Category Archives: marriage

April 14, 2013

Groupies Need Groupies Too: A Love Story

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

My husband is a cool guy. In temperament, if not fashion. He accessorizes with adjectives like steady, dependable, logical… not given to flights of fancy or emotional outbreaks (totally my department).

Which is why it surprises most people to know he is a SUPER fan. A trivia spouting, memorabilia collecting, cyber stalking, concert hopping, backstage haunting, true disciple Groupie. He doesn’t scream like a teenage girl or throw his underwear, but it’s a close thing.

Under that stoic exterior runs a vein of intensity. A passionate devotion which very few things incite. Things like…

His wife (score!)

His children

His favourite books

His hockey pool team

And his favourite band: The Airborne Toxic Event

Setting the Stage

You can imagine the thrill… the joy… the utter celebration when he heard they were coming to the Pacific NorthWest this spring! Three shows in three nights were within reach: Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver. You couldn’t tell by looking at him (his excited face looks pretty much the same as his cleaning-out-the-garage face), but he was ecstatic.

There are very few things my husband enjoys more than a rock concert. Certainly nothing I can publish on a PG blog.

My appreciation for live music, however, lies somewhere between blech and meh. Between the crowds, the noise, the standing, the haze of weed and nicotine, and the ringing in my ears that lasts for days, I’m left feeling like a cranky old woman longing for home and flannel PJs.

It’s not the music. I love the music. I simply prefer singing along in my car, or in the shower, or dancing around my house with the volume up and the headphones on (which is probably really good for my hearing). Sometimes I even listen to The Airborne Toxic Event.

I’ve done my time. I’ve seen more live shows than most hard-core music fans. Conversation starters like “remember that time we saw Def Leppard AND Tom Cochrane?” or “remember that cold, outdoor music festival in a muddy field in the middle of Podunkville, Nowhere?” are followed up with “which time?”

As Glen outgrew his love of 80s hair bands, our family outgrew frequent concerts. Not only is there the expense of tickets to consider, but babysitting and that most precious commodity of all: time. So, he started going without me (insert huge sigh of relief).

Usually, he’s able to harness the inestimable power of “The Concert Buddy.” Eric is his go-to guy, but there’s a list in his head. When he asks you what kind of music you like, he’s not just making conversation. But, he’s not opposed to going all by himself if need be. Like I said: Super Fan.

But this time he wanted me to come with him.

…really?

…ummmm

…doggonit

…okay

The Getaway

Grandpa Barb and Grandma Bill (as they’re known in our house) drove out from Calgary the week before. I updated my Anal Mom Family Manifesto Handy Babysitter’s Guide with our schedules and health care numbers and emergency contacts. I gave myself numerous pep talks about my baby (he’s in his own house, he loves my parents and knows them well, his sisters will help, there’s nothing they can’t handle and I really, really, really need a break). And we set off for Portland.

It was our first getaway since adopting the boy 8 months ago. The first extended “Just Us” time in a couple of years. And boy, we needed it.

I had planned our first romantic getaway a bit differently. There would be sleep. And room service. And sleep. And lingerie and candles and romance. And more sleep. There would be NOTHING on the schedule (except for sleep). There would be NO demands on us. We would do anything we wanted. For a change, it would be all about ME, ME, ME.

Instead, we had a deadline. The show started at 8:00pm. So naturally, we had to be there by 4:00. Super Fan isn’t interested in leisurely drives or romantic dinners, it’s all about Front Row seating.

Seating. That’s the other thing. There’s no actual sitting. Not for Front Row people. Sounded miserable to me.

We brought our camping chairs and umbrellas and warm clothes. I was briefed on concert line etiquette. Apparently, there are rules.

The Wait

Here’s where I admit, I wasn’t looking forward to this experience. At all. And he knew it. We arrived in Portland amidst a flurry of “thank yous” and promises to make it all up to me.

groupie loveTurns out, our extensive line prep was unnecessary. We were able to spend the afternoon in the bar downstairs from the concert hall, keeping an eye on the door and policing the line up with a judicious use of guilt and peer pressure.

Turns out, the “we” wasn’t just Glen and I, with nameless strangers in the line up; it was a strange community of instant concert friends. Some Glen knew from online or previous shows, some we met that day. There was a kinship as we snacked and drank and peeked out the window at passing band members and swooped in for pictures and handshakes and “I can’t believe it, he totally put his arm around me and gosh, isn’t he dreamy and WHY do I look so goofy in this picture of us…” and talked music (and I just nodded my head and tried to look intelligent).

