Financial Fools No More

 

 

4.5 years...that's how long the hubs and I have been waiting for TODAY. 

As of today, we are 100% credit card debt free.

I am not sharing this because I think we deserve praise for digging our way back to the surface of our debt; I am sharing this because I think that it's important for people know it can be done. 

Neither of us were unsuspecting or naive about how revolving credit worked; so we can't plead any kind of ignorance about getting into the situation that we found ourselves in.  We whole-heartedly agreed from the beginning that credit cards were dangerous, not to be toyed with, and had no place in our lives as a financial crutch.

Then life got a little more real.  I left home my junior year of college.  I had student loans to pay for my tuition and books, but there were a lot of "extra" expenses that weren't in the shiny university pamphlet....like a laptop, lab fees, student activity fees, etc., etc. etc.  I kept my part-time job as a bank teller (just transferred branches); but now I had full-time living expenses as well.  I had always paid for my own car, car insurance, and cell phone...now there was an apartment (with running water, electricity, AND cable), A LOT more gas being burned in my car, and I had to actually feed myself at least once a day.   Being an "independent" adult turned out to be a real drag.

At first I kept a budget and did okay.  Gradually, however, as my feelings of independence grew, I loosened my grip on the "NO" word with myself.  I was in charge of me now, and I didn't need approval for every little thing I wanted.  There was no one chanting "can't afford that can't afford that can't afford that" every time I wanted to spend money.  It was empowering to want something...and then buy it.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going on shopping sprees or buying "designer" anything.  I WAS buying a new pair of jeans at Old Navy for a party that weekend, ordering pizza when friends came over instead of cooking, and buying stuff for my apartment that I definitely didn't need to survive.  I was also charging my "living expenses" and justifying it by paying the full balance every month...until I WASN'T paying the full balance every month. 

I still had a loose handle on my spending...until I got engaged.  Then I lost my damn mind.  I was going to have the wedding I wanted, and I would pay for it later.  A lot later.  Like, until yesterday. 

What I hadn't really thought long and hard enough about was the fact that I wouldn't be gainfully employed for quite a while after we got married.  I had to give up my super awesome job as a bank teller (for real, I loved that job) to student teach.  And you don't get paid to student teach.  Quite the opposite, actually - you pay them quite handsomely to complete your student teaching requirements (and to take the umpteen tests required for your license...and secure your actual state license...)  And complete mine I did - in DECEMBER.  Not a lot of teaching jobs laying around in the middle of the school year.  We limped along, though, with me substituting the rest of that year; but by the time the student loan statements started showing up, the numbers on the credit card were almost rubbed smooth.

In 2009, the Credit CARD Act went into effect.  This credit card reform law required credit card companies to play a little more fairly - and be a little more honest about their fine print.  The jerks at the credit companies were no longer allowed to hike interest rates without advance notice, sneak attack you with due dates that bounced around every month (or had cutoff times of the day for payments), charge outrageous late fees ($25 cap now), or charge you "over the limit" fees unless you "opted-in" to that service.  All of those things were nice, but what got my attention was the new box on every statement that broke down for you exactly how long it would take you to pay your card off if you continued to make your monthly minimum payments....and how much you would have actually paid them. 

After noticing that horrifyingly eye-opening little box on our statements, we made an appointment with a local Clearpoint counselor.  We had made a lot of really bad decisions, and trust me, I'm sure we aren't done doing that, but THIS was an AWESOME one.  Clearpoint's Debt Management Program was the kick in the butt that we needed to get on track.  Basically, they took over all of our cards and negotiated lower interest rates, higher principal payments, and fast-tracked us towards paying everything off.  Luckily, we had never missed any payments or been late on anything, so our credit was still good.... but we did have to cut up all of our cards and weren't eligible to secure any loans or credit accounts while on the program. 

For the first few months, you may as well have cut off  my arm.  It was a serious reality check to not be able to stop at the store and pick up something because I didn't have the cash for it, or to have to turn down friends' invitations to go out because the funds were non-existent.  Shortly after signing up for the program, life changed even more drastically; and we survived two maternity leaves and multiple instances of the hubs being out of work due to injury or lack of business.  We survived medical bills, student loans, buying baby formula for two out those four years, and buying diapers for all four of them.  We made tough decisions about what to spend our last $20.00 on some weeks.  We ate dinner at my parents house...and took home leftovers...A LOT. 

