what besties can teach us

I was reading Jenn's post about a group of bitter divorcees who were handing out advice to their kids on how to avoid a bad marriage: wait until you're at least 30 years old to marry.

I replied that I thought it was ridiculous to pick an arbitrary age and think that is the magic bullet.

I married around the age of 30 and I think I have a pretty good marriage so you might think the bitter divorcee advice holds true. But I dont' think it was just our age that made it so. I think it was the fact that he was available as often as I wanted him to be. He didn't weasel out of dates or show up late or not show up at all. He cared about my well being (in the bedroom, even). He valued me as a friend and as a person with thoughts and opinions that mattered.

Not exactly advice on marriage but a good parallel, I read an article by a therapist who suggested we teach our daughters to only have sex with someone who feels like a best friend, who acts like a best friend. Someone who you can talk to about anything, who you trust will stand by your side, who helps you when you need it, who is reliable, who shows up, who is kind in words and actions. Most of our kids know what a best friend looks like so it's tapping knowledge and feelings they're already familiar with.

What kind of advice would you give someone who wants to know the secret to choosing a healthy mate?

Painting: Besties by Danielle Fraser

some mornings are sheer poetry

Belinda Del Pesco

Watercolor: Saturday Morning Sleep-in

I don't think of myself as someone who likes poetry. I don't usually seek poems. I've been known to run from them on occasion. At a fast gallop.

I might have taken a book of poetry out of the library once or twice, Erica Jong comes to mind. But I don't think I've ever read more than a few lines before I put the book down and then forgot where I put it and then it was time to take it back to the library.

I do, however, love to listen to The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor. I catch it some mornings when I'm getting dressed for work. Often hoping the timing of the blow drying of my hair will not coincide with Garrison's reading of his selected poem of the day.

Below is one such poem I managed to catch.

This poem has stuck with me. Some mornings it is consoling. Some mornings it saves my marriage, maybe.

After a Noisy Night

by Laure-Anne Bosselaar

The man I love enters the kitchen

with a groan, he just

woke up, his hair a Rorschach test.

A minty kiss, a hand

on my neck, coffee, two percent milk,

microwave. He collapses

on a chair, stunned with sleep,

yawns, groans again, complains

about his dry sinuses and crusted nose.

I want to tell him how

much he slept, how well,

the cacophony of his snoring

pumping in long wheezes

and throttles—the debacle

of rhythm—hours erratic

with staccato of pants and puffs,

crescendi of gulps, chokes,

pectoral sputters and spits.

But the microwave goes ding!

A short little ding! – sharp

as a guillotine—loud enough to stop

my words from killing the moment.

And during the few seconds

it takes the man I love

to open the microwave, stir,

sip and sit there staring

at his mug, I remember the vows

I made to my pillows, to fate

and God: I'll stop eating licorice,

become a blonde, a lumberjack,

a Catholic, anything,

but bring a man to me:

so I go to him: Sorry, honey,

sorry you had such a rough night,

hold his gray head against my heart

and kiss him, kiss him.

"After a Noisy Night" by Laure-Anne Bosselaar, from The Hour Between Dog and Wolf. © BOA Editions, Ltd., 1997. Reprinted with permission (on the Writer's Almanac but not here on CoffeeYogurt)

what not to do during your first couples therapy session

1. Do not show up at the first session with a bill board size list of all the things your spouse does that annoys you. You look controlling and narcissistic. And there's nothing that puts a shrink in a worse mood than a controlling narcissist.

2. Do not, when asked what you think after your spouse has listed a complaint, say, "I don't know." You look like a passive-aggressive numbskull. And there's nothing that puts a shrink in a foul mood like a passive-aggressive numbskull, except maybe a controlling narcissist.

3. Do not, when your spouse is rambling about her complex and convoluted feelings, doze off. You look like you don't give a sh*t. And since you're paying the shrink a hefty fee to occupy that comfy couch? You look like a spend thrift and an ignoramus. And there's nothing that gets under the skin of a shrink more than finding out you don't give a sh*t and apparently don't mind wasting hard-earned money while you perfect being an ignoramus.

4. Do not, when asked how you feel after listening to your spouse's rambling, complex and convoluted feelings, say, "Huh? Uh. What do I feel? Uh. Nothing." You look like a 1950's out-of-touch suburban slacker. And nothing makes a shrink side with your spouse faster than realizing you are a 1950's out-of-touch suburban slacker.

