Do Children Ruin Relationships?
All around me, my married friends are splitting as if their significant others have been exposed to an incurable virus.
“Oh my! Is that a rash or is that long term commitment?”
Though, what I hear most is, “we were okay, before the kids.” Say what?
While the actual making of the blessed event is pretty fun, once that little bugger takes center stage things tend to change. No longer is your honey the apple of your eye, it’s the little bean that steals your self-maintenance time, deprives you of sleep and keeps you working overtime in the decision making, laundry and housework departments. And then there is the other half of the parenting team that just might be feeling a little more pressure to support the family, wants a little leg and a night out with friends. I mean hey, what happened to Dick and Jane?
I wonder.
What people say is that things change after kids. See Dick and Jane. See self-centered Dick. See self-sacrificing Jane. My ex and I fell into these roles easily. It’s what our parents did (before they divorced) and all that I knew. The child came first, I was reluctant to get a sitter, and I was uncomfortable with my after-baby-body. My ex threw himself into work and made little or no effort in the romance department. That baby was driving bus and we were heading toward a cliff. I saw it coming and tried to phone in “I love yous” and send flowers to his job. I asked for a date night. He asked me not to touch him unless we were going to have sex. I began to exercise, but instead of muscles, the only thing that seemed to build was resentment. He planned outings. I didn’t appreciate his efforts because I still had to arrange for a sitter and afterwards tend to the baby. I refused to meet his physical needs and he refused to meet my emotional needs. See self-sacrificing Jane. See self-centered Dick.
I love my child. Don’t get me wrong here.
We both got lazy about meeting each other’s needs and resentment is a hard mother*cker to get rid of. Resentment keeps score and loves a good game of tit-for-tat and we were two competitive fools.
I love my child, but I would do it differently now.
Now, I understand how important it is for her to see affection between two adults, how good it would be for her to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her. I wish she could’ve seen us treating each other like we did in the beginning, the thoughtfulness, and the niceties. She would actually have a model to follow had either of us been a bit more mature, or our parents had modeld that for us.
Do children ruin relationships? What say you?
- Aunt B
Stay! Stay! Ahhh… That’s a Good Girl
Learning not to run away.
“Sit Bell!” I held my two fingers up then brought them down slowly on top of the two fingers of my opposite hand until they resembled legs hanging over the seat of a chair. When I gave the command, my dog sat, her pink tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. I stood right in front of her. “Now staa—aayy.” My voice rolled on this command, and I began to back away. Her bottom started to wiggle the further away I got. I saw her getting anxious, shifting the weight of her two front paws, one to the other. There were sharp yelps as I moved further and further away.
“Staa—aayy.” I said again.
Like most of us, she didn’t believe she was going to be all right. She was waiting for the trick, the pull of the rug that bowls us over, the bucket of no-so-funny that sits atop a doorway ready to spill just as we pull the knob toward us.
The real trick is the ability to simply witness the chaos, the disappointment, the suffering and the pain and not drink, or drug or shop or sex our way through it, it is the ability to bear witness to the ache and splendor that’s life.
Bell breaks as soon as I reach the doorway, her paws skittering over the wood floor. She jumps on my legs, wanting and needing to be petted, reassured that everything would be okay. I reassure her, take her back to the place where started and begin again.
“Take a breath Bell, everything is okay.” I said while I smoothed my hands over her coat.
At one time or another we are all scared or nervous, angry or anxious. We don’t want to stay because we don’t know what the next moment might bring. And then the next moment comes, sometimes bringing death or regret or hurt. Yes, those feelings are large and unwieldy and that’s when you have to pause and admit to yourself what you’re feeling. And yes it is uncomfortable and yes you will want to have a drink or smoke or shop or sex.
Just like Bell, you’ll go skittering towards what will make you feel better.
That’s okay. Those feelings didn’t go anywhere. Now take yourself back to them. Take a breath and sit with them a moment. Those feelings just want to be acknowledged.
Staa—aay. Good.
- Aunt B
Back-to-School. The most wonderful time of the year or not
The Tweenlet can practically look at me in the eye. I can’t stop the physical changes. Her body is crouching toward womanhood and she is ready to spring into this upcoming school year.
What I love and hate about back-to-school
I love the silent discipline of structure to our day
I hate the “registration round-up,” the annual production of various and sundry bills and documents to prove that I live in this town and that my daughter can go to this school, what a pain in the *ss
I love her nervous smile and how she reaches for my hand on the walk to school
I hate how each year her ‘good-byes’ are quicker once we arrive
I love knowing some of her friends since they were in kindergarten and watching them grow
I hate that every year, I think will be the last time we sing the “good-morning song”
I love the smell of sun and sweat in her hair when I pick her up from school
I hate how quickly the years are going by
This is the Tweenlet’s last year of elementary school, the training wheels came off this summer, with sleep-a-way camp and letting her do more things on her own. My daughter is growing up and I’m feeling a bit of the ‘½ empty nest syndrome’.