It took serious adjustments to our way of thinking and to our lifestyle, but it was all worth it for TODAY.  Up until now, I was embarrassed about the fact that we were on a debt management program.  I was embarrassed that I had managed to graduate college magna cum laude AND be a victim of something as stupid as credit cards at the same time.  But not today.  Today, I am proud of how hard we worked to leave that debt behind us.  I am proud of my husband for all of the extra work he did to make the money we needed to provide for our family.  I am proud of how savvy I turned out to be with random food in the cabinet at dinner time.  I am proud of the juggling skills I learned when it came to making the credits and debits of our checking account work out JUST right each month.

More than proud, however, I am GRATEFUL.  I am grateful that we had awesome friends who didn't ditch us because we couldn't afford to go out.  I am grateful that we had loving parents who slipped us gas money when we were living on one income while paying medical bills, or invited us to dinner then sent us home with "extra" food...sometimes once a week.  I am grateful that we had trustworthy, affordable babysitters for our children so that we could go to work.  I am grateful that I learned how to be empathetic to those who have to make decisions based on living paycheck to paycheck, or not having a paycheck at all.

And - at the risk of this starting to sound like an award acceptance speech ("First and foremost, I would like to thank God...") - I AM grateful that, as a Christian, I have been able to recognize the fact that sometimes, some weeks, some months....things did not make sense on paper, they shouldn't have worked out according to the numbers...but they did.  We never missed a house payment, our kids always had food to eat, and no one disowned us for getting really crappy Christmas presents a few of those years.  (Thanks, guys!) 

We did it.

Watch out student loans - you're next.

♥M

Space Wars

Why do married people have to live together?  I mean, who started that?  I get sharing a house, I suppose, but a ROOM?!  It's too much.

I used to think that the hubs and I just needed more space.  If we had a bigger house, we could spread out more and fight less about what to do with each inch of wall space, what angle each picture frame should be at, and where I am or am not allowed to place a clock. 

Then I realized...it's not the house.

We are both very affected by our environments.  We agree that knick knacks are the devil, and antiques make us itchy.  That's where the similarities end.  Agree on a paint swatch?  Never.  Pick curtains out together?  Please, God, no.

This is what the hubs wants the house to look like:

I could be exaggerating, but I'm not entirely sure.  He doesn't like anything on the walls, floor, or taking up space.  This eliminates decorations, furniture, and pretty much all signs of life, sooooo....

 

 

This is what I want the house to look like:

Despite his accusations, I am neither tacky nor driven to cover the walls with nail holes.  I might get tired of those white walls, though....

 

 

It doesn't really matter WHAT we want, though, because this is what the house actually looks like:

Ok, it's not THAT bad...but that's what it feels like sometimes.

 

 

So really, it's only ever pointless (for now) to ever argue about what WE want the house to look like.  The kids took over.  All of the stuff that I begged to hang on the walls is gone and there are pictures of them hanging up now.  Everything that was on our living room bookshelves is in boxes in the attic - it's full of toys now.  (THEIR bookshelf was already full of THEIR books, duh.)  Our coffee table drawers have puzzles in them now...I don't even remember what I kept in those.  Our DVDs are in the attic and have been replaced with Disney movies and Baby Einstein.  My scrapbook gear got packed up and my craft drawers are full of Hello Kitty coloring books, safety scissors and scented magic markers. 

 

The joke was on us. 

 

One day, however, there won't be Barbie shoes to step on in the hallway, Legos sticking out from under my refrigerator, doll clothes in the laundry hamper, or crayons melted on the heating vents.  And I will miss those things.  I will look around at all of my "grown up" stuff that is now safe from being destroyed, used as weapons, or causing safety hazards... such as anything glass, scented candles, anything with batteries or moving parts, decorative items that cost more than $5.00... and I will sigh wistfully.  I will wish there was a sticky spot on my entertainment cabinet to wipe away, puzzle pieces in the floor to pick up, or a hula hoop to trip over by the front door. 