5. Do not, after your partner explains in a sensitive and carefully worded way that she is not having orgasms with your decades-old, same-old routine, say, "Huh. None of my ex-girlfriends ever complained." You look like a cad who has spent far too much time in front of cheap porno movies pushing the rewind button until your thumb is sprained.

And P.S. Your old girlfriends were lying.

You probably also bought the line, "You're only my second."

6. Do not, after listening to your spouse take responsibility for faults and overwrought, coming-unhinged emotional tendencies, say, "Well, as for me, I won Best All Around three years in a row." You look like an insensitive clod whose sense of self is as fragile as that English soccer goalie's ego after this now infamous World Cup move.

Speaking of the English goalie, here's a must-see video clip of a never-before-seen camera angle, complete with Green's never-before-heard internal dialog as the ball slips past. If you missed that link, it's What the English Goalie was Thinking.

7. Do not fool yourself into thinking that you will be let off the hook that easily.

You will not. You will, instead, look like a spouse who needs intensive individual therapy if your relationship stands a snowball's chance in July in New Jersey. Your spouse has drug you into therapy not because he wants to humiliate you but because she wants this relationship to work, i.e., your partner loves you. Now quit being a bonehead, wake up, take some responsibility, and show some love back. Because nothing makes a shrink feel more optimistic than two people willing to talk openly and risk showing the love back.

do not disturb

Seriously

excellent

reading

in

progress.

For weeks now, I have been patiently pacing the floors waiting for my local library to deliver my hold request.

And Thursday?

Deliverance.

So now, after numerous distractions (volleyball game, two-night visit from mother-in-law, school carnival pick ups, sleepover drop offs) I am, to use a phrase I know the East Texas author would approve of, happy as a pig in sh*t.

If you are looking for a fascinating, disturbing, engaging, and inspiring memoir, or series of memoirs, which in my mind's eye is evah so much bettah, I invite you to read my absolute

favorite series by Mary Karr.

Begin with Liar's Club. Natch.

It's about her Texas childhood. Daddy working the oil fields. Momma working the bipolar. Both working the bottle.

In her words, "A dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it."

Follow Liar's Club with Cherry. Karr's adolescent years. Where she unwittingly follows in her mother's footsteps. Isn't it always the way? We're running away from our parents but running right smack into them at the same time.

And finally (oh hopefully not) the sequel to the sequel, Lit.

When I read Karr's memoirs, I feel as if she is sitting by my side, talking to me. An intimate conversation where I'm thrilled I've found a new friend who will tell-it-like-it-is. No sugar coating. No holes barred. Emotional, gutsy soul barings. The stuff typically reserved for the confines of a shrink office.

The way Karr describes her confused, distressed, approach-avoidance feelings regarding her mother is deep, from-the-core, inside turning out.

And her marriage to the wealthy, waspy New Englander. The same. The subtle twists and turns that can steer a married couple right into the ditch. And the way the hurts stick with us, "the shreiking fight or the out-of-character insult endures forever, while the daily sweetness dissolves like sugar in water."

But mostly it's her insights about herself. ""For me, everything's too much and nothing's enough." Yep. Especially when I'm reading her books.

All this to say I may be even less present in the blogosphere than my poor attendance record of late.

But I know you understand.

stuck in marriage?

Or marriage struck?

After my last post on temporary divorce I worried that some of my readers might question my committment to married life, or at least those who do not get my pathetic attempt at droll wit.

So worried was I, in fact, that I scoured back to the sad beginnings of my blog for an old post, one of my earliest, in order to camouflage my blogger's block shore up any doubts. Because the fact of the matter is, I'm about as emotionally dependent on committed to my husband as I am to inhaling the air around me.

And so here is my repeat post, which, for the record, enjoyed zero comments two years ago. Needless to say, I am hoping for a better comment showing the second time around.

---

For the past several years at Edge, John Brockman has asked scientists and philosophers a provocative question and then posts their answers.

The 2008 question was "What have you changed your mind about?"

One psychology professor's reply reflected on his research. Daniel Gilbert suggested that the decisions which leave us with the ability to change our minds are less satisfying than decisions which are irrevocable.

Not long after he reached this conclusion he went home to propose to his girlfriend. After several years of marriage, he believes he loves her more as his wife than he loved her as his girlfriend.

For me, a longtime married person, its refreshing to learn there are theories out there that support the notion that love can grow precisely because of options lost.

