Repetitive Arguments

Why is it that every time the Mr. and I have a significant disagreement, I feel like we've had it before? It's like there's no end to the war, just battle after battle after battle.

Like today when the same old issue arrived on the doorstep, he immediately says, "yeah, well... I'm sorry." YOU'RE SORRY?! No, I don't accept. Fix. It. Don't just apologize as if to say, "well, that's who I am and you're just gonna have to live with it." I still can't believe that's the first thing he said- the white flag immediately went up, like he knows I'm gonna be pissed, but why go there when he can just relent. Well, no thanks. I want a resolution, not an apology!

It makes me feel like all the hundreds of times we tried to resolve this in the past, nothing ever stuck. On this particular matter, the last confrontation was pretty big. I felt like I had to cave a little and he was humbled a little and the fact that the same subject is now back on the table is him saying, "actually, I didn't change at all. I just told you what you wanted to hear." Which actually isn't even true because it wasn't what I wanted to hear and I wasn't happy with it then.

The more my blood boils the more I realize that we are always fighting about the same damn things. In general, I think we get along great. I know for a fact that he gives in more than I do, but sometimes when a person is right there's no changing it (and I can promise you that I am right on this one). Even if I weren't right, doesn't he understand that it's important to me? It matters to me?

Journaling

Lately I've had a lot of things on my mind. Unfortunately, I am not ready to release most of them to the cyber world, not to mention to about three of the people whom I know read this blog.

Growing up I was a very dedicated journal writer. Looking back now I realize that was both a curse and a blessing. There's a lot I learn form my past self (sometimes I think maybe I'm the opposite of progressing...) and sometimes the stuff is just lame, embarrassing, or totally worthless and makes me seem like a freak for even writing any of it down. But the one thing I love most about it is that it's the most raw version of me, in any given moment. This blog, as opposed to "look at how picturesque my life is" family blog, is kind of like that. And there are a lot of reasons I don't mix the two.

You see, I'm a very emotional journal writer. In fact, the Mr. always teases that I only write in my journal when I'm mad at him, and if he catches me doing it, will shower me with apologies for whatever he did wrong. It's only half true though. The problem about being an emotional writer is that not every emotion is positive (which can be scary if you're equipped with the weapon of words) and when you are that emotional it definitely can stand in the way of logic.

In this day and age, I find it hard to pick up a pen and actually write on blank pages. My hand starts cramping after less then three minutes and it makes me wonder if my children will ever physically "write" things in today's expanding technological world. Not to mention, now that I have a blog (or two or three) the journal thing has kind of fallen by the wayside. The great thing about this is that I am still good at documenting events and such and it makes it so easy, but the drawback is that while you get a glimpse of my life, there is really no platform for me to expose my soul; the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. And here's the thing- aren't we all this way? Isn't there still so much we conceal and hide because we don't want to voluntarily be so vulnerable?

I think of all the times I've spent re-reading old journals- crying, laughing, rolling my eyes- sometimes the way I feel about something in the present comes to a new light when I read about the way I used to feel about something. It's almost as if I understand myself a little bit more. But looking back on my blog books, I don't get that kind of depth, everything is just pretty platonic. Sure, there are things that bring back good memories and occasionally sad ones, but there's no real hearty substance to them.

But you can't just go writing whatever you want and let the world read it! At least... I can't. Perhaps it's my own self awareness, or my lack of confidence, or fear of judgement. Whatever it is, it holds me back.

So, that's the reason I can't won't write about all the things that have been on my mind lately. But I do know this- they are shaping who I am. You know all that hype about thoughts becoming your character? It's occurring to me as we speak. Not all my thoughts are positive or maybe they are just a bit cynical, and some of them are very positive and uplifting, but they are definitely changing the way I see the world, the way I see myself in this world, and the way I see others in the world.

Busy Doing Nothing... and Stuff

My husband was just telling me today that I have a talent for filling down time with productive things that no one else really cares about. I guess he's right. Lately I feel like I always have a project (or many projects). Thus the blog neglect. But these things are keeping me happy and productive and generally help me avoid unnecessary stress caused by my own over worrying about life in general. So, all is well. I'm sure I'll find time for blog expression in the near future, but for now I'm filling my life with tasks.