 

I suppose I shall find comfort in still having the hubs around to argue with.  We can revive the traditions of going behind each other and moving things on a shelf an inch to the left, throwing away ugly rugs when the other one isn't home, and lamenting over the drawer handles being a stainless vs. brushed nickel finish to our hearts content.

 

♥M

 

Being a Mom Means...

There are some things that just come with the territory....

Being a Mom Means:

1.  I am always tired.  It's enlightening to find how little sleep you actually need to function.  Caffeine is a big part of my life.

2.  I have fruit snacks and bubbles in my purse.  And dum-dum wrappers.  And baby wipes.  And small, plastic toys.  And goldfish.  And glitter chapstick.  And a half-eaten granola bar.

3.  I always inspect my drink before taking a sip.  There are two reasons: First, because kids backwash.  I gagged for five whole minutes one time because I took a swig of my orange juice and swallowed a chewed up piece of hash brown with it.  The memory gives me chills.  Secondly, kids stick stuff in your cup when you walk away - like their booger-finger hands to dig out a piece of ice, or random things like Legos (which, thankfully, float).

4.  I am no longer in control of the radio or the television.  Between the hours of 7:00am and 8:00pm, if the T.V. or radio is on, I would be insane to think that I could put it on anything that doesn't involve a Disney character or a furry puppet.  Kid CDs in the car = physical pain. 

5.  My clothes serve the dual purposes of fashion items (HA!) and napkins/tissues.  Wear white pants around a kid eating Cheetos AT YOUR OWN RISK.  And my two-year-old has walked up and used my shirt to actually BLOW HER NOSE before.  I have explained that this is unacceptable behavior, but am met with a real resistance on their part to accept that fact.

6.  There is no such thing as privacy.  The word does not exist.  Shame on you for expecting it!  (I have addressed this previously in 6 Things You Didn't Expect To Miss Doing Alone) 

7.  Every glass surface in my house has fingerprints on it.  Every window (house AND car)...every cabinet front....every mirror....all cell phone and tablet screens....they are all smudged.  Permanently.

8.  Nothing that belongs to me actually belongs to ME.  If it's edible, I might get a bite.  If it's an accessory, I might get to wear it for 5 minutes.  If it has buttons and/or flashing lights, it is immediately confiscated.  If it's a cute bag, it'll be missing by the next day.  If I get caught chewing gum, I better have another piece. 

9.  I have to keep my ninja skills fresh.  The real reason I workout?  So I can army crawl across the floor of a room with a sleeping kid to retrieve something I forgot to get before they went to sleep.  Then do a soundless tuck-n-roll out of the room if they move in any way while I'm in there.

BUT... 

10.  I have more love, laughter, and compassion than I have ever previously had in my life.  I will proudly wear my Cheeto-covered pants (with the smudged cell phone in the back pocket), my snotty shirt, and the dark circles under my eyes and say, "I'm a mom!" 

♥M

To All My Friends! (God Help You.)

I've been thinking a lot this weekend about friends... specifically, that I have really good ones.  More specifically, that I'm not always a great one.

I try.  I really do.  For some reason, I have been blessed with friends in my life that remember birthdays, anniversaries, and even if I mentioned having a doctor's appointment.  I suck at remembering my own birthday, anniversary, AND doctor's appointments.

You will tell me repeatedly when and where you are going on vacation and I will still call you that week and ask if you want to go to the gym or out to dinner because I have no idea where you are. I will probably forget to tell you when I leave for vacation and you will likely not know where I am because every time you asked me when I was going away I said, "I dunno...it's written down somewhere..."

I forget to answer texts, return phone calls, and always R.S.V.P. to things a week after the date on the card.  If you e-mail me and don't get an answer in 5 minutes, then it'll probably be 2 days before it happens.  If you tell me something and DIDN'T see me write it on my hand or put it in my phone, then expect to have to tell me again.

 I periodically scroll through my texts and find a bunch of "drafts" where I started to respond to people that had text me but didn't finish or hit send.  They never got answered and now that person thinks I have ignored them. Crap.