Or make that, the choice to love only one.

---

Because my own personal case study in marriage, my n=1, no double-blind-placebo experiment, has led me to the same conclusion. I felt stark panic considerable uncertainty about the decision to get married. I love him but is he the right man for me? Will it last? Do I really want to make Texas my home?

But once he put the golden band around my finger all doubts fell away. Uncertainty was replaced by a more complete depth of knowing than I ever thought possible.

The divorce rate tells me this isn't everyone's experience. But I do wonder about the satisfaction levels of other irrevocable decisions.

Having a child comes to mind. We all know how powerfully satisfying parenthood can be. I know in my case, I am always awed into silence when an indecisive childfree person asks me whether she should have children or not. My first instinct as a Mom, though not as a psychologist, is to say "You will not regret it. Not even for a half of a trillionenth of a nanosecond. It is the single most life changing and rewarding experience you will ever know."

How about you, reader. Once you put a sealed decision behind you, did your satisfaction grow?

temporary divorce, anyone?

Joceyln's O Mighty post about exploring temporary housing overseas, which may or may not have included a year long divorce, got me thinking uh oh, clear the room.

Yesterday I was reading Mother Jones magazine in my doctor's waiting room. How's that for a waiting room rag? That would not fly in 99.9% of Texas towns, now would it? Reason number 2033 Why I Love Living in Austin.

So in the new issue of Mother Jones I read Nadya Labi's article about the tradition in Iran of temporary marriages. Where a man and a woman can be married by a cleric for the express purpose of relieving their sexual (his) and financial (her) tensions.

Where a temporary marriage can last anywhere from one hour to 99-years.

Where a man is allowed four full-fledged wives and unlimited temporary wives. Where a woman is allowed one full-fledged husband and no temporary husbands but if she is unmarried or widowed, she is allowed one temporary husband at a time. No mas.

Where a man can choose to extend or cut short the temporary marriage, depending on his whim. Where the woman's only choice is to remain married until the end of the contract, i.e., wait and see what her temporary husband chooses to do.

Are we seeing a pattern here?

Where the temporary husbands get to brag to their business associates about how many temporary wives they have, while typically keeping it secret from their legitimate wives. Where the temporary wives don't dare tell a soul because it is considered undesirable and cheap.

Where women seeking temporary husbands can be found lingering outside a certain shrine, identified by their inside-out chadors.

Where we in these wicked United State think this sounds an awful lot like one of our infidel customs.

There was much debate presented about the fairness of these various arrangements. Widowed women with little or no financial options who appreciated a temporary marriage allowed them to earn money as opposed to starving or begging. Who preferred to obey only their temporary husband's sexual demands compared to full-fledged brides who must obey their husband's every demand. Who were glad they didn't have to live with the dude every single solitary day of their married lives.

Yes. I can see the benefits of temporary marriage. I surely can.

This idea plus Jocelyn's post got me thinking about temporary divorce. Where husband and wife live separately for a period of time decided upon by both parties. One hour or 99-years. Joint custody arrangement, of course. Alternating weeks of utter quiet, solitude, undisturbed blogging. No dinners, no dishes, no homework, no taxi-cab service, no policing of computer time.

Weeks of space where we marrieds get to see what life is like without each other. Of sleeping in the middle of the bed or on his side of the bed which you haven't slept on in 18-plus years because he is that determined to sleep on his side of the bed no matter where we are in this world.

Weeks of having full control of the remote. The luxury of changing back and forth between Judge Judy or Women's Lifetime Channel or Kathy Griffin's My Life on the D List or the tail end of a TMC movie because, yes, those last three minutes still make me cry. Without having to listen to his heavy sigh because you can't help it if he can't follow your random train of television viewing thought.

Weeks of no Dallas Cowboys Sunday afternoons. No San Antonio Spurs-only because-they're-in-the-playoffs week nights.

So hmmm, would the temporary divorce take place during the last part of football season when the playoff games go into infinity or during March madness when the tournament games go into infinity overtime?

But aside from the petty gains of a temporary divorce, perhaps something more substantial would take place. Maybe we would grow more appreciative of the many things we do for each other. We might focus more on how much we miss our temporarily divorced spouses than on how much we wish he would wipe the crumbs off the stove top. More on how nice it is to have someone to snuggle under the covers than how annoyed we are by the fact that he is in the bathroom at just the very same minute I need to be in there.