Turns out, those 4 hours were kind of fun, even for an introvert like me. There were fans from different generations – parents and their grown children. There were single folks and couples and professionals and students. There were people who lived down the street and people who flew in from Idaho and people who took a ferry and drove half the night. There were people who scraped and saved to find their way there and some who didn’t give it a second thought. As different as we were from each other, we were a team. We were galvanized by the inevitable line-cutting drama (insert grave head shake here). We passed the time getting to know each other, sharing pictures, exchanging e-mail addys, handing out concert advice and taking turns going to the bathroom (with one eye on the line cutters all the while).

Turns out, Glen got to go in and see the band! They agreed to put their handprints on a canvas as a fundraiser for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation. I’ve not seen him that nervous in a long time. Nor have I seen him so elated, when he came back and told me how kind/cool/funny/wonderfully human they were, how one of them remembered meeting him before, how they took a picture of his new Airborne tattoo and asked him what song he wanted to hear.

How he didn’t request his favourite song in the world, but mine: The Graveyard Near The House.

Awwww.

airborne

This canvas will be auctioned off to raise money for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation.
If Glen can part with it.

The Concert

As promised, there was no sitting for us. But there was a lovely fence to lean on, right at the very front. It might have felt claustrophobic, with all those other people pushing up against me. But by now, I knew them – Stephanie and her best friend from UVic (it was her first concert and she was SO excited), Karen and Mistie (who also have 4 kids close to the same age as ours and are very sweet), Kari, Andy and her daughter Kara (yes, the Kar- thing was a bit confusing), Elva (who calls me Mrs Glen, has great concert connections and takes care of everyone), Morgan and her parents (she helped Glen with the handprints and felt like it was a favour to her), and all the poor schmucks who came after 7 and didn’t get a great spot.

I wasn’t looking forward to the two opening acts. I mean, isn’t it enough that I came to see one concert?

However, the first act was excellent. The Parson Red Heads (excellent name) were pure Portland with their plaid shirts and bushy beards and folksy-hipster style. The music was just my style and the words… well, I’m a writer, so that’s the kind of thing that makes me fall in love with a band.

The second act was misplaced. I felt bad for them. They might be the best screaming thrasher band in the entire NorthWest. How would I know? It was so loud you couldn’t hear the music. Besides, I hate that kind of thing. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one, since their reception was lukewarm at best. But, there was a videographer filming some of their songs for their new album. And I felt so bad for them. So whenever the camera panned our way, I screamed my head off and jumped around like a real fan. I’m sure suburban soccer mom isn’t their usual niche, but who knows, maybe I’m in their music video now.

Finally, the main act arrived. They reminded me of my boy, with all that energy and jumping around. Did I mention that I was a bit homesick by now – how sad is that?

I’ve been to a lot of concerts. From U2 to Petra to Jann Arden to Coldplay to Arcade Fire. And I’ve tolerated them all.

This was one of the best ones, top of my Most Tolerable List. They are excellent performers. I knew all the words to all the songs (inevitable if you happen to live with this man). They are more storyteller/poets than simple songwriters, which appeals to me the most of all. It helps that I’d heard all the back stories of each song, what they meant and where they came from. Somehow it means more knowing the context. I cried when they played Timeless.

What’s more, they seemed genuinely surprised and deeply grateful that we all showed up. I hope that never goes away, because it’s so appealing in a rock star. And a human being.

But the best part was the Huge Ridiculous grin on the man beside me. It’s kind of amazing to me to see him so exuberant.

with Mikel

Goofy Grin with lead singer Mikel, showing off his tattoo,
and for some reason, giving us all the finger.

The Romance

Over the past couple years it’s become easy for me to think of Glen as “the other parent” and “the guy who does the banking” and “the man who holds my hand.” More co-worker and teammate than person in his own right. It’s easy to forget that he exists apart from our world together.

He was pretty thrilled that I shared this concert/road trip with him. I thought I was a pretty darn-good wife for giving up my romantic weekend dreams. Turns out, it WAS a romantic weekend after all. Better than anything I had in mind.

He shared a corner of his world with me. I got to know him better. In a new way. And he was genuinely surprised and deeply grateful that I cared enough to show up.

Sometimes love looks like this.

I recognize it, because he’s done it for me so many times. At every sci-fi movie he’s sat through. In the museums and art galleries he’d rather just bypass. On mall benches and ski lifts and holding my purse while I ride the roller coaster one more time.