My Mortal Prison

So the other day I was in the car with my parents and I don't remember the unfolding of this conversation, but it happened...

My mom brought up some incident where someone maybe claimed to have seen their body as they died and their spirit drifted off into heaven- or maybe it was all hypothetical. As we soaked in the thought casually she asked us, "That would be so weird. What would you be thinking as you drifted away and saw your own body lying there?"

"WOOHOO! I am so done with you!" I shouted without too much thought.

It caught them both off guard but they both started laughing. My dad started nodding in agreement and said he might feel the same way. My mom just kind of shrugged and smiled at the thought.

I said, "What? You don't think Grandma felt that way?"

We all concluded that I'm sure she did. If you're a blog follower you'll know that she passed last April after a long battle with an aging body. It was awful. I just felt so much pity for her as it continued, and as sad as it was to see her go, we all knew she was shouting praises as she left us all behind. My mom even said she felt like other close family members who have passed kind of lingered or looked back, but not our sweet Grandma! She was over it.

So, to give a little substance to my comment, I just feel imprisoned by my mortal body sometimes. A lot of times. And I have to admit that I'm grateful for every pain free day full of "normal" activity, and I've had a lot of them lately.

Still, arthritis is not kind on the human body. It's extremely crippling when it gets severe and the shame of being in a wheelchair at 25 is something you don't quickly forget. The embarrassment of having someone assist you in the bathroom can steal your dignity, and the mental adjustments you have to make to accommodate your physical limitations are more suited for someone three times your age.

So it always has me wondering...

why does my body have a hard time doing this....

While other people can use their bodies to do this!!

It amazes me. I don't even know how people come up with these things. "I know! Let's try...."

Really? C'mon. That's just too amazing.

Struggling with physical problems in my twenties constantly has me worrying about what it will be like when I'm in my thirties, or forties, or fifties, or beyond! I mean, if it's bad now, what's to come? So you can maybe understand why my spirit will be rejoicing at it leaves my mortal body in the dust. Not to be morbid, but it sure makes death seem a little bit wonderful.

Homebody

Have I ever told you that I lead two different lives?

One where I'm energetic and spunky, out and about, doing everything I can conquer in the short hours of a day, and taking the world in one piece at a time.

And one where I'm a hermit. It's unexciting and dull.... and for some reason I find it rejuvenating.

I've met some homebodies in my time and although I don't think I'm the most extreme, I can definitely hold my own. My husband finds it disturbing when I haven't left the house for three days (and I'm talking not even to get the mail), so he'll say, "C'mon! Let's go somewhere and get out of the house." Most the time I look baffled and think, "uh-oh, has it really been that long again?"

It just doesn't bother me. I feel like there are plenty of things to accomplish within the walls of my own home, but it's not always about accomplishment either. I like peace and quiet. I like being left to my own thoughts. I like not having to go through the hassle of getting out the door every day of my life (I count it at a blessing, in fact).

I do love to travel, so when I'm out, I AM OUT! I do and see everything I can and I love every little second of it.

But when I'm home, I like to be home.

I think in some ways it's kind of a burden. I realize when I've been home for a long time and in hibernating mode I sometimes have trouble shifting the gears back. I don't like to talk to strangers or making small talk and I have a hard time coming back out of my shell, but it eventually it wears off and I'm back to my first personality again.

The adventurous side of me is definitely more interesting, but I guess it's because of the other side that I really develop any depth.

Coming Right Up: The 7 Year Itch

Yep, it's upon us. Our seventh wedding anniversary is only a few months away. It came up the other day in a conversation with my mom and sister and my mom said, "oh, you know what that means- the seven year itch!" I could only laugh and say that I'd gotten it a year early and experienced the six year itch.