If I don't call you on your birthday, then please know I thought about you AND about calling you at least a dozen times that day....but became immediately distracted each time.  I will probably text you at 11pm and try to play it off.

Unfortunately, the thought doesn't always count. Right now there are two cards sitting on my kitchen counter - a thank you card and a sympathy card. They have post-its on them with the addresses of the people I got them for. It would take less than 5 minutes to mail them. They have been there for a month. The thought does NOT count because neither of those people know that I bought them cards. Epic fail.

Despite what all of this suggests, I am actually NOT totally disorganized.  I am just constantly distracted.  And I am not distracted because I don't care.  Quite the opposite.  I am distracted because I care SO MUCH, that I try to do it all and BE it all.  I try to be the perfect mom, wife, big sister, cousin, niece, grand-daughter, aunt, sister-in-law, teacher, co-worker, church member, sorority member, committee member....and friend.  I spread myself so thin that I end up neglecting everyone.  Except my kids.  They're the loudest, so they always get my attention first.

And yet, if you are my friend, know this:  I love you.  I will be honest with you (sorry about that).  I will FIGHT for you.  I will protect you.  I will give you anything you need - even as literal as the shirt off of my back (or my bra - I gave a friend my bra one time....it's a long story).  I will stop what I'm doing to help you.  I will come over and cook or clean for you if you can't.  I will babysit your kids, no questions asked.  (I will not get distracted and forget they're here, promise.) 

I might forget to call you on your birthday.  I might say something overly honest and offend you.  I might embarrass you in public.  (Don't worry - I embarrass myself too.)  You might have to convince me that you DON'T need me to put on war paint if someone does you wrong. 

Just know, however, that my heart is in the right place...and I AM trying. 

So to all my friends - love y'all!  (Poor souls.)

♥M

Another Crazy Love Story (Part II)

Part II: The Honeymoon Phase

We might not have had a storybook romance leading up to the wedding, but the honeymoon was perfect.  Sand, sun, drinks, bonfires, sunset cruises...it was perfect.  Well, mostly.

You have to consider that we'd been together for 3 years, and 2 of those years were long distance.  So while we loved each other intensely, we were also used to a certain amount of space... and living in separate towns.  Needless to say, eating, sleeping, and breathing the same air for a solid week became a challenge.  I think it was about Day 6 or so that I actually threw my ring at his head on the way back from the hot tub.  It was obviously something super important and worth throwing my ring over, since I don't even remember what it was.

Then we came home and had the excitement of our first house to keep us busy.  James had spent months gutting and renovating it, and while it wasn't quite complete (we brushed our teeth in the kitchen sink for a while), it was OURS.  Problem is, you can't take two larger-than-life personalities, mash them together in holy matrimony, dump them in an 800-square-foot house in a Mayberry town, and there NOT be fireworks.  Oh, the fireworks.

We are so different and yet so alike, that it's honestly just scary.  We're both loud and fun. (Fun? Or obnoxious....hmmm....guess that depends on YOU. haha)  We're both compassionate.  And at 21 and 22 years old, we were both selfish and stubborn.  (In other words...we were 21 and 22 years old.)  The first year was spent with our horns locked, debating pretty much everything from how to properly load a dishwasher, to what brand of laundry detergent we should use, to who got to pick the paint color for the spare bedroom (since we were OBVIOUSLY not going to agree on one).  Sidenote: no one ever even saw the spare bedroom because we kept it full of boxes until we turned it into a nursery...and repainted it.  Soooo glad we made a big deal out of the original paint color.

My favorite example of how ridiculous we were is called "The Home Depot Incident."  Yes, it has a title.  And yes, our friends know exactly what we're talking about when we cite it. 

Our new house needed a new front door.  No problem, let's go get one.  The problem - we almost got divorced right in the middle of Home Depot over which door to get.  I was determined to have Door A.  James was refusing to concede, and loading Door B onto a cart.  Not to be thwarted, I procured my own cart.

"Put Door A on this cart!"
"I will not.  We're getting Door B!"

