People always ask me what the 'secret' to my marriage is, as if we have a special recipe for bliss written on scented rose paper and kept in the vault of an old bank somewhere. We've been together for thirteen years and married for nine, so it hasn't been an eternity or anything. However, the majority of our relationship has been happy and we seem to be that couple that can ride the waves without any major sea sickness. I see why people ask. I'm proud of my marriage. There's no shame in that, is there? It takes a lot of work to be happy (like slowly brainwashing him into thinking I'm the best catch in the world).
Sometimes, in my bitchier moments (which are getting more frequent as the summer and my pregnancy wear on), when someone asks me a question such as 'I'm never happy in relationships. How do you make it work?' I want to answer with this little tidbit:
It's Simple: Grow some higher standards.
It's not surprising that my standards are fairly high, no? After all, I'm the girl who orders the decaf, half-sweet, soy, vanilla latte. Throw in 'extra hot' if it's cold out. I know what I want and I know how to get it (if you knew that was a Sex Pistols lyric, I love you.)
There are certain things that are absolutes in our relationship: He must respect me as a person, treat me as an equal, treat his children with dignity and be involved in their lives, make major life decisions with me and communicate any issues he has with me before they erode our marriage.
Oh, and he must expect the same from me, no question. That's a big difference between being high maintenance and having high standards. I expect that my partner has enough self-respect to insist that I treat him respectfully, too. I have no interest in a doormat. In fact, most people don't. And the sooner everyone realizes this and starts expecting more from their relatioships, the sooner there will be many happier, fufilled couples in this world, the sooner Robin will have to return her scary veneers to the dentist because Dr. Phil will be out of a job, and the sooner I'll be able to stop bitching about stuff like this in my blog. Imagine what I could be writing about now if I wasn't irritated by things that are none of my business to begin with. Look at what our society has reduced me to. Look at what years of Oprah episodes have done to me.
I want to bang my head against a wall sometimes, and not only when my coffee pot continues to make pathetically weak java despite many investigations into the cause (I never claimed to be mechanically inclined). I hear the same sob story over and over: 'Why doesn't he respect me?'
Because you don't respect yourself. Isn't that an easy answer? And you know, even if you do start respecting yourself he may still try to walk all over you because he's used to doing it or he really is that naturally jerkish. But at least you'll be able to pull yourself, the former doormat, out from under his feet and leave him flat on his insensitive behind. It's a choice you get to make.
On the other hand, it's important to remember that people aren't perfect (except me, of course, and you if I decide you are, and my children when they smile and make me forget about our daily trips to Hades). If people are imperfect, then relationships have to be, too. Overlooking the little things is just as important as not tolerating the big things.
For example, I can overlook that I don't get a lot of flowers or love notes or foot rubs. It would only bother me if I felt Geekster wasn't showing how much he loves me. However, I love the non-conformist that is my husband, and therefore I look for and appreciate the unconventional ways that he shows his love for me. I may not get many bouquets of flowers, but I do get surprise coffees (I'm sure he'd bring me a coffee bouquet if he knew how to pull that off). I don't get love notes, but I do get a husband who spends all his monthly cell minutes talking to me on his way home from work, knowing that he's going to see me in a few minutes but also well aware that the kids will monopolize our time until much later. I don't get many foot rubs, but he knows me well enough to see when I'm exhausted even when I lie and say I'm not, and will take over the kitchen or the children and insist I go relax.
Speaking of overlooking the little things, Geekster was about to head up to bed when I said 'What? You're not going to stay and read my masterpiece? I'm nearly finished!'
He said 'I figured I'd read it in the morning.'
Now, I know my Geekster. He won't read it in the morning. He'll read it at night, when I remind him to read it, because he doesn't generally read my blog unless I throw something at his head. When I tell him this, he retorts with 'Oh well, it's just your blog.' Followed quickly by 'What? No gasp of shock at the blasphemy?'
No, love. I'm too busy trying to find something to throw at your head.
Sometimes, in my bitchier moments (which are getting more frequent as the summer and my pregnancy wear on), when someone asks me a question such as 'I'm never happy in relationships. How do you make it work?' I want to answer with this little tidbit:
It's Simple: Grow some higher standards.
It's not surprising that my standards are fairly high, no? After all, I'm the girl who orders the decaf, half-sweet, soy, vanilla latte. Throw in 'extra hot' if it's cold out. I know what I want and I know how to get it (if you knew that was a Sex Pistols lyric, I love you.)
There are certain things that are absolutes in our relationship: He must respect me as a person, treat me as an equal, treat his children with dignity and be involved in their lives, make major life decisions with me and communicate any issues he has with me before they erode our marriage.
Oh, and he must expect the same from me, no question. That's a big difference between being high maintenance and having high standards. I expect that my partner has enough self-respect to insist that I treat him respectfully, too. I have no interest in a doormat. In fact, most people don't. And the sooner everyone realizes this and starts expecting more from their relatioships, the sooner there will be many happier, fufilled couples in this world, the sooner Robin will have to return her scary veneers to the dentist because Dr. Phil will be out of a job, and the sooner I'll be able to stop bitching about stuff like this in my blog. Imagine what I could be writing about now if I wasn't irritated by things that are none of my business to begin with. Look at what our society has reduced me to. Look at what years of Oprah episodes have done to me.
I want to bang my head against a wall sometimes, and not only when my coffee pot continues to make pathetically weak java despite many investigations into the cause (I never claimed to be mechanically inclined). I hear the same sob story over and over: 'Why doesn't he respect me?'
Because you don't respect yourself. Isn't that an easy answer? And you know, even if you do start respecting yourself he may still try to walk all over you because he's used to doing it or he really is that naturally jerkish. But at least you'll be able to pull yourself, the former doormat, out from under his feet and leave him flat on his insensitive behind. It's a choice you get to make.
On the other hand, it's important to remember that people aren't perfect (except me, of course, and you if I decide you are, and my children when they smile and make me forget about our daily trips to Hades). If people are imperfect, then relationships have to be, too. Overlooking the little things is just as important as not tolerating the big things.
For example, I can overlook that I don't get a lot of flowers or love notes or foot rubs. It would only bother me if I felt Geekster wasn't showing how much he loves me. However, I love the non-conformist that is my husband, and therefore I look for and appreciate the unconventional ways that he shows his love for me. I may not get many bouquets of flowers, but I do get surprise coffees (I'm sure he'd bring me a coffee bouquet if he knew how to pull that off). I don't get love notes, but I do get a husband who spends all his monthly cell minutes talking to me on his way home from work, knowing that he's going to see me in a few minutes but also well aware that the kids will monopolize our time until much later. I don't get many foot rubs, but he knows me well enough to see when I'm exhausted even when I lie and say I'm not, and will take over the kitchen or the children and insist I go relax.
Speaking of overlooking the little things, Geekster was about to head up to bed when I said 'What? You're not going to stay and read my masterpiece? I'm nearly finished!'
He said 'I figured I'd read it in the morning.'
Now, I know my Geekster. He won't read it in the morning. He'll read it at night, when I remind him to read it, because he doesn't generally read my blog unless I throw something at his head. When I tell him this, he retorts with 'Oh well, it's just your blog.' Followed quickly by 'What? No gasp of shock at the blasphemy?'
No, love. I'm too busy trying to find something to throw at your head.