How about you, Reader? Any thoughts on temporary marriages and temporary divorces?

green stamp sex lamp

A few days weeks months ago, Mary M. posted on the Women's Colony about her boyfriend's heirloom table lamp. She feared that when he moved in, "that hideous lamp is probably going to be the first thing he carries through the doorway." If her boyfriend is anything like my husband, Sam, he will be carrying his ugly-ass lamp straight to his urn.

On his bedside table, Sam has what he likes to call the sex lamp. It looks like this:

Yes, that's right. You saw correctly. The sex lamp looks like this:

Now, I ask you, is there anything even remotely sexy about this lamp? Of course not. But then, that's not why he calls it the sex lamp.

I laid eyes on this luminary gem soon after meeting Sam. I found it endearing, assuming as I did at the time that it represented his post-divorce poverty. But it remains on his side of the bed to this day, after many years of post-nuptial combined income bliss.

And you only thought you had bedroom decor issues.

Design challenges aside, this lamp has a strong fluorescent bulb. So bright it could light up Yankee Stadium.

Now, if there's one thing everyone in the porn industry can agree on, it's that fluorescent lighting is sexy. Says this highly sensitive person who cringes under the charged mercury vapors.

Be that as it may, I agreed to allow the sex lamp in our shared bedroom when he held it aloft and shouted "from my cold dead hands!" said he planned on keeping it. I agreed in a pleasing manner that succeeded in appearing sincere, even. I agreed because the lamp holds sentimental value for him. He acquired the lamp as a mere lad in grade school. Traded green stamps for it, even. I agreed because my feminist values dictate that home decor is not the sole dominion of women. And I agreed because, as I figured it, old lamps burn out.

But twenty years later? That butt ugly lamp is still burning.

I am finding, much to my emotional detriment, that there is truth in the old maxim: They sure don't make 'em like they used.

So why does he call it the sex lamp, you are wondering? Well, here it is. The bright spot in all of this lamp lunacy. When the sex lamp is turned on? So are my husband's good intentions. And so am I. He likes to see what he's doing when he's working his magic. And work it he does.

Which leads me to my own personal maxim: An agreement made is an agreement kept.

In short, I'm stuck with the lamp.

Until the bulb burns out. Because in this case, I don't believe in fixin' that which is broke.

And now, good reader, PLEASE please leave a comment with your sure-fire, covert means of hastening the demise of an ancient, obnoxious flourescent light bulb.

And if you haven't already, stop by The Women's Colony where this, and other real women sexplorations appear.

big win for mayor elect

Houston Mayor-elect Annise Parker

celebrates her runoff election victory

with her partner of 19 years, Kathy Hubbard (in purple)

I love to see a woman beat a man make history. Especially when that woman is a lesbian.

In this case, Annise Parker was the first openly lesbian woman to be elected mayor of an American metropolis: Houston.

Every now and again the citizens of Texas get it right.

I also love to see it when history making members of the GLBT community show that they, too, cherish loving, longterm committments. Parker and her partner have been together 19 years. They have two children.

Why their two children are denied married parents doesn't make any sense to me. Kids of gay parents have it tough enough, don't they?

Take Mason, for instance, a young Austin resident who spoke before a public crowd to say he gets teased at school. You don't come from a "real family," is one taunt he's had to endure. And as research has now shown, there are psychological consequences of denying gay rights.

But in order for Parker to win the Houston election, she had to make some political and very personal concessions. During a campaign debate she stated she would not push for same-sex partner benefits for Houston's city workers. Denying health insurance for her very own wife partner.

“Personally it’s very important,” she was quoted as saying, “but, as mayor of Houston, do I want to engage resources in fighting that battle, or do I want to tackle the budget? Do I want to tackle drainage? Do I want to try to put more police officers on the street? It’s the difference between the personal and what this city needs.”

One step at a time.

I do (so want your health insurance)

Marry him for his health insurance plan? BernThis posted about a couple who did just that. It's becoming almost commonplace these days.

My husband's first marriage? They tied the knot in his hospital room. A marriage destined for good times, right?

He needed emergency abdominal surgery for a chronic illness and her health insurance (group) had a much lower deductable than his (individual). So they moved their wedding date AND the location. Eventually both insurance plans kicked in and they made out like bandits. Nice wedding gift (unlike my wedding gift from hell).

I believe this double-coverage windfall has been nixed by the crafty (we make the money here, not you) health insurance industry but it worked for them.