I've been familiar with the term nearly as long as I can remember. As a big Full House fan growing up they did a parody episode called "The Seven Month Itch," where Uncle Jesse had been living with and helping raise the girls only to crave his bad boy college life again. A completely understandable desire now that I'm an adult.

Then there is the famous movie, Marilyn Monroe and all. The wife and kids are shipped off for the summer and she moves in the building and naively tempts the man. And in case you haven't seen it or don't know, it's the one with the famous white dress scene. It's slow like older movies can be, but still quite good and entertaining.

My interpretation of the modern seven year itch has nothing to do with being tempted by another relationship, but has everything to do with an anxiety to just be free. Free from the responsibilities of marriage.

I have to admit, I have it pretty damn good. I think if people are in fact "meant for each other," then we are (although I personally don't believe in it). Still, I feel like we chose wisely and have reaped plenty of rewards for it.

So I have a great marriage.

But still.....

At six years I was grateful but feeling smothered. For no particular reason and definitely not by any cause of my husband. I just.... yearned for something that wasn't there. There really is no better way to describe it than an itch. I found myself easily annoyed and wanting to do whatever I wanted to do. I didn't even want to be in the presence of a marriage. I just felt like I was over it, although I would never, ever want it to end because deep down inside I knew this too would pass.

I have a few theories on why this happens. I think it's mostly because when you get married you are two individuals, very separate and distinct. But as time moves on your personalities, interests, beliefs, and characteristics blend together until you don't know which ones you brought to the table in the first place. It's almost like losing a sense of who you are, even though you may be a better person because of it. An itch.

In time, the itch relieved itself. It didn't take long and there wasn't any defining moment. It just left secretly in the night, the exact same way it had come.

Now that I know what it really feels like, I wonder if I was just getting a taste for the real one- the seven year. I mean, generations of people have surely used this term for a reason? There can't be a mistake on the timing? If so, I'm definitely in for it.

I know every marriage has it's ups and downs. Even the strongest marriages. We happen to be going through a very rough patch right now. There is really no tangible reason for it, but there is a huge void and a large distance between us at the moment. It's a matter of life pulling us in two different directions and living separate lives together. Everything demanding our time at the moment is consuming on both parts and none of the reasons overlap. Thus we both spend all our efforts in fixing these things and have none left for each other. It's rough.

The reason I mention it is because it's lonely and desperate- definitely for me, and surely for him. I know we're gonna get through it, but right now there's no time for damage control and there isn't any time in the foreseeable future. So instead of patching up the leaks, they just get bigger as the rain keeps coming. I'm just not sure we could handle an itch on top of it all.

But.....

We have three months. And I know for a fact that at least the sun will be shining by then, and that is reason enough for me to wait it out.

The Suffocations of Suburbia

Any tv show I've almost ever watched is based in suburbia. Or maybe just the ones I paid attention to growing up. I guess it makes perfect sense. I mean since 1950, more Americans have lived in suburbia than anywhere else. Both of my parents grew up in the suburbs and I think a few of my grandparents.

Recently I watched the entire series of The Wonder Years. I love that show. After Winnie's brother dies in Vietnam and Kevin kisses her for the first time he says, "Whenever some blowhard starts talking about the anonymity of the suburbs or the mindlessness of the tv generation... we know that inside each one of those identical boxes, with it's dodge parked out front and it's white bread on the table and it's tv set glowing blue in the falling dusk, there were people with stories. There were families bound together in the pain and the struggle of love. There were moments that made us cry with laughter. And there were moments, like that one, of sorrow and wonder."

And although I think the sentiment is beautiful and very true, the suburbs still make me wary for some reason or another.

I've definitely done my fair share of time in the suburbs. I grew up in the suburbs without a doubt, and even though we moved a handful of times growing up, it was always from one suburb to another, usually only a mile or two from the last. Even in my married life we've spent more time in the suburbs than anywhere else. And can I just say- wow. That was really something!