Concerts aren’t my thing. But he is.

In fact, I’m a SUPER Fan.

So here’s me, and lest you think me too heroic, I got ME time too. I spent the next morning in a huge bookstore, the afternoon poking around Seattle and the evening BY MYSELF in a hotel room with a movie and pile of junk food. I felt so bad for Glen, having to go to another concert while I revelled in the quiet. To each their own.

5 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in marriage

March 5, 2013

Eat Your Heart Out Mona Lisa

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I hate looking at pictures of myself.

It comes second only to listening to my voice on the answering machine in the line up of cringe-worthy activities-to-avoid-at-all-costs.But when I came across this Writing Challenge: tell the true story behind the picture of a smile, I knew immediately which story to tell.

Because I remember exactly what this little girl was thinking in this moment.

smile

YOU!

I’m so glad to see you!

You look great.

In fact, you’ve never looked better to me!

I’ve missed you! I know it’s only been a day, but what a day.

I have so much to tell you. Nothing seems real until I tell you.

Have you seen my Grandma’s hat? All blue feathers. You’re going to laugh. But try to be cool. She’s awfully proud of it. It’s cute.

Guess what we did last night? My cousins and I pulled out Mom’s wedding gown and her bright yellow bridesmaid’s dress from Aunt Lois’ wedding. We tried them on and looked at pictures and giggled like crazy.

I couldn’t eat at all this morning, I was so nervous. And I just wanted to talk to you and I needed you to hold my hand and make me laugh. But I sucked it up and pasted on a smile and tried not to throw up.

Everything feels right again now.

You always make me feel better.

I have so much to tell you. It’s only been a day, but what a day.

There are so many people here. Our whole gang from highschool is here. I even saw some friends we haven’t seen since graduation. Did you see Jason? He looks like a movie theatre usher. He’s wearing a bright red suit jacket. Of course he is.

There’s family here I haven’t spoken to since I was little. Yes, I consider third and fourth cousins family no matter how much you roll your eyes.

Also, it’s weird to have your parents together under one roof, isn’t it? But everyone seems pretty happy, so don’t start getting stressed.

There was some kind of problem with the decorations. And you’d think that kind of thing would make me nuts – you know how I get. But after all the planning and the choosing and the fussing and the debating and the detailed schedules with each person’s part carefully highlighted, I don’t actually care about any of it.

I’m just SO glad to see you!

Can you believe we’re doing this?

I’m trying to pay attention now.

Come on, Christie, get it together.

Mostly I’m waiting until we can leave. And it can be just us again.

Just us from now on.

Just us forever.

It’s only a day, but it’s OUR day.

I’m so absurdly happy that I get to keep you!

scan0002

So here’s me, still a grinning-like-a-fool bride. That cute boy is still my best friend. And as I’m sure you can imagine, he does a lot of listening.

4 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in marriage

February 15, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Beloved

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

They were on sale the day after Christmas. Nothing fancy. Nothing exciting. Just two plain gold bands. A thicker one for him and a delicate one for me. That’s what you get when you marry at 19.

With the wedding just around the corner (at least that’s how it felt with stacks of wedding magazines and enthusiastic, wedding-crazed mothers in the mix), we knew we had to check one more item off the to do list. It didn’t seem that romantic to find the cheapest alternative at the Boxing Day sale. But, that’s what you get when you marry at 19.

We agonized about what to engrave inside our rings. We may have had a few less frills, but we didn’t want to skimp on the meaningful stuff. We wanted something that would still make sense in 10 – 20 – 50 years. Something timeless. We wanted something that would be ours. Something “us”.

And it has been. When you marry at 19, you grow up together. You live on a laughably small budget. You sacrifice. You change. You meet someone new. Someone lying next to you in bed each night and you fall in love with them all over again, every 10 -20 – 50 years. That’s what you get when you marry at 19.

Those plain gold wedding bands may not fancy, but they are timeless; they are “us.” Inside they say:

This is my beloved. This is my friend.

February 029

So here’s us, 18 years later… still skimping on the extra frills, but heavy on the meaningful.

Once again, linking up with lisajobaker.com for 5 Minute Friday writing flash mob:

On Fridays around these parts we like to write. Not for comments or traffic or anyone else’s agenda. But for pure love of the written word. For joy at the sound of syllables, sentences and paragraphs all strung together by the voice of the speaker.

We love to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. For five minutes flat.

Here’s how we do it:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat with no editing, tweaking or self critiquing.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my blog’s footer}.