I made a fool of myself trying to put the damn thing on the cart alone, then stomped off to find help.  I returned with a guy who put the door on the cart...while James pretended like he didn't know me.  I started towards the checkout line when James sealed his fate:

"You are NOT buying that door."

Ha!  We glared at each other from separate checkout lines.  We attracted some stares in the parking lot as we angrily shoved our respective carts out of the door....and to the same vehicle.  We stood at the back of the truck and finished duking it out until James went and returned one of the doors.  Here's the funniest part - we don't remember which door we got.  I cannot tell you, right now, who "won" and whether we got Door A or Door B.  Again, super important argument.

And yet, here we are.  We're still loud and fun (or obnoxious, whatever)...just at tea parties under the kitchen table now, not sorority socials or field parties.  We're still compassionate...probably more so with other people than with each other, though. (Oh, you had a long day?  So sorry...are you going to change that poop diaper while I'm cooking dinner?)  We should work on that.  That's the beauty of it though, we have a lot to work on but we're not scared to take it on anymore.  We had to quit trying to force everything onto the other one, and just grow up together.  That blog post, 10 Tips on How To Fight Fair?  Yeah, that's all from experience....with doing the WRONG things.  If you don't try - even if you mess up - then you don't learn. 

In my opinion, the honeymoon phase propaganda is a crock.  There's nothing magical about learning all of each other's annoying habits and having to share your stuff...every day.  But if you make it through to the other side, then...you've earned your anniversary, my friend. 

So here's to sleepovers with my best friend every night for the rest of my life!  (Even if he does have a really annoying habit of yanking the comforter off of me while he's sleeping.)

♥M

The Greatest Love Story of [All] Time

 

When I took my grandfather to visit my grandmother today, I decided that instead of talking about people he didn't remember and things he had forgotten, we would talk about the one thing that means the most to him - my grandma.  I asked them to tell me how they met, dated, and got married.  This is their love story of 1959 - starring a pretty nursing school student named Myra, and an oh-so charming road design engineer named Charles.

*******************

How did you and grandma meet?
 

Grandpa: I had a date with a girl named Nancy.  I went to her house to pick her up, but she wasn't there.  Her dad said that she had already left on a date with another guy!  It made me hot, but I don't suppose I cared too much one way or another about it.  So my buddy Edsel and I decided to head to Colonial Heights - to Lakeview where the swimming hole and dance pavilion was.  When I got there, I saw a girl named Vicky that I went to high school with, so I started talking to her.  There was a girl sitting on the bench next to her, and I said to her, "Hey, you're in my seat."
 

Grandma: And I looked at the bench and said, "I don't see your name on it."
 

Grandpa: We couldn't stand each other!

  

Grandma: I didn't care if I ever saw him again.  I thought he was a big smartass.

  

Grandpa: That's funny, because that's what *I* thought!  So anyway, then she went around town telling everyone how much she looooved me and....

  

Grandma: I did not!  You had your friend, Edsel, call my roommate, Vicky, and harass her to bring "that girl" out again!

 

 Grandpa:  Well you came!

  

Why did you go if you didn't like him?!

 

 Grandma: For the hell of it.

  

Grandpa: So then 3 months later, we got married.

  

What?!  How did you go from not being able to stand each other - to getting married...in 3 months?!

 

 Grandpa: There was just something about her!

 

 Grandma: Yeah, you'd met your match.

 

 Well, where did you get married?

 

 Grandpa:  My buddy, Edsel, drove us down to North Carolina to find a preacher. 

 

 Grandma:  You had to be 21 in the state of Virginia to get married without parental consent.  I was only 19 and he was 20.  I knew my parents wouldn't give consent because I was in nursing school.  So I put on a white dress and white heels and we rode to North Carolina.

  

Where did your parents think you were?

 

 Grandma: We told them we were going to the zoo for the day.

 

 Wait...so your mama thought you were going to the zoo in a white dress and heels?

  

Grandpa: Probably not - that's just how dumb we were.

  

Grandma:  I wanted to be married in a church, so we drove until we saw a little Baptist church and stopped.  It was a Saturday, but the secretary was there and she called the preacher.  He was in the field picking butter beans, but he stopped, and drove up, and married us.