I read an article only a few years back about my own generation. Most of us grew up in the suburbs and many of us are detesting them now. Not a majority, but quite possibly in the future. This article made the point that so many of us came from broken homes (which I did not... at least by definition), that many didn't correlate successful families to the kind of environment the suburbs provide. Makes perfect sense to me. It also pointed out that our generation is much more aware of what is going on in the world around them- we are going greener, we are repopulating urban centers, we are revitalizing entire cities, etc. I wish I remember where I'd read it and I'd link it here, but the point being that my generation is going through a major paradigm shift and ditching conventional for new ways of life.

As I read this I thought how appealing all of this sounded to me, and how much of it was already true about me. I would love to walk to the market every day. I would love to ditch a car (or two) and use public transportation. I would love to buy organic foods, bamboo floors, and hemp sofas. I would trade (in a heartbeat) my children each having their own rooms for the cultural experiences that urban centers provide. I would rather pay very little for a public park than a lot of money for a huge yard (and have to take care of it).

I've spent a fair amount of time in cities. I love the city! Still, I'd like to have a family someday and the two are not completely cohesive, although it is possible and I admire and secretly envy those who do it. But, I was having a bit of an epiphany as I read this article in Hoboken, NJ where we were living for the summer.

I love Hoboken. It is the greatest little city right outside of Manhattan with a completely urban feel. It has great restaurants, beautiful parks, local bakeries, stunning views, convenient transportation, and believe it or not- neighbors who know each other! It's the "Manhattan for Families" as my husband and I call it, and with a much cheaper price tag. I was expressing my love for it one time in front of a friend of my parents and it was all he could do to keep from scowling. "When I lived in New Jersey we'd never dare even drive within ten miles of that place!" he said. This was about forty years ago and it's amazing how it's this hip new urban center that people flock to now. Goodbye crime, hello play dates!

At the time Hoboken was much more appealing than the suburban dream home we'd been living in for about three years. Sure, it was gorgeous and wonderful, but we were definitely in over our heads- and in more ways than one! We didn't know it at the time as well as we should have, but we were the definition of house poor- strapped by a mortgage and the promise of the American Dream. The notion of "owning your home is the way to wealth" doesn't hold much water for me after that experience.

It also was an odd place for a childless couple. Eventually we found a cozy place to fit in with our surroundings and neighbors, but it took longer than it takes a family, that's for sure. I knew we were much better suited for a cozy loft at the time, but we were in the mode of looking forward, thinking that we knew where we were headed. Wow, were we wrong!

And shall we visit the drama for just a moment? Holy moly. People in the suburbs who put on these shows of lives that are somehow "put together" were in fact anything but. I think maybe this is why I enjoy Mad Men so much. Lots and lots of suppressed feelings and secrets and lies. It definitely explained the term "desperate housewife."

So why do people do it? Is there something in my psyche that led me in that direction?

I'm almost positive. I moved there as if the decision had been made twenty years ago. For all the same reasons that I think people fulfill "expectations" without thinking through them first. Even the big ones, like getting married and having babies. Sad, but true. And the only sad part is where they end up because of it, because these should be the most momentous, celebrated occasions of our lives and I know that they can be under the right circumstances.

Before I married The Man, he used to talk about this pretend life that he pictured- white picket fence and all that came along with it.

Now, I'm much more in the "let's write our own destiny" mode. The same mode that makes me want to find a modern loft in the city.

Still, I have that daunting feeling of "what might the future hold?"

I turn once again to Kevin Arnold who said, "I grew up in the suburbs. I guess most people think of the suburb as a place with all the disadvantages of the city, and none of the advantages of the country, and vice versa. But, in a way, those really were the wonder years for us there in the suburbs. It was kind of a golden age for kids."

Would I be depriving my future children of something if they were to be raised in a city? Am I preventing them from putting down roots if we move around a bit? Or am I offering them unique life experiences that we might all benefit from?

It's hard to say really.

For now, I think I've settled on something in the middle (in my mind that is). Someplace near downtown with a little bit of room to spread out, but without the ugly commute. Maybe something like this:

I guess we all have to determine what we want and find our own little piece of heaven... and I can guarantee I will never find mine in a tract home.