3. Go and tell the person who linked up before you what their words meant to you. Every writer longs to feel heard.

6 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday, marriage

January 18, 2013

To Love and To Cherish in Real Life

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,

while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

~ Lao Tzu

Cherishing…

romanceIt’s not like in the movies. Where they roll the credits and the absurdly good-looking, skinny folks prance off into the wild, blue yonder with nothing but adventure and excitement and passion and equallly good-looking children in their future. Of course, the good-looking children arrive to well coifed, only slightly flustered Moms after 20 minutes of pushing (and the dramatic breaking-of-the-water-in-the-restaurant scene, which always seemed strangely thrilling to me).

In real life, there’s a lot more sweat. And tears. And long stretches of less exciting stuff.

In real life, cherishing is less about passion and more about dirty socks. And casserole. And scraping your wife’s windshield for her.

In real life, marriage is work. But it’s worth it. Not because of the Hollywood-esque perfection of it, but the gritty closeness. The intimacy of the mundane. The humour that doesn’t come with a laugh track, because no one else would get it, but just the two of you.

You can’t cherish someone in a 90 minute highlight reel. It takes a lifetime.

STOP

5minutefridayOnce again, I’m joining Lisa-Jo Baker for her Five Minute Friday writing challenge.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. That is like the one rule we all really care about. For reals.

So here’s me, where cherishing looks a lot like taking out the recycling bin. And for the record, there’s passion too. Especially if you volunteer to wrestle the kids into their pjs and put them to bed, so that your wife can write her blog.

8 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday, marriage

November 13, 2012

Context is Everything

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

This year my husband bought me an exercise machine for my birthday.

I wonder if the Craigslist sellers thought he was an enormous douche. I probably would’ve. What kind of birthday present is that for your wife? What message does it send?

Likewise, when he bought me a steam mop for Christmas.

He didn’t buy them because I’m fat and the house is dirty (insert self-deprecating remark about how this is nevertheless true, which he will edit out while getting after me for writing something absurd).

This is why it is okay. Because he’s my biggest fan, whether I deserve it or not. Because he isn’t trying to change me or improve me. He’s only trying to make me happy – by giving me what I want.

Believe it or not, I wanted both the elliptical and mop very badly. I researched them. I talked about them. I fantasized about all the ways they would make my life better: once I had them, an immaculate house and instant skinniness would no doubt ensue. I wondered out loud when we might be able to afford them.

Context is everything.

At the right moment, with the right intentions, it is a win. Encouraging. And helpful. And thoughtful.

But it could so easily go wrong. Marriage is just as much about tact and and understanding and supportiveness as it is about honesty and pushing each other to be better.

The best part isn’t a kitchen floor you could eat off of (and the littles often do). Or the 268 calories I burned while watching YouTube the other day (ameliorating my Halloween candy angst for about 10 minutes). It’s the fact that, occasionally, he listens when I talk.

So here’s me, not necessarily WANTING to work out or do housework, but since I need to, I might as well do it in style!

2 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in home-making, marriage

October 9, 2012

What Do You Say?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Last month I sat around a table with 1/2 a dozen sticky faced toddlers. Each one clutching a mangled dixie cup of cheerios in their hot little hands. Upon reaching the bottom of the cup they lift hopeful eyes in my direction. The more assertive personalities hold up their cup beseechingly.

“What do you say?”

Each one, in turn, squeaks out an adorable “pa-wease.” Even S rubs his tummy to sign the word.

After that, it’s smiles all around, flush with the success of snack acquisition and the effusive praise that comes with having “SUCH good manners.”

This is what we do. We teach our children what to say.

Say “Hi” to Grandma. Wave “Bye-bye.” Tell your brother “No thank you! I don’t like it when you throw sand in my eye/take my toy/hug me until I fall to the ground/bite me on the shoulder.”

We give our children words to foster relationships, stand up for themselves and express their feelings. We teach them how to treat others, and ourselves, with respect. Words are the sticks and stones brick and mortar of relationship development.

At the end of a meal our big kids are expected to clear their plate and say to whomever prepared the meal, “Excuse me, thank you for my dinner.” It’s a pretty habit we admired in the respectful, well-behaved children of other families we know. We do the same in the hopes that one day our children will morph into something similar.

I’m not so deluded as to believe it is always the honest expression of heartfelt gratitude. Some nights is sounds more like “excusemethankyouformydinner, it’s MY turn with the iPad, put it DOWN, it’s NOT FAIR, where’s MY ice cream, DON’T touch me, MOOOOOOO-OOOOOOM.”