  

Then what did you do?

  

Grandpa:  I had to pay a $5 fee!

 

 Grandma:  Then we went home.  So broke we couldn't even afford a Pepsi or an order of fries on the way!

  

Grandpa:  You had me!  What'd you need food for?!

  

Did you tell anyone you got married?

  

Grandma:  No, Edsel was the only one who knew.  You had to live in the dormitory while you went to nursing school, no matter what; and you had to ask permission to get married.  I asked after the fact and got permission, but I still had to drop out because I found out I was pregnant.  At that time, you had to spend 6 months in Philadelphia for an affiliate program with the psych hospital there, and I knew I couldn't do that with a baby.

 

 What about your parents?  When did you tell them?

  

Grandpa:  I don't remember when we told mine...

  

Grandma:  I don't know when we told his parents, but I remember that Grandpa talked me into calling my mama and telling her about a month later.

  

What did you do after you left school?

 

 Grandma: We lived with your Grandpa's parents for a few months and then rented a little apartment of our own.  I had your Aunt Terri; and then a year later, had your daddy.

  

Grandpa: We ate a lot of pork-n-beans and potatoes, that's what!

 

 But I know you were a nurse, so how did you get your LPN if you dropped out of school?

 

 Grandma:  I went to work for Dr. Cohen Sr. when your daddy was 6 months old and he encouraged me to to take advantage of a new state program that offered the LPN board testing if you had been in nursing school - even if you didn't finish.  There was another girl in the office who was taking it, but she didn't want me to know about it, so she hadn't told me.

 

Why wouldn't she want you to know about it?!

  

Grandma: Probably because you had to get a 300 to pass and she got a 301...but then I got over a 700.

 

 Go on, Grammy!

  

Grandma:  I'm not bragging!  I just borrowed books and studied for a few months.

  

So whatever happened to Nancy?

  

Grandpa:  I have no clue.

 

 Grandma:  She sent some love letters to your Grandpa a few months after we got married and I called her house about it!  Her daddy answered the phone and said she wasn't there.  I told him to kindly ask his daughter to stop sending my husband love letters.  He claimed his daughter would never do such a thing and I told him he was welcome to come 'round and read them!  ...I had some hell in me when I was younger.

 

 One last question...if you lived in the dorms at nursing school...and Grandpa lived at home...and you didn't tell anyone you were married...how do you explain Aunt Terri?!

 

 Grandma: Well...........your Grandpa's parents went for long Sunday drives.  And we didn't go with them.

  

Gotcha.

 

 Grandma:  This isn't going in the church newsletter or anything is it?

 

 Nope.  Just on the Internet.

  

Grandma:  Oh, alright then.

 

 

♥M



Love...With or Without the Memories


Tonight, for the very first time, my grandfather didn't know who I was. 

When he first started displaying Dementia symptoms, I would have to remind him WHICH granddaughter I was, but never before have I had to tell him that I AM his granddaughter.  I was visiting my grandmother in the hospital and he was sitting on the other side of her, watching me talk, with his head cocked to one side.  Finally, he said "I know your speech patterns....and your voice....but I don't know who you are."  I smiled and said "That's Ok Grandpa, it's me, M.  My hair is different today."  And a little piece of my heart fissured behind my smile, but not just for me.  For him - because every time that happens (when he has to admit that he can't remember something) there's this small flash of something that darts across his face and makes my heart bleed.  It's some horrible combination of sadness, frustration, shame, and sometimes even fear.  He KNOWS that he was supposed to already know the answer to whatever he just asked you, and he had to humble himself enough to ask it anyway.

Does it hurt to have to tell your grandparent who you are?  Yes.  But I have to imagine that it sucks a whole lot worse to be the one asking people.  Imagine that you get in your car, start driving,  then forget where you were going...and don't know where you are...or how to get home.  Or that you get to work and they tell you that you don't work there anymore - don't you remember?  Or that you're visiting someone and while you're there, you can't remember who they are, how you know them, or how you got there.  Or that you have a row of medicine in front of you and you know it's important that you take the right pills, but you don't know what day it is or if you already took medicine today or not.  Personally, I think that sounds like a daily living hell.