I moved to this suburb of Los Angeles just so that she could attend one of California’s Distinguished Schools. An honor given “to public schools within the state that best represent exemplary and quality educational programs.” I looked at private schools first, drooling at the fancy curriculums and shiny afterschool programs. The tuition was the brass ring just out of reach. So I moved where I could afford the rent (barely) but the public schools were great. I didn’t know the time would pass so quickly.
How do you feel about back-to-school? Happy the summer is over or kind of melancholy? Did you opt out of public education? Do you home school? Why?
- Aunt B
Why I’m Rooting for Bethenny and Jason
Untangling herself from all the new fangled ‘Stepford Wifery’ happening on Bravo’s “The Real Housewives…” franchise, Bethenny Frankles’ rapid fire delivery of one-liners bounced off of her fellow housewives like rubber bullets, most times leaving them stinging, bruised and backing away, while leaving Bethenny with her own spin-off show, “Bethenny Getting Married?” Whom does she have tucked away in those cheeks, Lenny Bruce and Jerry Seinfeld? Her brand of humor is observational, penetrating, and sometimes caustic and makes me laugh out loud. I couldn’t wait for the spin-off.
For the uninitiated Bethenny Frankel is a woman who writes, stars in her own exercise DVDs, hawks Skinny Girl Margaritas and makes the most excruciatingly healthy food. She is also wife to Jason Hoppy whom I think must be the most adorable man on TV and her latest accomplishment, mom to Bryn.
But this is Mama’s Health and why am I writing about reality TV? And why am I rooting for Bethenny and Jason? Because just as often as Bethenny turns that penetrating eye on those around her, she is just as quick to turn it on herself. What I find healthy is Bethenny’s ability to be herself, even when she is anxious, angry, tearful or hurt. She names what she feels. It isn’t always the right time or place or even directed at the right person, but what you get is exactly what Bethenny is feeling. How refreshing that is compared to the stifled posturing of most of the housewives on the various shows. I’m rooting for Bethenny and Jason because he adores her and it shows, because he gets her drive, her sometimes shrewishness and doesn’t let that intimidate him. I’m rooting for them because even though with all the cameras around it seems as if it’s her train and he’s along for the ride when actually it’s the other way around. She needs his steadiness, his ability to cut through the noise and really hear her. That’s an ‘A’ in communication with your spouse Mr.Hoppy. I’m rooting for Bethenny and Jason because I’m rooting for love.
Love deeply, love well, love long.
- Aunt B
“Negotiated Infidelity” Sounds Like Cheatin’ To Me
“It’s better to walk the dog on a leash than let it escape through an unseen hole in the back fence.”
So says Holly Hill, not her real name of course, a one-time mistress turned author of “Sugarbabe” a memoir that details her life after she was dumped by a boyfriend and posted an online ad offering her company, conversation, cooking, massages and of course sex all for $1000 per week.
*cough*
Sounds like prostitution.
*cough*
To that Holly Hill says, “I thought that because I was a 24/7 exclusive mistress that I wasn’t part of the world’s oldest profession, but with hindsight I was, because what I was doing … I was charging men for services, part of which included sex,” says Hill.
Yes of course she had takers! Most of them older wealthy men that were attracted to “Holly’s” pixie face and bright smile and according to her, conversation was what most of the men wanted. In the age of Viagra, I’m a bit surprised.
These books about “open relationships” and being an “Ethical Slut” crop up every so often. Surprisingly (or not) written by women who have been in relationships in which they’ve been jilted. The narrative in all of these books runs the same. Be open and honest about your extracurricular activities with your partner, feel free to sex someone else up, but come home afterwards.
There was a time when all I wanted was a lover (one year post-divorce and 2 years of celibacy!) The conversation on the first date would go like this.
“I’m looking for someone, just for sex. I don’t want to meet your kids, or your mother. I don’t want something heading towards something. I just have an itch that needs to be scratched and I need to be able to call you for that.”
I got a lot of weird looks after that spiel, with most backing out of the door and me never hearing from them again. Perhaps I should have asked for $1000 per week.
When I finally did enter into an agreement with someone, it was great for the first 9 months or so. After that I wanted something different. I wanted the emotional connection I’d eschewed before. I needed it.
So while this might work for Holly Hill, it doesn’t work for Aunt B. So all you ethical sluts and infidelity negotiators can have your sexy sex all over the place with whomever you choose. With all the fancy rules about “not spooning” when it’s just sex or coming home before 3am. Whatever.