Other nights we get the sullen, slumped shoulders version which sounds like the exact opposite of gratitude “Ex-cuuuuse me. Thanks for my ‘dinner.’” And we launch immediately into a lively post-dinner discussion about attitude and tone of voice, which is always fun. “What do you mean? That’s my normal voice. I always talk like that.” This actually does have a ring of truth, since sullen-pre-teen-cool is becoming our new normal. Sigh.

But we plug away. Every time they say the words, they go through the motions of Grateful. If nothing else, it is a reminder that meals do not magically appear on the table; they are a gift of time and effort, and hopefully (most nights) some small amount of skill.

Manners are a big deal in our house. I went toe to toe with the speech therapist who insisted that the sign for “want” was the strong verb B needed to use most in her communication. I insist on “please” when she needs something. It may seem like a small thing, but when words are few, they should be the right ones.

And hopefully attitude will follow action.

The easy part is writing all of this about my children; yet another parenting technique we subscribe to. The hard part is applying it to myself.

Glen and I had one of those rare lingering disagreements this weekend (we usually have heated/hurt feelings/cry/make up/I-can’t-really-remember-what-the-big-deal-was-anyway/quick fights). We are tired and overwhelmed and in this life stage, with head colds all around, it’s probably inevitable. But the lingering is worrisome. And unhealthy. And I haven’t been ready to let it go.

I won’t go into the details (mostly because they are pretty stupid and petty), but we both felt disrespected and devalued. Me, by his actions and he, by my words.

I’ve been absolutely certain that actions trumped words. Wasn’t that the point? Not what we said or how we said it, but what we DID. Sure, I had been a little bit wrong, but he was wrong-er.

So there.

Then this morning I dusted off this blog post that I had started weeks ago: pontificating about the importance of words. Gah. I suck.

I thank the doctor for his time. I say ‘please’ to the waiter who brings me a drink. I excuse myself from a meeting rather than abruptly walking out. I would never demand or yell or belittle someone I had just met. Doesn’t my family, and especially my husband, DESERVE respectful words even more than the strangers and acquaintances I practice my manners on all day long?

I know they do. And when I am feeling entitled and ungrateful and irritated, I can only hope that saying the right words will help adjust MY attitude too.

So here’s me, thanking my husband for all he does. He speaks to me with respect and that means a lot. I’m sorry.

1 comment   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in marriage, parenting

July 30, 2012

The Evolution of Sexy

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Tonight I find my husband particularily sexy.

He pulled a giant hairball out of my drain yesterday. And no, that is not a euphemism.

That’s just the kind of thing that does it for me.

It got me thinking about the origin of sex appeal. And the movie Magic Mike which was just released in theaters. The trials and tribulations of a male stripper has been cheerfully labelled “Mommy Porn.” It is meant to appeal to women of all ages. Finally, some eye candy for the ladies! But I don’t get it. Not really.

If grown women are going to drool over Channing Tatum, I think his character Leo, in the Vow, would be a better bet. The funny, long-suffering husband who loves fiercely and sweetly. That’s a whole lot sexier than smarmy bump and grind with strangers who paid for you.

I think most of us mature past pointless eye candy. Hopefully. As women, we need more.

Sure, I’ve been known to ogle my man. He has rugged, masculine good looks, deep blue eyes and other physical attributes I will detail for him privately (after all, both our moms read this blog and it will remain PG). Suffice it to say, I think he looks sexy.

But this alone isn’t what has made him irresistible to me after more than 20 years together. He is more than just an attractive physical specimen.

He has snot trails on the shoulders of his black t-shirt. He has a soother and a matchbox car in his pocket. He has a strange clay sculpture on his desk and rainbow scribbles on the wall of his office. He has a sparkly bow in his hair to “make him pitty.” He loves our children without reservation. And THAT is sexy!

He makes me howl loudly – with laughter. He tries to seduce me with lyrics from the Wiggles (I’m Robot number One, flip the switch to turn me on…), and it usually works. He knows all the inside jokes and can deliver a punch line with a single look. And THAT is sexy!

He has perfected his Attentive Listener Face, and is able to contemplate changes to his hockey pool line up while simultaneously allowing me to vent about our latest potty training debacle. He navigates messy family politics and is always on my team, if not always in agreement. He sticks it out to fight through the issues, big and small, though his every instinct screams at him to flee conflict at all costs. He endures hormonal tirades and diffuses teary, self loathing recriminations. And THAT is sexy!