Now, since we agree that having Dementia would be like a nightmare that you can't wake up from, let's ask this:  Why do we get impatient when someone with Dementia needs us to repeat something?  Why do we feel the need to correct them constantly?  (Noooo, your husband/wife died 10 years ago.  Noooo, your daughter lives in Texas now.  Noooo, you don't live at home any more.)  What's the point?!  They're going to ask again in ten minutes!  Do you really need to upset them every 10 minutes?!  For Pete's sake, if you get bored repeating yourself then make up something new!  Tell them you work for NASA and just got back from space.  Or use an Australian accent and tell them you just got back from your last modeling job in Paris.  You'll have fun and they'll be entertained, rather than upset and depressed about all the crap you're telling them that they're supposed to be remembering about you (whoever the hell you are...).

With that being said, the second reason my heart cracked was for my grandmother. She's in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, hooked up to 20 machines, and yet she repeated herself as many times as he asked anything. And every time she said it, she answered him like it was the first time...every single time.  They've been together 54 years and have never been apart.  It causes me physical pain to watch them together and hear in my head (on repeat) - "What would it be like to spend 54 years giving my heart, my soul, and my body to the man I love.....then have to start waking up every morning wondering if today's going to be the day that he doesn't recognize me anymore."  (If you're crying right now, that's ok...so am I...like a baby.)

In this family, we don't sit around moping about such things, however, so I will not end my post on a sad note.  My grandfather might not know whether I'm M the School Teacher, Natalie the Nurse, or Dora the Explorer, but he still has his sense of humor and I plan on making many more great memories with him while I'm blessed enough to have him around. 

As we left the hospital today, he said "It's cold outside.  I'm not sure why I didn't bring my coat."  My Dad told him that he left it in the car.  "Well, that was foolish.  It's definitely not summer out here."  We told him it was January.  "Is it? Well...I guess all the damn snow on the ground should have been a clue, huh?"  And then we all laughed and joked about it.  Because that's what you do when life gets hard, you smile about what might happen tomorrow...not cry about what happened today or yesterday - especially if one of you doesn't remember today or yesterday anyway!  *wink*


♥M

10 Tips on How To Fight Fair

Notice that I didn't say "How to NOT fight."  Getting into arguments with your spouse is inevitable.  When you get married,  you become permanent roommates...for better or for worse.  There is no way around sharing your space, your calendar, your possessions, the chores, the raising of children, and the spending of money without a fight breaking out here and there.  What makes the difference is whether you choose healthy ways to handle it when you disagree...or not so healthy ways.  Here are some guidelines that I try to follow....key word is TRY.

1. Sharing is caring.  We learned in Kindergarten that we have to share our stuff, yes, but what you're thinking and feeling is also pretty important.  You cannot expect your spouse to read your mind...then be mad because he or she didn't.  What is obvious to you, is definitely NOT always so obvious to others.  The shelf that you asked your husband to hang 6 weeks ago probably glares at you from it's dusty corner daily....and he probably hasn't noticed it in 5 weeks and 6 days.  So will he be a little surprised when you snap and throw a pot of spaghetti at him for asking if you remembered to buy stamps today?  Yeah, he probably will.

2.  It's not always what you say, but HOW you say it.  You know you know this.  We all know this.  Why is it just so HARD to remember it?!  I have found that clamping my mouth shut and counting to at least 5 really helps.  And not just with my husband, but with my kids and my students as well.  That way, when I answer the SAME question for the 657th time in one day...it comes out sounding a lot more like the ever-patient Robin from Winnie the Pooh, and a lot less like I need an exorcism.

3. The past is the past...leave it there!  This is another hard one.  Really though, how MANY times can you fight about the same thing?  And how MANY times can you turn a new fight into one that is actually now about an old one?  The answer is MANY times.  There is no trick here other than to just stop it.  Stop in the middle of your sentence if you have to.  Cold. Turkey. Quit. 

4. Do not involve third parties.  Unless you need someone to make sure that you don't start beating the crap out of each other, please just keep it to yourselves.  Dragging someone else in for "backup" or to try and prove a point is not only immature, it's embarrassing for that person.  Unless the two of you are sitting in front of a licensed therapist, then no one else should be present and eating popcorn while y'all hash out your issues.

5. Do not fight in public or in front of the kids.  There are a couple of reasons for this.  For one thing, you are embarrassing yourself AND your family if you turn every argument into a live version of Jerry Springer.  For another thing, even if you ARE in the privacy of your home, but your kids can hear you...you might as well be duking it out in public.  Besides the fact that you're definitely causing them major stress (NOT fair to them), they are going to repeat what they have heard and it WILL be a much more alarming version when they tell it.

6. No name calling!  C'mon, what are we, 5?!  (This covers telling your wife she is just like her mom, as well.  Don't do that.  There is no coming back from that.)

7. Don't interrupt.  When someone is angry, interrupting them is a guaranteed way to make them angrier.  Just let them get it out, and when they are done they will be more willing to listen to what you have to say.  Talking over top of someone is talking AT them, not talking TO them.  Plus, it's just rude.

8. Don't use each other as punching bags.  While you shouldn't actually punch each other either, what I mean is this: don't take stuff out on the hubs or wifey that they have nothing to do with. The temptation here is to unload on your spouse because you know that they will forgive you later.  Just because you couldn't punch your boss in the face for being a jerk today, doesn't mean you should come home and pick a fight with your wife about how much she spends on her hair, or with the hubs about how many days in a row he left his dirty clothes in the bathroom floor.

9. Do not use "always" or "never"....ever.  This will bite you in the tail every time.  Sure as you say "You always...." or "You never..." they will throw an example to the contrary right in your face.  Now your point has been lost and you are just a big exaggerator. 

10. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.  Saying things that you don't mean in the heat of an argument can cause real, and irreparable damage.  My favorite example is this: Throw some eggs in the floor.  Tell them you're sorry.  Are they still broken? 

The main point in all of this is that it's not ever about who is right or who is wrong. (I know - what?!)  It's about how you both feel when you walk away from the fight.  Do you feel better?  Or do you feel worse?  Do you feel like you listened and got listened to?  Was the focus on whose "fault" it all is or on how to fix it?  Did you "win" only by hurting your spouse and sending the message that their feelings don't really matter? 

If you really love someone, then it shouldn't matter who "wins" or "loses" because you're supposed to be on the same team...right?

♥M

Shhhh...Just Smile

If you are lucky enough to have a husband who feels inclined to pitch in around the house, then you probably know that it is indeed possible to simultaneously feel both grateful and exasperated.  Allow me to illustrate what I'm speaking of, in case you are not as "lucky" of a lady:

Have you ever opened your kitchen cabinet, after your hubby helped put dishes away...

Or maybe you went to fix the kids a drink, and discovered...

If you're really lucky, he'll even fold the load of towels you washed - AND put them away!

He's done so much already, but still feeling helpful, he puts all the kids' books back on their bookshelf for you...

And because he knows how rushed you are in the morning, he even fixed your daughter's hair today...

And most helpful of all, he got the kids dressed for you too!  He had a little trouble with matching the outfits (what with the shirts and pants being pre-folded together and all).  He knows how much you always enjoy going back and refolding clothes, though, so he was sure to leave all the drawers ready for you later...

Do you have to rearrange your cabinets, refold the towels, straighten up the bookshelf, redo your daughter's hair, and refold all of the kids' clothes?  You could.  OR you could just say "Thanks, hon!" and SMILE...because you ARE lucky.  Your husband helped around the house and took care of the kids!  He just did it HIS way...not YOURS.

Also, I feel it's worth pointing out that if you DO "go there" and criticize his efforts, there are only two ways for that to play out:

1. An argument and his feelings end up hurt.  You look mean.

2. An argument and you end up doing everything yourself.  This was his plan all along.  You got played.

So the next time 'ol hubs does something that was probably intended to be helpful, just kiss his cheek and say "Thanks!"  He'll probably be suspicious the first few times, but eventually he'll relax and feel puffed up enough that you could probably talk him into a new pair of shoes or something. 

Good luck, ladies!

♥M