I’m exclusive and hoping to find that one person who wants it that way. Or maybe I’m just old-fashioned.
Or maybe it’s okay to let the dog creep through the back fence. It couldn’t have been that great of a dog in the first place.
What say you?
- Aunt B
Parenting Under the Influence – Mommy’s Time Out
I did it every night with my former partner. We did it with our friends and their kids too. We did it at every wine bar in a 10-mile radius. Every life moment was an occasion to turn our wineglasses up while we noshed on cheese or chocolate and talked about our divorces, our jobs, how freakin’ hard parenting was, the body count in Iraq, politics and AYSO soccer. It was a ritual. It was how we bonded and how we remembered who we were, before we were moms. Though we loved the joys that came with parenting, balancing was difficult and sometimes being a bit tipsy helped us walk the straight line of being a mom post Clair Huxtable.
So when I would come across the occasional book about Moms who sip wine and play dates that included martinis, I would chuckle and think no more of it than that, yes we were Moms, and yes we drank. Didn’t we deserve a moment?
Until this exchange:
“Hey babe, ready for your story? Wanna hear Tikki tikki tembo-no sa rembo-chari bari ruchi-pip peri pembo?
“Mom?”
“Yes love?
“Your breath smells like wine.” We were snuggled in her twin bed, sharing her pillow, her head propped against my shoulder. Her feet were warm against mine and she smelled of Ivory soap.
“It does?”
“Yes, all the time.”
Then it became like a scene from “The Sixth Sense.” And there were these moments, it was as if I was sifting through her memory, and in each scene there was a bottle and a glass. Those are not the memories I want her to have.
‘Parenting Under the Influence’ has become this mommy jokey thing that’s actually kind of sad. It makes me wonder why we drink to cope? Shouldn’t we put down the bottle long enough to see what we can let go of? Shouldn’t we demand those moments we deserve from our significant others and not from a bottle of pinot grigio?
Do you parent under the influence?
- Aunt B
Hey Mom, Have You Ever Smoked Marijuana?
“It smells like Uncle Robert’s house.”
“Is this what Uncle Robert’s house smells like?”
We had just entered the lobby of an apartment building and the musky sweet smell of marijuana hung in the air.
Uncle Robert is her father’s brother. As a single mom I’m not always privy to her comings and goings when she’s with her dad. I wasn’t as surprised as I let on.
“What is that smell Mom?”
I pushed the button for the elevator, praying it would come quickly. “I’ll tell you later.” She looked at me puzzled and hunched her shoulders.
We entered the elevator, “Tell me now.”
“Marijuana.” I blurted it out, and as we traveled up the elevator shaft I told her it was a plant that people dried and smoked like a cigarette. Satisfied with my answer, secure in the fact that it was age appropriate. I waited for elevator doors to open.
“Have you ever smoked marijuana?”
When the doors finally opened, I turned to her and said, “I’ll tell you later.”
Here was a question I’ve dreaded as a parent, because the truth is I’ve smoked marijuana and I would rather the Tweenlet didn’t. I didn’t want to answer that question because I didn’t want to her to think that it was okay. While in the elevator, by the time we got to the 4th floor, I’d thought about when I started smoking pot, by the time we got to the 20th floor, I’d imagined the Tweenlet with tight red eyes surrounded by empty bags of potato chips.
I’m not all sure what I’ll tell her next or how. I’d like to ask you what you have you said if been asked this question, or what you might say if you haven’t.
Chime in.
- Aunt B
The Cliff Notes on Jessie Slaughter
Here we are swooshing along on the techno highway, with things trending up and down so fast the computer cows in the PC pastures turn into blurry chips. Until something like Jessie Slaughter (not her real name) comes along. Jessie Slaughter is an eleven-year-old with a web-cam, a foul mouth and an attitude. In one video we see Jessie provocatively dressed in a zebra top with a peek-a-boo bra ranting about her “haters” and how people are jealous because she is “perfect” and continues the expletive filled video, at one point threatening her “haters with, “I’ll pop a glock in your mouth, and make a brain slushie.” WTH?
It all started on a Tweenster celebrity website called “Sticky Drama” supposedly written and viewed by the Tween set. It was there that little Jessie got into some sticky drama of her own and that’s when the cyber-bullying began. At some point Jessie posted a video to YouTube and called out her haters and that’s when the trolls multiplied like gremlins. Someone found and posted Jessie’s real name, address, sent pizzas to her home, there were prank phone calls, death threats and finally her parents got involved.
And while the drum beat of cyber threats, of predators and bullying gets beaten so loud and often we sometimes tune it out, Jessie Slaughter reminds me of why parents need to monitor their child’s use of the Internet. I mean really we’ve all seen those bozos on the Dateline “To Catch A Predator” series.
- Aunt B