Sexy is strong enough to be gentle.

Sexy is secure enough to respect a woman and want her to succeed.

Sexy is selfless and loves through better and through worse.

So flex and pose all you want, Hollywood. But I’m a grown woman and there is more to sexy than that.

So here’s me, married 17 years today to the cute boy who sat next to me in Social Studies. He gets sexier every year!

2 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in marriage

March 27, 2012

Modern Day Torture, aka The Timeshare Presentation

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

This time last week, we were on holiday, in Hawaii, but not anywhere we wanted to be. This time last week, the sun was shining, the beach was calling, but we were stuck indoors. This time last week, we experienced one of the unique tortures of modern society:

The timeshare presentation.

Reeling us in

They’re so friendly. Pushy, but friendly. First they butter you up with free chocolates and gifts for the kids. Then they pull out the big guns. The “no obligation whatsoever cause we’re not pushy and high pressure like those other guys” FREE gift that they are just dying to give you.

Sailboat ride.

For the whole family.

At sunset.

With a baby whale.

And dolphins.

And food. Free food.

We did that super secret, silent discussion that evolves sometime after the first decade of marriage. The eyebrow raise. Half shrug. Wink… no wait, he’s got something in his eye. Ah yes, the slight nod.

Okay, we’re in. But we are absolutely NOT going to buy anything. In fact, we felt better making that clear from the outset. “We don’t want to waste your time. We are absolutely not in any position to buy a timeshare right now, but yes, we’d like the free gift. Thank you for mentioning this trip to see the whales in front of our children, by the way. Okay, fine, sign us up.”

But just to be polite. And thrifty. Because free stuff is even better than baby whales. But we are absolutely NOT going to buy anything.

Setting the mood

And this is how we find ourselves setting the alarm insanely early ON OUR VACATION for a 90-minute sales pitch. Blech.

Now, to be honest, the only other time we did this, we ended up buying in. Perhaps we were just excited to finally have the salary level to make it into the “free stuff so we can woo you” club. And it’s been better than we expected. We’ve gotten our money’s worth and then some. We are timeshare believers.

In fact, without timeshare, we would never have been able to take this super-cheap vacation to Hawaii. The timeshare week was free (a limited time bonus, because we were a pretty hard sell). The airmiles paid for car rental and a few extra nights in the hotel. Cheap airfare came in the form of red eye flights with absurd layovers – 3 different flights to find our way home.

But we are absolutely NOT going to buy anything, this time.

So, here we wait with our cups of free cocoa. Neither of us drink coffee, which is a shame because the snazzy machine makes everything under the sun. The doughnuts aren’t half bad. Fresh fruit plate – breakfast of champions. There’s a popcorn machine in the corner. It’s like sample day at Costco. Be still my frugal little heart!

I shamelessly eavesdrop on the tables near us. What do you know, all the salespeople are just hitting it off with their new customers. They draw out the small talk and act disappointed by the need to broach the subject of the day.

“Cause, gee, I’m just having such a fabulous time yakking with you about your 14 grandchildren and your cat’s bursitis, but my slave driving boss insists that I go through this material with you. Did I mention that I have a cat too? Now that we’re such good buddies, I’m sure you won’t mind helping me out with it.”

Ya, I’m onto them. This is the “building rapport” part of the spiel. But they don’t fool me. No. I’m cool. I’m detatched. I’m a rock, I’m an iiiiiis-land… And I’ve got plenty of friends already. Bring it on.

That worked for about 2 1/2 minutes. When he asked about my kids, I chatted. I appreciated that he laughed at my jokes. I pulled out a picture. I’ll be honest, I gushed. What! Can I help it if my children are incredibly interesting and engaging?

It was like a really weird date, with me, my husband and some strange guy who was determined to befriend us.

The spiel

He shook his head. Acted very concerned about the timeshare situation we were already in. He didn’t want to alarm us. It wasn’t his place to trash talk the competition. Obviously, we are very giving and trusting people, without the keen business insight that is needed to navigate the treacherous timeshare game. Good thing we now have our brand new friend to help us.

As he proceeded to tell us about the company, there just HAPPENED to be pictures of his family there. And his dogs.

Now, I’m not much of an animal person, but I’ll tell you, those sad canine eyes were accusing me. Of wasting his time. Of denying him the commission he so desperately needs. You know, to feed his sad dogs. And his family. How could I do this to my new FRIEND? Why the heck are his dogs so pathetically depressed anyway?