And me? Wife number two? All I have to show for it is a husband with a scarred belly and a mediocre story for my blog.

if an unwed mother speaks into a fox microphone, does she make a worthwhile sound?

Twenty years ago we had Murphy Brown: the TV sitcom career woman who elected to be a single mom. In the speech heard round the world, then Vice President Dan Potatoe-head Quayle, accused the career woman of "mocking the importance of a father."

Now, in 2009, we have Bristol Palin: the daughter of vice-presidential wannabe, Sarah Palin.

Bristol doesn't lament being a single mom so much as having started a family too early, without having "a career" or "her own house" and without having completed her education. All valid points.

Ironic side note: Murphy had a career but no baby-daddy. Bristol has a baby-daddy but no career.

Bristol gave an interview recently as a means of furthering her mother's national political aspirations helping "prevent teen pregnancy." In so doing, she talked about how much she loves the baby. How she didn't "regret" having the baby "at all." How she only wished she had "waited ten years."

Waited ten years to .... what? To have sex? To have unprotected sex?

Interestingly, a regret she didn't mention was being unwed. Any moment now, I'm expecting Quayle's modern day equivalent, a self-appointed family values czar to pontificate on such a clear lapse of moral judgement. Or not, because, she is the direct descendant of one who yaks on about values.

But the whys of Bristol's marital status is none of my business. My only concern is her message to teens.

So, for the record, what does she have to say about abstinence?

"Everyone should be abstinent, or whatever, but it's not realistic." Um. Ok. She didn't want to "get into details" of what IS realistic so that's all we get.

And if not abstinence, what options does she advocate?

She advises teens to "wait."

Newsflash for Bristol: Waiting IS abstinence. Abstinence IS waiting. The two are one and the same unless you are joining a convent.

So consider the interview a ploy to get her mother back into the national spotlight a waste of time, or worse, a public service announcement for how satisfying and fulfilling an unplanned pregnancy can be.

I know, I know. Bristol is only a teenager. She is young and naive. She is her mother's daughter untrained in the art of crafting a message.

So spare us the television appearance, the sham cause. Or if a sincere attempt, so poorly executed as to do more harm than good.

Here is this seasoned mother's message to teenagers: Unless you are prepared to have a baby, and believe me, you are not, show us your maturity. Use protection and use contraception. Condoms can be bought at your local pharmacy, grocery, discount or convenience store. Other contraceptive choices can be gotten by attending a Planned Parenthood clinic. You can click here to find the one closest to you.

I would also suggest talking to a trusted adult before you take the big step. But I know that you won't. Hardly anyone does. The decision is so personal and private and usually made in the dark of night.

On a lighter note, I offer an opinion. Most times two heads are better than one. Take helping kids' with homework. My kids go to dad with the math and mom with the social studies. Science is a toss up.

On math night and every other night? I'm awfully glad their dad is here. And so are they.

when men should run things

Gotee Man posted a bit about a Georgia woman who took a stand against conventional wife-wisdom.

Reminded me of something a longtime friend said. A stonemason, he lives a continent away and visited recently. We hadn't seen him in a year or so. He's the kind of guy who always surprises. Just when you think you've got him figured out, you do a double take.

His wife didn't make the trip. Bummer. I like her a lot, liked her from the first moment we met. She's warm, intelligent and she doesn't take shit from nobody, least of all Stonemason.

Another old friend of Stonemason's, a rather conventional man, accompanied all of us to an outdoor gathering. We were making small talk, standing around waiting to leave for a boat ride.

Stonemason turned to his friend and said,

I've been married 25 years now. Can you believe that? Yeah, after 25 years, I pretty much run things.

Huh?

Stonemason continued,

Yeah, after 25 years you accumulate a lot of appliances. A dishwasher, washing machine, garbage disposal ... So... yep. I run every single one of 'em.

Ahh, that's more like it.

show true compassion on valentine's day

Say no to divorce.

Theirs.

Because, like yours and mine, these kids deserve to have married parents, too.

Cheri at BlogThisMom lovingly shared pictures of her good friends Chris and Bill, and their beautiful children. She then asked her readers if we believe this family deserves the same legal protection under the law that any other family is entitled to. This reader absolutely does. So I clicked over to sign the petition.

Please do the same. And hurry! Submission deadline is February 14, 2009.

image 1 found here
imiage 2 found here