-my-wrath-because-we’re-in-public look. Every chick has one of those looks and seeing how I’m a chick I recognized it right away.

So I sat there wondering what could it be. What did this dude do? It plagued me for the next ten minutes while he was on the phone. I’m sure it was killing her as she was on her second stiff drink. It appeared to be vodka, but who knows could have been gin. All I know was she was throwing it back and anxiously waiting the return of her dude. In truth I was waiting anxiously too.

As I was awaiting his arrival,  I started to think, what if that was me? Would I have waited like the strappy sandals chick here, or would I have thrown his phone against the wall and demanded that he explain what he meant? Now I tend to lean more to the Snapped! version of myself when crazy sentences like these are introduced in conversation. So the phone would have been a goner. I’m passionate like that.

So when he came back I sat there waiting. But nothing of the Snapped! sort happened. He just walked back in, put some money on the table, told her there was an emergency, and he left.

Holy crap.

I couldn’t believe it. I sat there eating my baked potato. I stopped in mid spoon, because I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Who does that? Who says “there’s something about that night that I need to tell you,” and then just bails. She sat there deflated. I had no idea what had just transpired, but it looked heavy. I assumed the conversation that would take place later that night would suck. So I did what any chick would do for a fellow member of the team. I bought the chocolate mousse and sent it to her table. And even though I hadn’t met her, I still felt the need to do something for her. I didn’t wait for her reaction. I thought she needed to enjoy it in private. I figured she’d need something to get her through that future conversation.

This One Is For The Ladies

6 May

“I love him and want to thank him for putting up with me.”

I recently heard this and for some reason it burned me out. In truth I’ve been hearing and seeing that phrase quite often.

What’s up with that?

It usually happens at anniversary parties or at birthday parties, or for some reason when I’m at the market waiting for Coupon Lady to finish up her transaction and I’m browsing the magazines. I see it and I wince.

For some reason chicks feel the need to utter the words, and I guess if you’re a real ball buster, money spending pain in the ass crazy PMS mood-swinging diva who can’t even boil an egg, well then maybe it’s true. But for this hard-working Guat the thought never occurred to me. It may be the fact that I think if I were a guy, I would totally be in love with me and be grateful for this Guatacular person that has come into my life who constantly makes me laugh.

I don’t consider myself a person that someone has to “put up with.” It probably dates back to the days when my high school coaches and teachers told me I was great. And I believed him. A couple of them even told me I was special and seeing how they were college educated and wise beyond their years I had no reason not to believe them. I heard guys say that all the time, but they were just smooth talkers trying to get me to go out with them. Can’t really trust what a hormone driven teenager has to say. You like it, but can you really trust it?

Maybe.

It may also be due to that fact that I read too much Anthony Robbins change your life kind of quotes so that I can jump-start my Shark-Week kind of day. It may be due to the fact that Steve Harvey says that kind of stuff about women all the time. Wherever it came from, I got it. That’s what I think.

I may not flaunt it with my Chapstick Girl kind of lifestyle, but it’s in there. Even if Budweiser Chick herself were standing next to me I’d still think I was pretty awesome. Running triathlons, Warrior Dashes and 1,400 stair climbs tends to boosts my confidence. The fact that my four-year old son tells me I’m good mom helps out too.

Now don’t get me wrong, being awesome hasn’t gone to my head. The family I grew up in makes sure nothing gets to my head. You stay so low to the ground you know you’re a Salt of Earth kind of person. But nevertheless I’ve got what my Latino people call caracter fuerte, which loosely translates to being a strong woman — I’ve got balls. But I’m not a crazy person, I know when to unleash The Hulk and when to stay dormant. I’m like one of those wild animals on National Geographic, majestic and beautiful, but ready to chase you down if you piss me off. I live by the law of the jungle. I know what I am and I know what I’m worth. Sometimes it makes me sad that chicks don’t.

And what is it that I am?

I know I am not a person someone has to “put up with”. I’m the kind that should be appreciated. And I’d like to think that there are other ladies out there that feel the same way. Not all the ladies because in truth I know there are some chicks out there making it hard on everybody. You know the kind that are married and their poor dude is no longer Emilio, Hector, or Esteban. They are Poor Emilio, Poor Hector, Poor Esteban. So I get it. I know that there are “put up with” kind of people. But I can assure you not everyone is like that … there are still awesome chicks out there. So if you are out there, I’m holding my glass up to you ladies because the Guat feels you.  I know you’re awesome too.

The Never-Ending Refrigerator Saga

7 Oct

I’m not a big fan of reality television. In fact I hate it. But I ran across a show on the Oxygen Network called Snapped! and you know what? I can see how some chicks are featured on this show.

I can see it happening. Most of them are “normal” easy-going chicks: nurses, teachers, college students, accountants, secretaries, or lawyers. But then you have they occasional gold digger and socialite — they’re everywhere. The show basically chronicles a murder investigation and the woman who committed the crime. One minute she’s making dinner and then next minute she’s burying her dude in the back yard. Something happened to throw her over the edge. She snapped!

I can totally see it happening. People get pushed over the edge and there’s no chocolate in sight. And then BAM! You’re serving 20-to-life.

It happens. And in truth there are only few people who can overthrow your delicate balance, push you over the edge, and make you snap! And the thing is they all love you.

Family. Gotta be family.

They all have their quirks … not putting the cap back on the toothpaste, leaving their shoes right in the middle of the floor so that you trip and fall, drinking from the juice carton, not replacing the trash bag after they throw out the trash, not throwing the trash and then … the refrigerator.

Image via electrical-res.com

I don’t know what to do other than take a deep breath when this happens. That’s it. I mean there’s no meditation exercise powerful enough to wash over the frustration of the refrigerator battle.

Cleaning out the refrigerator. Not only does it involve emptying out gross containers of food you forgot were there, but it also includes washing the pots, pans, and Tupperware you emptied out, in addition to the drawers and shelves inside the fridge. Then the vicious cycle starts again the following week. It’s never-ending. It’s like a cleaning saga.

However since you cook, you wash dishes, you wash bottles, you mop floors, you scrub toilets, you wash bathtubs, you vacuum, you throw out the trash, you do laundry, you play and feed the kids,  you feel that someone else should grab hold of these reins. You feel you are the best household CEO that you can possibly be, so one of the other two people living in the household should really pick up the slack, considering they are the ones that constantly spill liquids and fail to clean them up.

You sigh each week because you really don’t know how this whole refrigerator saga happens. On Monday everything is fine. You go to the market, put some nice healthy and not-s0-healthy treats inside. It’s stocked. It’s clean. It’s fresh. Everybody’s got what they need.

But then comes Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. A pot of beans with a loose lid, a jar of jalapenos, a juice container that someone forgot to close tightly, hot dogs in a sandwich bag that someone didn’t zip up, cilantro that’s gone way beyond its life expectancy, dozens of Rubbermaid containers with funky leftovers that people forgot to eat, and a saute pan with one spoon of rice.

That one box of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda  hanging out in the back is not enough to hold in whatever smells. You get burned out because you cleaned it the last three times and you were not the one that made all those messes. But as the CEO you feel the need to assist. So you throw out anything that’s not fully sealed and put another box of Arm & Hammer in hopes that it’ll do its work. However, a couple of hours later someone opens the door and it’s a little less funky, but it’s still packed with leftovers that no one is really going to eat anymore.

So then what is it that you hear as you are finally sitting down for the first time in nine hours of the mommy-chef-cleaning lady-laundry folder-Lego builder-Play Doh molder-dog walker-and hide-and-seek-player shift?

“Hey, you should take a look at this fridge. Someone should really clean it out,” they say as they open a beer bottle and drop the bottle cap on the floor.

Yeah … I can see how some chicks end up on that show Snapped! I can see it.  It’s a good thing I had a Ghirardelli nearby.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Mine

2 Oct

 

Mine

 

You work hard all day.

You haven’t had time to sit down and relax. You haven’t had time to sit down period.

You’ve been on the go, non-stop since 6:43 a.m.

Your back aches, your head hurts, and your knees are tired.

You spent fourteen hours with a four-year old and a one year old.

You notice another gray hair.

Your mom shift is finally over.

You don’t want to see another sandbox, Lego block, monster truck, Hot Wheels, bulldozer, Little People doll, or Wonder Pets figurine the rest of the night.

You walk downstairs …and see it.

The Golf Channel.

Ummmmmmm. No. Hell no.

You turn around looking for it.

And there it is … hanging out by the television.

The all-powerful, the almighty … The remote control.

It’s mine.

It’s Tuesday night.

It’s Sons of Anarchy night.

It’s mine.

Mine.