The pressure

This is the part where you hear ALL about the amazing life that you will lead if you buy in (no prices shared of course, no matter how many times we asked). Apparently, the world is my oyster if I sign up. My children will have the wedding of their dreams. Paris will become my home away from home. And I will OWN a piece of paradise. My children will rise up and call me blessed. My children’s children will be brilliant and well-travelled because of our investment in their future.

Strongly implied is the fact that non-timeshare holders (or those like us who are with another company and are destined to be cheated, extorted and ultimately disappointed) will lead lives of sad desperation. There will never be time or money for a real holiday. The best we can hope for is quiet days spent huddled in a dank basement, braiding armpit hair into a scarf.

The deal

Eventually even the slickest salesman must put a price on it. Also the various comparisons and mental gymnastics we are put through to convince us that $50,000 is a ridiculous steal! Oh, and the $2000 yearly fee. If that is not exciting enough, they are generously offering to finance our investment at only 17%!

Now, I’m not much of a math girl, but my husband tells me that 17% of $50,000 will be $8,500 in interest that first year. With that much money, I’m pretty sure I could HIRE someone to braid me an armpit hair scarf.

Until they invent teleportation (after 3 red eye flights with a head cold I am deeply invested in this possibility) and food pellets for children (like for a fish: a week’s nutrition in one cheap, easy to serve patty), accomodation is only one small piece of the holiday puzzle. If we spend all our money on this timeshare, taking on additional debt (and, as a result, jobs and possibly bankruptcy), I’m not sure our vacation prospects will look up, no matter what our new friend and his shiny brochure promise.

In the end, I had to walk out. After 2 hours, my kids needed me and we were done with it all. I came back to sign the refusal paper and talk to yet another sales person about an even better deal (tip: be a hard sell and they will offer you something better). We were almost there a few times, but as we said many times throughout the whole process we are absolutely NOT going to buy anything.

So here’s me, timeshare presentation survivor and as rich (read: solidly middle class) as ever! And YES, the baby whale was totally worth it!

8 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in holiday, marriage

February 23, 2012

Let’s Talk about Sex

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Yes, it’s another post for married grown ups.

Since the last one, a few people have admitted that they were MUCH more likely to click on an article about sex than anything else. Let’s be honest, there are more than a few of you. You know who you are.

Is Sex a Big Deal?

Yes, it sure is.

That’s what she said!

Phew! I’m so glad that I got that out of the way. Now I can discuss the issue like the mature, serious adult that I pretend to be.

As many of you know, Glen and I worked for many years in the “marriage enrichment industry” helping put together conferences, websites, study materials and even a tv show at one point. With 3 little kids at home, my contribution mostly consisted of the occasional opinion and a willing subject for Glen to try out whatever advanced marital skill his latest article was about. Definitely a job with perks! The old joke was, he must be a marriage expert at this point, because, “after all, he wrote the book.”

I remember one session for wives that I attended. I was distracted by the details, making sure there was enough water, ensuring the power point was visible to everyone, dealing with that bothersome hangnail… but I perked up when it came to the sex talk. Ya, I know, I’m kind of like you people who clicked on this just because you saw the word “sex”. You understand.

Perhaps I missed some crucial prelude to this portion of the talk. Perhaps I misunderstood. I kind of hope so, because it was just so discouraging for me to hear.

The speaker (who is a lovely, amazing woman I admire) offered everyone a multiple choice question:

Your spouse has made some indication that he is interested in sex.

(At this stage in our life this often consists of: “so, you ready to head to bed?”, eyebrow waggle, aaaaaand leans in for a kiss. Try not to be jealous; for parents whose kids stay up almost as late as we do, these are some wicked moves.)

Anyway, the stage is set. Now, as a wife, you do which of the following:

a. pretend not to notice (you are tired and want to be left alone).

b. complain that you have a headache (or cramps, or toxic internal multi-system fatigue syndrome).

c. grudgingly give in (might as well get it over with).

d. put your husband’s needs before your own and cheerfully give him the gift of yourself.

That was it. Those were the choices.

Do you see the problem here?

I hope I’m not the only one. The best option (apparently) was d. And I didn’t get the impression she meant “give yourself” in a sense that included chocolate sauce or wearing only a ribbon to bed; more of a grin-and-bear-it dynamic.

What about:

e. enjoy some special grown-up time for all you’re worth.

Because I have needs too!

Is that weird? Am I some kind of freak because I enjoy sex? I sure felt like it at the time.

This caricature of the horny, insensitive husband and the prudish, longsuffering wife is really big in religious circles. It’s pretty common in sitcoms and stand-up comedy too. And I’m sick of it.

Must we accept this stereotype that men want sex anytime, anywhere and with any old person and nice women just really aren’t that into it?

Of course there will be times I put my husband’s needs first. As I expect him to do for me, in the bedroom (but that’s a whole different kind of post). Yet, even the occaional quickie does not seem like a one-sided thing to me. And I would hate to see the day that sex becomes a chore to either of us (whether it is cheerfully delivered or not).

Here’s something that may blow your mind: sometimes it is the woman who wants sex when the husband doesn’t – a problem made significantly worse by this stupid stereotype.

I understand that there are a whole range of problems which can affect this dynamic: sexual abuse, hormone levels, past trauma, porn addiction, unhealthy baggage, compatibility issues, etc. I am not naive. Sex can be a place of great conflict and frustration in marriage.

But it isn’t hopeless. We live in a day and age with a great amount of information and help for those who are willing to look. I firmly believe that a sex life characterized by MUTUAL PLEASURE is worth the effort, even if it doesn’t emerge overnight. This is the ideal we should expect: physical intimacy that is about giving, but also enjoying.

God designed us to enjoy each other, and not just in a platonic way. Sex is what sets marriage apart from every other friendship, and it should be amazing! Study after study shows that married people have more sex and are more sexually satisfied.

So here’s me, picking option “e”, every time!

6 comments   |  tags: , , | posted in marriage

February 17, 2012

Friday Favourites 9: Couples Edition

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

This post is for grown ups, the married kind…

Last Christmas I was having trouble figuring out gifts for my husband. Like me, Glen is a book lover AND a big fan of sex, so when I found an ornate copy of the Kama Sutra in a dusty old bookstore I scooped it up. It brought us hours of fun, but not in the way you’re thinking.

We giggled our way through some very weird and often disturbing ancient sex advice. For instance, men are advised to keep a rag by the bed so that they can mop the sweat from their pits during love making. A sensitive lover also must do their best not to spit on the floor during the act, but instead should provide their own spittoon.

Now you know.

As a follow up to the big V-day, here are a few of my favourite “couple-y” things.

Quote

To hear many religious people talk, one would think God created the torso, head, legs and arms, but the devil slapped on the genitals. ~Don Schrader

Runner Up: Sex on television can’t hurt you, unless you fall off. -Author Unknown

iPhone/iPad App

Although the book was a bust, the app worked out a lot better. The iKamaSutra is $0.99 of inspiring ideas, even those that inspire the question “what the…?” and “why?” It is password protected, so you don’t have to worry about the kids trying to play your new “game”. The illustrations and explanations are tasteful – instructive and not at all like creepy porn.

Website

I often feel caught between one culture that sees sex as a cheap thrill and another culture that sees it as a dirty, forbidden subject. It’s neither. ErynFaye.com is a great place to poke around for thoughtful advice and ideas.

Book

Once upon a time, we worked for FamilyLife developing marriage conferences and study materials. So we have read A LOT of marriage books, from the lame to the utterly bizarre (such as the one which suggests sitting naked, hands together and saying “the god in me salutes the god in you”). Of all of these, Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas remains a favourite.

It is not another exhaustive list of things “to do”, but an exploration of all the things marriage can and should teach us. Although it grapples with some profound and difficult subjects, it is surprisingly easy to read.

Movie

Okay, I’ll admit, as I was picking a movie off of Shaw VOD last night my finger hovered over Twilight: Breaking Dawn (which, yes, I’ve already seen), but I am so glad that I kept scrolling down and decided to try In Time. I was skeptical – that boy band kid and the chick from Veronica Mars… but dystopian sci-fi with romance to boot, sounds like my kind of thing. Turns out, it was.

Bonnie and Clyde with a Robin Hood flair in a world where time (as in, time to remain alive) is a currency. It puts that whole being the 1% thing in chilling perspective. Also, it kind of makes me want to rob a bank on our next date night.

Marriage Advice

Date night. Do it.

Marriage isn’t always easy, but you can get through almost anything if you’re still friends.

So here’s me, cuddling up on the couch with my friend to watch Modern Family re-runs. Yes, at this stage in life that totally counts as a date. PJs optional.

2 comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in favourites, marriage

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 815 other followers

%d bloggers like this: