Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I am okay

I have a lot to say. 

And keep wanting to say it all in one post. 

But I am not just okay. I am feeling like this is my new normal and my new normal is really kind of exciting and full of promise.

I wish I still had my marriage. I wish my husband still loved all the best parts of me. I wish my kids got to be raised by two people who still love each other. 

But. 

That's not the case and I feel like in the last two weeks I have finally accepted that I have a new life to live. With my kids. I get to make all the choices. Do what I want. 

It was scary before. It's not so scary anymore. 

*I have a really long post to share but it was just stupidly long and I wanted you to know I'm okay.

 

This is a Good Day. Relatively Speaking.

I really believed being divorced would be the worst thing to happen to me in my adult life. Back in the haze of depression, I honestly believed I would die from the pain. I believed it would kill me, and if it didn't kill me I wouldn't be able to keep living like a reasonably normal person.

I believed that because I love Logan, I believe there is (was?) a lot of good in our marriage and in our family. 

I also believed that because no one ever loved me. I mean, not in the best way. I believed that because I've always been abandoned in so many ways, this abandoning seemed too much to bear.

That's the part of my brain that needed this to happen to be whole.

But I mostly believed divorce would kill me because I have always thought of my marriage and my family as my reward for surviving the hideousness of my first sixteen years in the world. And that has always felt like too much to bear after everything else.

But life isn't fair. There's no scorekeeper.

Now that I've lived with the pain of this reality for 22 days, I am as shocked as anyone that I am still living. I am less depressed than I was even 8 months ago. I am shaky on my feet. I am sensitive. I am unable to hold all these feelings in like I'd planned to do when I came home from the hospital.

If you know me in real life, I'm probably going to freak out. Please pretend not to notice.

But I am upright. I am living life. I am going to work. I'm seeing friends & I'm loving my kids.  

I was beyond hurt when I found out this week that as soon as 2 weeks after I got out of the hospital, my husband was asking my therapist when it would be "safe" for him to leave. I was hurt because I still thought he was trying and I'd lost him long before that time. I felt foolish and pathetic and sad. I was also hurt because that is not the kind of man I've always known my husband to be.

But then, depression has a lot of victims.

The kids are okay. They're as good as they could be I think. They might be even better if I could stop crying every once in a while. (I have had almost two full days without crying!)(Five without crying in front of the kids.)

But, I am not going to beat myself up about crying in front of the kids. I've been careful to explain to them that I'm sad because this is really awful, but even in my darkest times I've been able to tell them, truthfully, that this is going to be okay. We are all going to be okay.

We just have to go through this pain.

I'm not going beat myself up for writing all this down.

It makes Logan very angry that I write the way I do. He's tried to get used to it, to accept it as part of who I am, what makes me who I am. But he's never liked it and now that I have no reason to temper my words, I'm sure he's worried about what I'll publish.

He's not wrong to worry about this, I know this. I do have a hard time controlling myself especially when I am in emotional distress. On the one hand I like to think, 'Oh well, this is a snapshot of my life right now' and on the other hand I realize how damaging words can be.

It's part of what I've been working on in therapy and this set back has made that difficult again. 

Logan is worried about me sharing the intimate details about our marriage, the places where I feel it fell apart. And though I know there is never any "truth" in these sorts of things, there's only ever what you think, what the other person thinks and then...maybe reality but no one will ever actually know reality.

I feel pretty strongly about my truth, at least most of it, some of it I know is only "truth" because I am hurting and afraid.

Of course I'm writing this on a Good Day. On a bad day I feel like Linda Blair spraying split pea soup around the room. 

I believe our marriage was salvagable, but now there are tiny peeks of things I've overlooked and lived with because I loved Logan and I loved our life. 

The other day I realized I had been looking at the best in Logan and dismissing everything else. That's the way I've written about him the majority of the time I've had this site, because he is a whole lot of good. He really is. I could never deny that truth.

But...but there have been times, many times he wasn't who I believed him to be. There have been many times he didn't live up to who he is supposed to be. I say "supposed" to be because I know he is all those beautiful things, even now, I know he was supposed to be more whole than he is right now. 

I know he's not supposed to be that with me.

I looked for the best in Logan and ignored the rest. I realized this week he hadn't returned the favor in a long time (though he did for quite some time) and that was very eye opening. 

My therapist said to me a few weeks ago, "Most people in marital trouble come in to my office pointing fingers at the other part of the relationship to define what's 'wrong'. You're the first one who came in believing the complete opposite. Everything is not your fault."

I realized then that believing you're the problem gives you an odd sense of power. If you're the problem, you are also the solution. The only problem is when you're working your ass off to fix the problem and everything keeps falling apart anyway. 

At that point you're the problem and you're too broken to even fix it. It's a heavy load.

Logan came into our recent round of therapy blaming me for what had gone wrong in our relationship. He lashed out and lashed out hard. Fat, lazy, turning into my mother...all my hot spots. After a few therapy sessions he changed his story saying no one was to blame, no one was at fault, we'd just grown apart. He was worn out by the life we have shared up to this point and couldn't go on.

This is mature, sure. But I also feel like it never acknowledges what he's done wrong.

I've been very open about what I did wrong in our marriage. I have depression, I have a hard time discerning blood and ketchup, I am quick to be defensive and angry. I've blown up friendships Logan held dear (that perhaps I should have held dear) as a result of these personality faults. My open filter has made Logan uncomfortable with family and sometimes friends. 

I am not fat and I am not lazy, but it would be impossible for me to argue my emotional shortcomings in all their various forms. I wish I could fix them but the truth is, while I keep working and changing and growing, I'll never be someone entirely different than I am. Perhaps if you checked in on me at 20 year intervals only, you'd see the growth that happens in that time. 

Logan, just doesn't seem able to see those sorts of things in himself. Or rather, he doesn't seem able to communicate his awareness of those sorts of things in himself...maybe both. I like to think it would make me feel better if Logan would stop saying no one is to blame for how things have turned out and would say instead, "Here's where I f-ed up."

But then maybe it wouldn't feel better because then I'd think, "Okay well you know that! NOW FIX IT!!!!"

There's really no winning at this point. There's no feeling better. 

The only thing you can do in this place is trust the future. Trust that everyone is right, that it will get better. That your kids will get used to this. That you'll find new friends to replace the ones you're losing. That you'll learn things about yourself you didn't know.

But most of all I'm hoping I realize that Logan came into my life when he was supposed to. We were better together for a long time. Now I have to trust that I've grown enough to be better all on my own.

Keep in mind you're reading this on a good day.
I reserve the right to tear Logan's innards out tomorrow. Figuratively, of course.

Logan is moving out on Saturday.
The kids are going to stay there Sunday and Monday, Logan will take them to their first day of school.

I've always loved time alone in my own house, it recharges me. But I have to tell you I am terrified of what it will feel like when I realize this is my new "normal", that my husband is gone, my kids are gone and I am alone.

I hope those days are "good" days too. 

******

Today I took my paycheck to my bank and deposited it into my own account. And I withdrew my rent from that deposit as a cashier's check and it wasn't all of my paycheck. There was still money left.

When I got home, my checks were in the mailbox.

MELISSA SUMMERS 

In big letters, just my name. On the first solo account I've had since the Standard Federal account I opened when I was 18.

******

It's so scary to be facing this new life only trusting everyone else that it will be okay eventually.

On the good days I realize this is supposed to be happening. That I have so much to learn. 

I met Logan when I was 20 and a very scared little girl. I am 37 years old now and I've learned so much in this lifetime. On the good days I know this is supposed to be happening.

On the bad days I can't accept this is my new life. I just want to hold onto all the good we had that I thought would sustain us forever. 

On the good days, I know it was supposed to end this way.

 

This is a really difficult Life Transition.

I was starting to feel better. 

I was starting to forgive myself. To ask for forgiveness of the people I've wronged. Some people accepted my apologies. Others did not. And I was forgiving myself for messing things up so badly.

At the same time, Logan hasn't been happy with me since around December, probably before that but he told me in December that he was feeling ambivalent about staying married. 

I've gone through this many times throughout our relationship. I've referred to it as "Jackassery" before, Periods of Jackassery. These are times when Logan is struggling and acts a little like an adolescent. These phases typically last for a few weeks and up to six months. I have only reached the point of wanting to leave once when I prepared to move to San Antonio. Logan always snapped out of these phases eventually.

I thought this was the same. But it wasn't.

The last 8 months have been rough. Logan essentially blamed me for everything wrong in our marriage. Some of it I took to heart. My problems with friendships had been troubling me too. But some of it was simply cruel and mean.

He told me my weight was disrespectful to him, or rather my position on not wanting to do the work it would take to be a size 4 again was disrespectful to him. He told me he worried I was becoming my mother, which given the history between my mother and I, was very hateful to me. 

So I went to therapy, not to work on my disrespectful weight or becoming my mother. I went to work on my problems with friendships, because I told myself even if I wasn't married to Logan I would still need to fix that part of what is wrong with me.

I went to therapy for a month or two but Logan was grouchy and unpleasant to live with. He didn't like me, everything I did annoyed him. And most painfully there was no affection. We would get along fine, good even, but he wasn't happy to see me anymore. He didn't light up when I walked into a room. He wasn't my biggest fan anymore. He didn't reach out to hold my hand anymore.

It hurt. So badly.

But I still thought we could fix it. Actually, I thought I could fix it.

I asked my therapist to start seeing us together because it was hard to focus on my own problems when my life at home was unhappy...for all of us.

One of the first things Logan described was how he likes to get up early on a Saturday and get moving. Doing stuff. And I like to sleep in, and sometimes I like to just sit on the sofa with the kids all day, just hanging out doing nothing.

He said, "Well, honestly? I think she's lazy and she's raising our kids to be lazy."

He said it with such contempt. Disgust. I knew things were much worse than I thought.

As we talked about our past, the history of our relationship, things I've known were a big deal all along, Logan seemed to only realize now they had been a big deal. And he felt the pain of all the hard times we'd been through acutely. 

We drove home after a session one night and I said, "Yes, that was stressful...how are we going to do it differently. I think a lot of the stuff with your family would have been better if we'd really been on the same team. Maybe we can do that going forward. And the stress of money, we need to really take control of our money now that I'm making a salary too. We can fix this."

But Logan never really seemed on board. It was too late.

The first time I started to think we had to let go of each other was after he took a trip to Argentina for a week. He came home on a Friday and had a long standing "Guys Weekend" planned for the weekend. He came home, rushed to repack and had lunch with us. In the 15 minutes he was home he blew up about something or other. We went to lunch and I wanted to cry the entire meal. 

We walked back home and Logan grabbed his bag and I said, "I feel like you can't be happy when you're here. I feel like you're always running away from me, from us. You were here for 15 minutes and lost your temper. I need you to try, we need to fix this. Please don't go up north. We need to fix this."

And he decided not to go up north that night. But I knew he didn't want to be there with me, I felt it acutely.

In the morning he told me he felt manipulated that he'd had this trip planned and he was going. Sorry. And he left. Keeping in mind I was not on medication at that point, I was furious, hurt and crushed. I told him not to come back to this house. If he couldn't put his desire to be with friends aside to be with our family during this really hard time, don't come home. 

That weekend was the worst I can remember in a long time. I cried for 3 days straight. I was terrified. But I knew we couldn't keep going like this. 

From that point my therapy changed. All along I'd been saying, "I'm afraid I'm losing him." Now I said, "I can't have him like this."

But he came home, because he was afraid to move out. I had faced losing him and it was awful so I kept trying. Many times I'd say, "I feel like I'm reaching out to you and you aren't reaching back" There was no answer. So we kept going, getting along most of the time. Me still thinking about what I needed to make this marriage work and Logan not really telling me what he needed. I don't think he knows.

I started my job and just tried to remain okay. To recover and not think too much. When I felt the panic about my marriage falling apart creep in I would lay in bed saying, "Breathe in the good, release the bad".

My therapy turned back to solo therapy because obviously I was in trouble. I urged Logan to see someone too but he put it off, for quite a while. I think he truly believed I was the problem. I'm not sure I'm not the problem. 

The weeks after the hospital were hard. I was getting better & stronger but I knew I was on borrowed time in my marriage and the threat of divorce hanging over my head all the time was incredibly stressful. 

I sat in therapy trying to explain why this couldn't happen. It wasn't fair. Logan wasn't angry with me, he was angry in general. My illness had triggered feelings in him he wasn't prepared to deal with. If he could just try, it would be okay. 

It's exhausting trying to control someone else. 

We  kept going. We went up north for a friends wedding and we had so much fun. We laughed and took care of each other and I felt so happy, content. Sure things would be okay. 

But at the ceremony they read something we'd read at our wedding. It was this.

Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there will be no loneliness,
for each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two persons,
but there is only one life before you.
May beauty surround you both in the
journey ahead and through all the years,
May happiness be your companion and
your days together be good and long upon the earth.

Now there will be no loneliness. 

It echoed in my ears and I started to cry. Not nice dainty happy wedding crying. Like, I was starting to really lose it. It was grief, more grief than I've ever felt in my life.

Because I remembered the day we were married. And how good those words felt to me. Like the answer I had looked for all 24 years of my life. Someone who loved me, completely, truly...who woouldn't leave me. When I was 20 I met Logan and there was no more loneliness.

I knew it was over. He didn't feel that anymore. I had broken him. Broken us.

It was over.

It hurts so badly. 

(to be continued)(No comments, it's too easy to make Logan the villain and that's just not the truth. I'll write more when I can.)

 

My Long Break

I went to Texas for 12 days. I went without my family and spent a full 7 of those days all by myself. You would think this would be awful. But it actually wasn't for someone like myself who likes a slow pace and the freedom that comes from doing whatever you want whenever you feel like it. 

I went to San Antonio to visit my friend Jean. Jean was heading to Italy and France for a couple of weeks with her husband and all of her (grown) kids. I'm sure her vacation was nice but I had this all to myself.

Yes, I realize that's her every day life, whatever. (Look how I didn't even stage this picture...you can see my bathing suit on the lounge chair and everything. That's old school blogging.)

Once Jean left for her so called "vacation" my friend Chris came down to visit. She ate her first gluten free french toast at The Little Aussie Bakery and we saw the movie Bridesmaids, which made me laugh...though the food poisoning scene...let's say I have a sensitive gag reflex.

Then we drank coffee, read magazines and sat in the hot tub. Sometimes all at the same time. Chris stayed out in the little guest suite even though the house has enough bedrooms and bathrooms for a small army, because I think everyone should stay in the little guest suite. Especially people who need a break. I stayed in Jean's room. It was a hardship but...you know...

When Chris went back home, I drove up the next day to Austin to see my friend Jill who I hadn't seen in years. Literally. Luckily she's easy to hang out with and took me to get a cupcake from a food truck. Food trucks and swimming pools are two extremely lacking areas of my life. 

I raced home from Austin because I was also dog sitting Sophie....and Sophie wasn't happy about two things: I'm not Jean and I didn't invite her to dinner with Jill and me.

I tried but Sophie just didn't like me as much as her regular people. I took her for lots of walks, even through Brackenridge park which actually I think annoyed her even more as she probably thought I was lost. When she woke up at 6am I fed her, even though the note said she didn't eat until 7am...Sophie, I was on vacation....and I like you that much!

Here's Sophie watching me watch television suggesting that maybe she could SHOW ME TO THE DOOR NOW.

I tried to explain to her that my dog thinks I am THE SHIT, but she didn't care.

When I wasn't lounging by the pool I did a little sight-seeing. I walked through the King William neighborhood and ate lunch at Mad Hatters Tea House. I also drove around like a complete moron trying to find this enourmous thing.

It's the tallest thing in San Antonio and I couldn't find it. My GPS was confused as well* and took me into an unrelated hotel parking structure where I paid $9 for the privilige of realizing I was at the wrong place. 
*My gps wasn't really confused...it was all me. 

But then I rode the elevator to the top and it was all worth it....especially the part where it was full of loud school kids on field trips and also the observation deck is a windy spot and the dress I was wearing really really wanted to be over my head, rather than protecting my modesty as God intended. 

That was enough tourism for me so I went back to what I do best.

Don't worry I went to yoga every day so it wasn't all fun and games... 

Except that it mostly was all fun and games. 

I came home and Logan and the kids (and a few well placed friends, Thanks Stephanie!) worked like a well oiled machine managing school, full time job, baseball, a 2 mile race, braces, an ear infection, a school concert, a few parties and a bat in the house.

A bat. In the house. That was flying around my son's room while he slept.

I think it's great Logan is so capable of managing the house and kids without me. It would cause me limitless irriation if he was a dad who had to call me every three minutes to ask where I keep the laundry detergent or Max's baseball gear, or where the orthodontist is located...but on the other hand I admit it: It's nice to be missed. 

Maddie and I texted a little back and forth and she filled me in on some of the tiny cracks in the Super Dad bill of fare Logan was selling me. I didn't want him to fail, but it was reassuring to hear that it was a little stressful for him and he's not Mary God Damn Poppins when I'm away. But even with Maddie's inside scoop, I admit it, he's better at managing chaos than I am. 

Of course I went to cook dinner a couple days after I got home, started up the oven and smelled something funny. I opened the oven and oh...

Baking sheets from the slab of ribs he cooked 10 days earlier. It's not a lot but it's not Type A and I'll take what I can get when trying to prove The Robot's humanity.

The gist is true but I filled in some of this chat.

Conversation between a friend's husband and my husband.

Her Husband: "I don't get it, I can make jokes about facials and bukkake all day with your wife and she doesn't raise even an eyebrow."

My Husband: "Yeah, I know."

Her Husband: "But then I imply she doesn't make any money and Holy Crap she wants to tear my testicles off."

My Husband: "Yeah....I know. You probably shouldn't imply that anymore, if you like your testicles anyway."

Eminem quoted the guy I share a bed with.

You may remember that Logan changed jobs in December and about 5 days in we started on an insane roller coaster of late nights, cancelled parties, non existent weekends as a family and even less existent family dinners, tears and frustration. 

I knew this job was going to be more intense than Logan was used to because it's a new business. But I figured I'd be taking the trash out, doing the snow shoveling and serving dinner closer to 7 rather than 5:30. I did not, could not, foresee the intense dread I felt every evening at 5pm when Logan would inevitably call to say, "Not coming home."

At one point I may have suggested Logan get a hotel near the office so we could just pretend he wasn't coming home until this project was finished. It was awful.

Luckily for my twitter and Facebook friends (I can whine...oooh boy can I whine) now that the project is done, things have been much more like I expected them to be. As a bonus, Logan is happy to go to work again and this is something that makes our lives so much better.

But to the point, the thing Logan was working on in that time was the catalog for the new Chrysler 200. Logan asked me to be sure to point out that the catalogs are a team effort. Logan obviously came in toward the end of the project so the 200 catalog is not "his"...it's the agency's success. And it's lovely. (Though I admit I may have hissed at it when he first brought it home, I was still working through my bitterness.)

On Sunday we were watching the Superbowl, and you all saw the 200 commercial and it was pretty good. And you know that part toward the end? Where Eminem says, "This is the Motor City, and this is what we do."?

Logan goes, "Whoa...I wrote that line!" And he pulls out his catalog and holy crap there it is!

Dude has run several marathons, a few 200 mile bike rides, does triathlons....and I'm kind of....not so into it.
He writes a sentence that captures the feel of what is going on in this city, what we're proud of, and my panties fly off. 

I'm really proud is what I'm saying. 

Additionally, the commercial has got me thinking and I think I finally realized why I don't fit here. 

The collective "narrative" of this area was reflected in this ad, they captured it perfectly. 

"The hottest fires that make the hardest steel."
"Hard work, conviction..."

The story of this area has always been this idea that you endure, you survive, you fight your way back....it's in everything...the story of the city's collapse, the auto industry's failure, the housing crisis...even our weather. I don't live in Detroit, I live 10 miles away, but this narrative is true for this entire region.  

And what I realized?
I don't like to survive. I don't like to endure. I don't like to fight (though I'm up for a good argument any day of the week!). 

Maybe because I clawed my way through my childhood.
But all I know is I prefer easy. 

Have you ever felt like you don't fit where you are? Like your personal narrative isn't reflected in the culture where you live? 

Royal Oak Community Farm Rips Off My Husband. Boo.

[Edit: I've learned Arzika Events in Troy was asked to copy Logan's original art. It's true the artwork was gifted to the Royal Oak Community Farm and therefore Logan has no legal ownership of it. But copying another designer's original artwork is unethical at best and undeniably shameful at worst, in my opinion. As a reminder to those in a creative field: always have contracts to protect your work from, truly ugly bastardization. If you can't even trust a community organization like Royal Oak Community Farm to behave with integrity, I'm not sure who you can trust.]

....

I'm feeling so self conscious here. Like I should have a "theme" or story...and there's a lot of just what I'm thinking at any given moment I enjoy sharing.

So I'm just going to go with that. 

Last year Logan and I started volunteering for the Royal Oak Community Farm. I did some social media things for them and Logan created a couple of logos for them. 

My time, I'm not so concerned about because I have no (seemingly) marketable skills, and look at these opportunities as "resume building". However, Logan is a professional. He has a lot of things on his plate. He was excited to work on this project and happy to do it for free because we knew people working on the project and it was fun for him to create the design. 

This is the logo and flyer Logan created for last year's fundraising event, Lettuce Rock, for the Royal Oak Community Farm.

This year, after using (essentially) free labor for all of his events for the last year, the director of the Royal Oak Community Farm decided to pay a company [Edited To Add: the copying company is Arzika Events in Troy, MI) to run his event (don't worry...you can still volunteer to work!). This company included a "design" with its service. 

Apparently this (paid) event company likes to take someone else's (unpaid) design and recreate a shitty version of it.

Let me clarify a few things. Logan was happy to help a community organization do good. We were excited about the mission of the Royal Oak Community Farm.

Logan would have given them his logo to use for free, because he believes in the mission of the Royal Oak Community Farm. 

However, when you use volunteers to build your business and then pay someone else to (namely, Arzika Events), in essence, copy their work? 

I'm not sure what message you're sending. But I'm willing to say, it's not one of "community". 

Shame on you Royal Oak Community Farm. 

We're still on board with the idea of the Royal Oak Community Farm, but suggest you run your business model a tiny bit different if you really want to be a community based organization.

*Logan had a career high yesterday, I'll write about that soon. Hint: "This Is The Motor City, This Is What We Do."

***
[Edited To Add (after threat of a defamation lawsuit...which good luck since this is a written blog...)

It is my opinion that Arzika Events LLC and Royal Oak Community Farm has behaved in an unethical way by blatantly copying my husband's original artwork. My husband had no contract with the Royal Oak Farm as originally stated, so they are legally allowed to use his work as they have. However, it is, again, in my opinion and that of many reasonable human beings, lacking professional integrity to copy someone else's work and accept payment for said work.
As my husband and I have both said, we wish the farm good luck in its mission, however, calling out poor behavior by companies and community groups is far from "Defamation" or "Libel".]

***

[Second Edit: I contacted the Royal Oak Community Farm's director, David Baldwin, who is upset I didn't contact him first to tell him what I would write about this situation. As I am not much into having my opinions edited, it is fair to say I did not contact him before deciding to share my feelings on this topic.

In our conversation two things came up I feel could use clearing, in fairness. I was told:

• The company Royal Oak Forward hired to run their Lettuce Rock event has an in house designer and the logo was included in the price of running the event. (I knew this, as I mentioned above, but it's worth bringing up again for clarification.) 
• Additionally the director mentioned he did offer Logan a paid job for another program he was running.

The in house designer copying another designer's work reflects poorly on Arzika LLC, in my opinion, that it was included in the price changes nothing about the ramifications of copying another's work. As a designer, even in-house, this is a no brainer.

The work the director mentioned he offered Logan is a fair point to bring up, that he was offered more work based on his volunteer involvement (something companies seeking free work often dangle in front of unpaid helping hands). However it changes nothing about the lack of community spirit and the professional and ethical implications of taking someone's original artwork and copying it. (Also, Logan started the paid job for Royal Oak Forward, was told they were "going in a different direction" and to send a bill for the work he'd done up to that point. He still hasn't received payment, but maybe it's coming.....heh *Hey! The check arrived today 2/16!) 

Social Media can propel your business and event quickly. But treat your people poorly and it can just as easily burn your business and event. 

Again, I wish Royal Oak Community Farm the best but strongly suggest they reconsider their practices.]

12 (ish) Days Of Christmas Cocktails: Kindergarten Graduation

Based on drink called the French 75, this cocktail looks impressive and tastes delicious. I mean, you really should have toasted the new year with this drink -- if only we had stayed on schedule. Save it for the next job promotion or anniversary perhaps!

 

Most simple syrup recipes will tell you to boil or simmer the water and sugar combination. Not necessary! Simply add 1lb (a box) of superfine sugar to 2 cups of warm tap water. Stir and wait. The sugar will dissolve on its own. Bottle and refrigerate.

1oz lemon juice
1/2oz simple syrup
1/2oz homemade grenadine (here's how you make it)
2oz Gin (I use Plymouth)
Champagne (we used the champagne we had at our wedding, we had it on hand to celebrate my new job. However, we couldn't find time to drink it because of new job. Irony.)

Shake first 4 ingredients with ice, pour into flute and top with champagne. Enjoy!

 

 

Twelve Days (sort of) of Christmas Cocktails: The Sledding Hill

It was a whirlwind month of December. A thousand pardons for the drink recipe delay, to those of you who were looking forward to reading them daily. A new job brought unexpected long hours leaving little time for anything else. However, all missing days will be accounted for!* Rest assured all recipes are equally delightful in January as they would have been in December.

*Not necessarily on consecutive days.

Let's pick things up with "day 6." To make up for the delay, it includes not one but FOUR drinks. Variations on a theme -- hot cocoa. Not just any hot cocoa but the recipe Melissa uses. I've never had better. Do yourself the favor of making this hot cocoa for these drinks, you will not regret it.

The hot cocoa recipe, adapted from the recipe on the Hershey's package

1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup Hershey's Cocoa (unsweetened, see product photo below)
1/3 cup hot water
4 cups milk
1tsp real vanilla (optional) 

Mix sugar and cocoa in a saucepan; stir in water. Cook and stir on medium heat until boil. Boil and stir for 2 minutes. Stir in milk and heat, but don't boil.

This hot cocoa is excellent on its own, but using the following recipes it is irresistible, truly. 

Bailey's hot cocoa: To 2oz hot cocoa, add 1oz whiskey (I used Maker's Mark) and 1/2oz Bailey's. I don't know that I've seen a drink that mixes chocolate and whiskey -- if you know of one please send it along. The combination is delicious.

Hazelnut hot cocoa: To 2oz hot cocoa, add 1oz vodka, 1oz Godiva liqueur, 1/2oz Frangelico (a hazelnut liqueur). Like Nutella in a mug...

Orange-y hot cocoa: To 2oz hot cocoa, add 1oz vodka and 1/2oz Cointreau.

Peppermint hot cocoa: To 2oz hot cocoa, add 1oz vodka and 1/2oz peppermint schnapps.

Add up all the times I've written "cocoa" in this post. Ridiculous.

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: Precocious

Based on the Alexander (with Gin) and the Brandy Alexander (with Brandy), this drink made with Grand Marnier is sweet and delicious. I tried adding a shot of vodka and it lost no appeal whatsoever (I wouldn't do that with the Brandy or Gin versions).  

1 oz Grand Marnier (or Brandy or Gin)
1 oz heavy cream
1 oz crème de cacao 

Gently shake all three ingredients with ice, pour into cocktail glass and enjoy!

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: 24 Hour Flu*

(Logan's hit the ground running at this new job. 15 straight days of working 10-18 hour days.

We met Logan for dinner tonight before he had to go back to the office and Maddie's face when she heard he had to go back to work was enough to ruin all your Christmases. So sorry about the missing cocktails, but we're in absolute maintenance mode over here with the flu, inhuman deadlines, Christmas, the first migraine of my life and a naughty dog.

You guys are so nice I know you undertand.)

If I'd had time for additional research (drinking) I'd have come up with something wickedly strong and numbing to address the current state of affairs at the Sub Bliss household. Instead I came up with the first apple cocktail I think I've ever made -- in honor of the diet both our kids are on right now (the BRAT diet, otherwise known as  the "try to keep your kids from losing their lunch while they have the 24 hr flu" diet). I still want to try an apple brandy recipe but this is a good first foray. I used Plymouth gin in this. I'd be interested to know how a more juniper-y gin would affect the taste.  Enjoy!

1 oz Grand Marnier
1/2 oz lemon juice
1 1/2 oz gin
2 1/2 oz apple juice

Add all ingredients in a shaker and shake with a generous amount of ice. Pour into glass and enjoy! Also works well on the rocks.

*This drink will not give you the 24 hour flu but will rather help you survive it a little number to the pain. I suggest drinking it while you scrub your area rug.

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: The Hot Toddler

A variant of this drink (known as the hot toddy) was used in my home growing up. The mixture of whiskey or rum, honey and lemon juice is a soothing combination when you're under the weather. Kids don't like it much, but with a couple additions it makes a great cold weather drink. 

I've served this drink a few times recently and without fail, it is met with genuine surprise. Seems like most folks either haven't had a hot toddy or haven't had one as an adult when it can actually be appreciated. It's a drink easily adjusted to individual taste — just add more of the flavor you like. Cheers!

1 1/2 oz Rum or Whiskey
1/4 oz Grand Marnier
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 overflowing tablespoon honey
1/4 cup boiling water
Cinnamon stick

In a heat-proof glass, add honey and lemon to boiling water. Stir to dissolve honey. Add rum or whiskey (I used Sailor Jerry Rum with great success) and Grand Marnier and stir. Garnish with cinnamon stick. 

 

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: Knitting Night

Read recently about amaretto and cranberry being a good combination. Sounded really sweet to me, but I tried it and the flavors do work well together. It was very sweet. And a friend suggested it was a little on the weak side.

Enter vodka and wild turkey for flavor and strength, and a small amount of lemon juice to cut the sweetness a little. If you like a rocks drink, try adding a splash of tonic water. Delicious.

1 oz Cranberry juice
1 oz Amaretto
± 1 oz Vodka
1/2 oz Wild Turkey Bourbon
1/2 oz lemon juice
Tonic water optional 

Add all ingredients in a shaker and shake with a generous amount of ice. Pour into glass and enjoy! Also works well on the rocks with a splash of tonic water.

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: Mommy's Juice Box

 

Gin and juice. But not that simple… Gin and orange juice (freshly squeezed please!) are just the base for this drink. Grand Marnier and Sailor Jerry Rum add great flavors. If you don't have Grand Marnier, Cointreau works too. If you don't have either, you have some shopping to do…

A lot of drink recipes call for a small amount of lemon or lime juice, and for good reason. Try this drink once with, and once without the lemon juice, and you'll taste the difference — even though the amount is small. A lot of great drinks are great because there's a good balance between sweet and sour. Mommy's Juice Box strikes that balance. Snoop would agree… Enjoy!

2 tsp fresh lemon juice
1 oz Plymouth Gin
3/4 oz Grand Marnier
1 oz fresh orange juice
1/4 oz Sailor Jerry Rum

Add all ingredients in a shaker and shake with a generous amount of ice. Pour into glass and enjoy! Works well on the rocks too.

 

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: Winter Break

The elusive link between tiki drinks and Christmas… This cocktail uses coconut cream. Coconut isn't universally loved, but I've taken steps to ensure that this drink has widespread appeal. Liss's knitting circle approved of this recipe. One of my best guy friends approved of this recipe. Success!

No fake coconut flavor… No heavy texture… No cloying sweetness… This drink mixes both flavor and mettle and satisfies a wide range of drinkers. The key is adding a bit of bourbon and amaretto. The bourbon cuts through the sweetness of the coconut cream and the amaretto adds a faintly nutty flavor. Welcome to the island of Christmas…

If you're new to coconut cream, be sure to soak the can in hot water before using it. It doesn't pour well otherwise.

.25oz Bourbon
.25oz Amaretto
1oz vodka
1oz vanilla vodka
1oz coconut cream

Add all ingredients in a shaker and shake with a generous amount of ice. Pour into glass and enjoy!

12 Days Of Christmas Cocktails: The Snow Day

Hey! Let's try having some content on this here website. Logan to the rescue!

Logan's new job is currently in what we're hoping is crisis mode and not the normal. He worked all weekend and came home last night, exhausted. And yet? He made you all this cocktail.

He's a robot.

*Foot Note: I ordered my replacement camera on Saturday! EEEEEE!)

From Logan.

Suburban Bliss' Annual Twelve Days of Christmas Cocktails starts with an impossibly delicious drink, setting the bar high for the next 11 days. We drew inspiration for this recipe from a cocktail we've had at a favorite restaurant of ours -- The Clarkston Union in Clarkston, Michigan. The highlight of this cocktail is the coffee. Use fresh brewed from freshly ground beans if you can. It's very well-balanced as-is, but if you like chocolate flavored drinks, increase the Godiva -- if you like the flavor of Bailey's, increase that. 

Snow Day

1.5 oz Vanilla Vodka
1 oz espresso (or strong coffee)
1 oz Godiva Liqueur
.5 oz Bailey's Irish Cream

Add all ingredients in a shaker and shake with a generous amount of ice. Pour into glass and enjoy!

Miss Poodle & Mr Rock And Roll Hair Make A Baby

My friend Jean sent a birthday gift that wasn't my broken teeth. Thoughtful, yes?

She made a card with a picture of me and her oldest back in the 80s. 

In the 80's I enjoyed perming my hair. Also, by all appearances I liked resembling a poodle. 

Max saw this picture and said to me, "Wow, that wasn't your real hair was it?"

"No it was something called a perm."

"Thank goodness that wasn't your hair because Maddie and I would have some bad hair if two people with that kind of hair had babies."

And, Oof! He's right. 

Spring Cocktails: Mommy, is Uncle Jack visiting?

What’s Jack Daniels doing in my lemonade? Making it delicious! Vodka and lemonade is a great summer refresher, but... Vodka, whiskey and Lemonade is an improvement! The addition of whiskey definitely adds some mettle but it gives the drink a great flavor. 

You might think of Lynchburg lemonade when you think of a spiked lemonade recipe and I’m a fan, no lie. The typical Lynchburg recipe combines Jack Daniels, sweet & sour mix, triple sec and sprite and it’s a great summer drink. 

If given a choice though, I’ll make my drinks without pre-made mixes. Freshness matters! If you’re really ambitious, here’s a lemonade recipe that looks lovely.

Here’s my “Mommy is Uncle Jack visiting?” recipe:

Spring Cocktails: Backyard Sandbox Playdate

 

 

Logan's a fan of making cocktails. Why do it only at the holidays? why not do it when the weather gets warmer and all your clothes come flying off. Yes! From Logan:

If, for whatever reason, Liss can't have a Sierra Nevada, Prosecco is what she reaches for. When she found a recipe for a Prosecco Mojito a few weeks ago, it sounded like a cocktail she'd like a lot. I don't know many people who don't like a Mojito. It's light and refreshing -- a great drink to have on the deck in the sun, but I likes me a variation on a theme! We tried the recipe and it was good, but we felt it had more potential than our results revealed. I made a few changes and additions and we agreed it was better. Don't ask what made me think adding ginger ale was a good idea, but it does add some subtle but tasty flavor.

I had a "knowledgeable" cocktail drinking friend over tonight (they named a drink after him at a local bar) and I made one for him (and for the photo) and he said it was the best Mojito he's ever had. But don't take our word for it -- make this drink for yourself and some friends and you be the judge.

  

Young Logan, Without "The Hair"

I've been sitting outside in the sun totally nude for the last day, because it was 70 degrees out and it just felt like the only way to respond. I may have waited until we put the patio furniture out or, at the very least, got all the pine needles off the deck. They don't feel all that good in your arse if you were wondering.

[I wasn't really outside nude. FYI.]

Maddie and Max were out visiting my in laws a few weeks ago (with Logan, of course) and they gave us a few more pictures of Logan as a kid. I don't have many of these pictures and the one I do have, as a reminder:

Kind of makes me wonder how he ended up looking so incredibly handsome in the end.

But these latest shots I can totally see it and it makes me feel a little Mary Kay Letourneau.

I kind of picture Logan wearing athletic shorts (with the white trim), tube socks and Pony's while skateboarding to school in Napa, CA. (He really did skateboard to school in Napa but I'm not sure his parents allowed him to wear athletic shorts to school since they didn't allow jeans.)

It's creepy that this picture makes me want to jump my husband when he gets home tonight isn't it? I thought so. Sorry God.

This is Logan in 1982. In 1982 I was 9 years old. Logan was 14 years old. 

Who's robbing the cradle now? Oh, right....this is all in my own sick and twisted mind.

Daily Grommet and Sex Face

Nataly from Work It, Mom asked me to suggest a product for the Daily Grommet and so I did. You can see what I picked over here.

For Christmas I bought a flip video camera and I appear to lack the appropriate skills to get the video off the camera, onto the computer and then onto the internet. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Every time is a mystery!

But I was able to send along a video of Logan using my pick and they used an edited version for the piece.

I thought I'd share the full version here so you can see Sex Face.

Sex Face is the face Logan makes at me when I make a sexually suggestive double entendre. It's a difficult look to explain, you kind of have to see it. But when I get The Face I get a special charge so now I try to get him to make it a few times a day.

You really hit the jackpot when you can get The Face over the phone. You can actually hear The Face.

Enjoy!

Like Living On a Dooce Comment Page

I'm driving Logan to work, because...hey! I was hit while driving Logans car on Tuesday night. But that's not why we're functioning as a one car family. That's because on Wednesday our second car died as well.

2009, I respectfully ask for my money back. You are not working out for me.

Logan likes to get to work early. So early you'd think he didn't work as a senior art director but was instead a dairy farmer, or the doughnut guy, or perhaps the newspaper delivery guy, or a doctor (without the pay).

This morning he dragged me out of bed at 6:00 to drive him over to the office. As we pulled up I saw that the building and lot were totally empty. I kind of rolled my eyes, because only a robot gets to work at this hour, voluntarily.

And Logan yelled out, "First!"

Stress for me results in sleep. Logan, not so much.

Logan has this thing he does when he's a little stressed out.

He reacts to things by yelling out some minor-league expletives. Things like, "Gah, Jeez, Bless It!"

But the force with which these minor-league expletives come flinging from his gob, makes you convinced another really bad thing has happened. The truth is we're all a little on edge over here, Gary's dragging his water dish all over the place, we're dropping revenue like the Big Three and Maddie is pissed beyond belief that Logan's making her take orchestra for one more year. Max and Socks are pretty much cuddling each other for relief from the bad mood swirling around this house.

So when Logan yells, "Gah! JEEZ!!! Bless IT!!!!"

My whole body goes, "Oh God, the car's dead."

Or, "The House Is On Fire"

Or, "I just caught botulism!"

But no, these are examples of times I've heard "Gah, JEEZ!!! Bless IT!!!*" in the last month.

This afternoon: "Gah, JEEZ!!! Bless IT!!!*"
He grabbed the wrong socks for his run!

The other day: "Gah, JEEZ!!! Bless IT!!!*"
He forgot to hit cancel on the microwave when the timer ran out. Did you hear it? So Annoying!!!

A day before that: "Gah, JEEZ!!! Bless IT!!!*"
A client has minor changes, that are annoying.

I can't imagine what it's like at Wagoner's house.

*Or equivalent.

But seriously, why did he throw out the soda?

I got an email from a friend yesterday. She mentioned how positive I'm being about this move, how she'd be pouting and unhappy. Last night I mulled around that option, pouting, because if you've read this website for a few years you know I am the kind of person who likes a good pouting session. I've even been known to wallow, for weeks at a time.

I don't know, pouting just isn't working for me.

Another thing that hasn't worked is having inane arguments with Logan.

The other night, after we'd pretty much decided we were going to sign a lease on the new place, we sat down with the kids to watch a movie all cuddled up on the sofa and let everything kind of sink in. At the end of the movie, something scared the cat off our collective laps and sent her leaping over the table.

And I don't know, but Logan and I swear she paused mid-air and threw Logan's glass of bourbon all over the rug. Then she flipped us off and ran away leaving our rug reeking like bourbon.

We started cleaning up the mess, full of resentment and unspoken stress.

While cleaning up I noticed Logan had emptied the soda I bought earlier. And for some reason, the tossing of that soda, the soda I was looking forward to drinking the next morning, the soda I hadn't even opened yet, unleashed an inexplicable reaction.

My reaction triggered Logan's reaction and our irritation and stress totally exploded over that stupid poured out soda bottle.

The conversation went like this.

"Hey, why is this soda bottle in the sink? What happened? Did it explode?"

"No."

"What happened to it?"

"MY GOD! Why are you grilling me!?"

"I'm just wondering what happened to it. I was looking forward to drinking it and now it's gone and I'm just wondering why?"

"STOP YELLING AT ME!!!"

"I'M NOT YELLING, WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME!? Where are you going? Don't walk away, I just want to know what happened to the soda!?"

"I poured it out."

"WHAT! Why would you do that?"

"Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

"You threw out a perfectly good soda, I'm just trying to understand why. Forget it, I'm going to bed. No, I don't want to talk about it."

(I may or may not have mumbled, "Stupid Jerk" under my breath. I may have also suggested going to hell as an option.....urrr.)

So yeah, maybe I'm not handling the stress all that well.

But at least I'm not pouting. I mean, having livid arguments about nothing but not pouting. So much better.

Where I ruin Logan's dating life. *Again*

In my last post, I didn't mean to imply we're doing bad really. We're fine. Just nervous. If you live in Detroit things have been depressed for a long time. It's scary to think how much worse it will get. A lot of you have only now started to see the effects of the drooping economy. I feel like we've been living with it for the last two years.

The looming automotive turmoil affects about 80-90% of the people I know in a very direct and pressing way. As in, they could break for the holidays and not be able to go back to work.

It leaves one feeling decidedly un-festive. But no, we are fine. More than fine. We are blessed. I just want a simple Christmas this year because it feels wrong to part with my money when things are so...unsettled.

Here's something more fun though.

Last night I got to go out with Logan. We went to his bowling league. You're thinking, "Lame Date." You're right! But you carve out the time where you can when you're married to a robot.

It was fun and all the people who come over to play cards were there so I got to be social which is nice when your coworkers are two really lazy cats.

At the end of the evening, after hearing the name Logan from another team's table quite a bit (a group of men and women), one of the men at the table yelled across the room, "Logan! Logan! Are you single!?"

I never go with Logan to his bowling games, it's not high on my priority list. But on the one night I come, someone's well meaning friend decides to help her make the first move on my (incredibly attractive) husband. And there I am.

So Logan replies...uh...this is my wife.

And the poor girl at that table....her head burst into flames of embarrassment. I laughed and laughed because...of all the nights he's been at this stupid bowling league and I've not been there. They picked this night to ask him if he was single.

That poor girl.

Now if I were a different sort of woman, maybe I would get upset. Maybe even a little "jealous". If I was from a different side of town, perhaps I would threaten this girl with physical violence.

Instead I just felt so badly for her. So bad that I kind of wanted to go over to her, put my arm around her shoulder and say, "I know, he really is terribly handsome and quietly confident....and between you and me, amazing in bed. But listen, you should know, he has also been known to run until he can't control his bowels. And he thinks that's "okay"."

I think that would have made her feel a lot better about his marital status.

Paging Nurse Logan.

Logan is very good at a lot of things. He is good at:

Running more than humans are supposed to.
Being thoughtful.
Working hard and exceeding expectations.
Doing fun things with the kids.
Eating a lot of protein.

Logan is not good at very few things:

He is not very good at keeping his schedule relatively open, if there's a minute? He'll fill it!
He isn't very good at throwing his clothes down the laundry chute. (They sit on the floor in front of the chute.)

He's probably worst at taking care of sick people.

In November I'm going to be a very sick person. That said, our neighbor told me she was "mostly fine" after her tonsillectomy years ago at age 30. She's around 60 years old now. I think she might be forgetting the pain, much like childbirth doesn't seem that bad after the fact. Although, I still remember in the throes of it all thinking, "I will never forget that this feels like I am splitting in two."

Also my neighbor is a lot tougher than me, she probably had her tonsils out after a shot of Jack with a rusty knife on her kitchen table. (Not really, it was at hospital). I have no doubt she could wash the floor with my limp and lifeless body if she chose to.

I am, on the other hand, an incredible wimp. As we've seen over and over in the last year as I've (we've all) suffered through throat infection after throat infection.

The nice thing about Logan's terrible lack of patience and empathy when taking care of sick people is that he knows he's really bad at it. We're all on the same page so that when he says, "Will you need a ride home from the surgery?"

And I look at him with the look that says, "What the hell are you talking about, dummy?"

He doesn't argue, he looks back and says, "Oh, right...."

When he says, "Maybe I'll just take a day off work?"

And I look at him and he says, "Why don't I take the rest of the week after the surgery off, I can work from home and then we'll see how you feel?"

It's just too bad I can't get that method to work when we're arguing over relocating to a different state.

Although I may have pushed the whole thing too far when I suggested he should wear a nurse's costume and give me a bell so I can call him when I need something, like my pillows fluffed.

Audience Participation.

For the last month or so Logan's been scheduled with about 100 hours worth of work on various projects, even though generally one works about 40 hours a week, 60 if you have no life or kids or house or wife. A-hem. Things are reasonably caught up so he's decided to take a day off tomorrow.

Do you understand what this means? Tomorrow, I get to spend the entire day with my husband. Alone.

Yee-Haw!

All week he's been telling me to think about what we should do. The options are endless really, the first thing that comes to mind is, you know, things married people sometimes do. Alone. Logan's good at those things, but not 7 hours worth of good. I think at the 7 hour mark when married people are doing the things that married people sometimes do alone, there may be chafing.

So here's my question, how would you spend an entire day (kids go to school at 9 and come home at 4) alone with your favorite person you also sleep with?

It's supposed to be partly cloudy and 69 degrees (Oh Dear, 69, how appropriate.)

An entire day devoted to beer, it just doesn't seem right.

How was your weekend? Ours was uneventful, except for the two giant pots of grain, hops and malt which boiled on our stove for 18 hours. Logan and two pals from work have started brewing beer together. The last time they undertook the task I was busy gallivanting about Portland. This time I got to see what it was like. What it was like was watching three overgrown puppies trying to brew beer. No, maybe something with opposable thumbs, like chimpanzees.

The discussion went mainly like this:

"Well, the book says...."
"Yeah, I know but that doesn't matter."
"But don't you think we should..."
"Screw the book man! I think we should be as non precise as possible."
"Yes, I totally agree. I'm going to stick my foot in it."
"Don't leave James alone with the beer."

The good news is, no one had to pee in the beer. They put this moss in it. This moss which smelled exactly like a Leprechaun had peed his magical urine all over it.

Before they got started they cracked open a few bottles of the last batch.

They were a little concerned because the last time they tried it, it didn't have much carbonation.

But look it has a frothy head. [Insert immature statement about getting frothy head here.]

Here's Tyler tasting it. You can tell by the maniacal look in his eyes that it's really good.

Then they got to work. Well first they had another beer.

But then seriously guys. Let's do this.

James may or may not be adding boogers to his sack of grain. He wanted it to be authentic and if you think brewers in the middle ages were all 'sterile' about making their beer you're full of it. In fact, I think monks are the dirtiest people I know and look what they do with beer.

Great news though. This magazine fell right into the boiling pot of wheat beer. It was freshly delivered from the postman and I'm pretty sure his hands weren't sterile. Maybe the beer will have a little Lighter Fresher Tex Mex influence now.

43 hours later and 3-5 mishaps later, the beer was ready to cool and get some yeast.

Logan wouldn't like me to tell you that he asked me to stand outside so we could take this totally gay staged picture of them studying the yeast. Oops!

They're almost done now, but Tyler wants to know exactly how shit faced he could get on this beer so he's testing the alcohol content. He's hoping it's stronger than Canadian beer.

Finally here's a picture of Tito's vodka, something we were turned onto on our last trip to Texas. It's handmade by Tito Jackson I'm pretty sure. It has very little to do with the beer brewing but I've been meaning to tell you about it and it never really comes up. You use vodka to let the air out of the beer as it ferments, the alcohol keeps crap from getting back in. Which is important since the brew already has Leprechaun pee and a totally not sanitized Martha Stewart magazine in it.

Today is St Patrick's Day. To celebrate I am going to be watching Max compete in the Pinewood Derby at school. Maybe they'll have green Kool-Aid!

The Robot Is Sick!

I almost can't believe it. In the 15 years we've been together I've known Logan to get sick, bed bound sick, under five times. This does not include the times he's been stricken with the Irish Flu because earlier models of the Logan Robot did not have a shut off valve on the Drinking Good Time. At one time the Irish Flu was a major program failure and one which involved moaning in bed about wanting to die.

No no, I don't count those as illness.

Because Logan is never sick he thinks illness is a personal weakness. One you may have let happen to you because your mind is too weak and feeble to overcome such a ridiculous thing as a 'virus'. He doesn't feel empathy, he feels contempt in the face of this kind of suffering.

Here's what happens when I'm sick.

Me: "Oh my God, I feel like I'm dying. If I throw up one more time I think my whole body is going to turn inside out."

Him: "Mind over matter baby! Believe it achieve it! You are stronger than your sickness! Dig Deep!!!!"

Or my personal favorite from the catalog of my illnesses:

Me: Sobbing, hysterically with my throat so swollen it hangs in my lap. "Something is really wrong. It's like knives in my throat. I can't make it through another day of feeling this."

Him: "Uh.....Okay! I'm going to work, see you later!"

With all this in mind you'll understand why this morning I just can't help but view the groaning and swollen throat complaints of my spouse with a certain amount of....amusement.

You'll also understand that one part of my yearly goals to have an office space....because this morning as he groaned in bed while I got the kids fed and off to school I could have rather said, "Okay, well I hope you feel better. I'm going to work!"

Internet Crushes are just about the best kind.

Wow, I didn't realize how big a blind crush the Internet has on my husband. My inbox this week represented the 1950's and my email this week sent feminism reeling backwards 15 years at least. I wish I was kidding when I tell you a sentence in one of these emails read exactly like this: "Why don't you try being happy you even have a man." This sentence was followed by a long drawn out summary of all the relationships which had failed this particular woman in the last 10 years.

Not listed was this reason: Sends stupid email to people on the internet implying they should take whatever stupidity is dumped at their feet just to "have a man".

It's true though, bitching about one's spouse in a public forum is not exactly "awesome" but what I didn't tell you is all the stuff which would make me a true asshole. So I'll accept your scorn Internet. I'll accept your blind love for my spouse, and I can hardly blame you. Even with the stupid bull shit I can't quit him, but I also know there are plenty of people out there with truly amazing husbands who sometimes act like ass hats.

I act like an ass hat sometimes too. Although, I'll never run a marathon and also strand myself in New York City without a map, phone or money. But who knows what other stupid thing I'll do, like, I don't know let the pasta pot boil over. Or maybe I forgot a few times to pull the jeans out of the dryer before they were bone dry. I mean we can all do really annoying things.

Thankfully Logan's jeans are generally less expensive than a trip to run a race in one of the most expensive cities in the United States. But sure, both are pretty annoying I guess.

Here's where I explain to the Internet how relationships work. "Sometimes Mommies and Daddies have disagreements. And that's okay. The most important thing is how Mommies and Daddies work through their problems."

This website is volume upon volume of me venting my most intense frustrations. I vent the hell out of them and eventually I figure it out. Does anyone remember the year I cried about my weight? Or the year I wallowed in my (relative) poverty? Who can forget the 37 years I cried about my stupid house.

And look! We figured it out. I work through things while bitching about them. My husband's hobby to family ratio is a little out of proportion right now. I'm bitching about it right now and we're figuring out how to fix it.

So don't worry Internet, I am annoyed with my husband right now and I'm sharing it with you. I'll get over it, find a solution to this particular irritation and move on.

I hope those of you who have emailed me about your particularly horrible spouses, who are admittedly 100 times worse than my husband, and about how I need to be thankful for the wonderful spouse I have. I hope you all figure out your own way to make your relationships work better.

Most of all I hope you have spouses who want to figure it out with you.

Even a bear says, "Screw It" at mile 13.

You'd think I would learn that a 'vacation' with my husband so he can run more than any living thing should run unless being chased by a bear, is not so much a vacation as it is a huge waste of time and money.

I should have realized this after the last trip we took to Chicago so Logan could run that marathon. You see, we rarely go away alone together, one of the unfortunate results of cutting ties with my in laws, who, to their credit, loved having our kids for overnight visits. It's very difficult to organize babysitting and rides to and from school and all the other stuff which needs arranging. Also, travel costs money and it's often easier to spend that money elsewhere on things which may seem or may actually be more important.

It seems the only way I can get Logan on board for a weekend away, to a fun destination, is to tell him a bear is going to chase him for 26.2 miles through the 5 boroughs of New York City.

I made some crucial mistakes in agreeing to this trip. I forgot how much I hate dumping over $1000 into something which isn't exactly fun for me, I mean sure, trying to navigate New York's subway system, walking 83.2 miles is fun sometimes. I guess this weekend, being in New York City, away, with my husband for the first time since the last marathon, the whole run around like a chicken with its head cut off, just wasn't doing it for me.

But you know, Saturday night when we went to bed at 8pm I told myself, "Tomorrow night will be fun."

And Sunday while I walked 428 miles and got on and off subway lines while sweating profusely and trying not to cry in frustration just trying to see my husband run in this race, this very exciting race. Even for just 30 seconds. I consoled myself with the 'Good Time' I was promised. How we were going to have fun! And the guys were going to eat! And drink! And it would be so worth it. Worth the thousand dollars we spent. Worth the night before going to bed in The Meadowlands at 8pm. Worth the day of trying to follow an unfollowable marathon in a city I can't seem to understand.

We agreed on a meet up place, chosen because a team was meeting up there for a celebration. We'd read it would be next to impossible to find each other at the finish line area.

Logan left in the morning to shuttle their way to Staten Island without a map, money or a cellphone. I didn't really think about it because I sort of thought they were grown ups and would think of these things themselves. The thing is I'm the person who thinks of these things because along the way I've become that person. The person who figures out the map and makes sure we have our boarding passes and writes the notes and makes the schedules and figures out things.

By the end of the day Sunday after doing all that, I wanted to have some fucking fun in the city with my husband and friends.

But I didn't do enough planning and coordinating and making sure everything was set.

After the marathon Logan asked a race official which way to Second Avenue. This race official has never lived in the city, has a cruel sense of humor or was smoking crack cocaine because she sent them off, in 50 degree weather after running a grueling 26.2 miles wearing shorts, no coats with no money, no map and no cellphone toward Amsterdam, the exact opposite direction they needed to go. Where Meg and I waited for them and I fretted for two hours, thinking of my husband lost in the city with no phone, no money and no pants.

The anxiety and fear I felt for that last hour was tinged with the worst kind of aggravation. I resented him for not thinking through the event. For not thinking to put a map in their bag, for not putting a couple dollars on them, for not doing what I would have done had I known they would be so unprepared.

I felt angry that I take ribbing for being 'anally retentive' and a 'worrier', when my worrying is what keeps my husband from spending an hour in hell roaming New York City alone after surviving 26.2 miles.

Finally a kindly New Yorker told Logan that Amsterdam and 82nd was not the fastest way to get to 78th and Second. In fact it was no way to get to 78th and Second, especially not after you've run 26.2 miles. He asked if they had a map....or a phone....or maybe money. But they had none and so he gave them $5 to get a bus to where they needed to be.

By the time they arrived at our meet up spot I was incredibly relieved my husband was safe and not freezing walking around New York anymore. But I also had a sinking feeling that this would be yet another night sacrificed to The Marathon. Like the night we didn't go to that party because Logan had a long run. The kids and I waiting to do something on Saturday because Logan has a run. The family dinners we skip each week because Logan needed to get a 2 or 3 hour run in. For the last 4 months, our lives have revolved around this event, even though no one wanted it to, except Logan.

We spent a large portion of our expendable income on this trip so Logan could run this race and I sort of just wanted to have one night of celebrating and fun. I wanted to see friends and make it worth all this money and all this time my family has invested in this stupid marathon. Sure, it's nice to see Logan run. It's nice that he's got the determination to push himself so far. But you know, he's done it 4 times now, it's wearing thin. I'm starting to think a different hobby might be better, like cross stitch.

When Logan arrived, having endured such a ridiculous ordeal, I knew our night would be over before it started and we'd be back at The Stupid Meadowlands watching a stupid pay per view movie and asleep by 10.

And it did.

If this had happened 15 years ago when we were dating I'd have stood on the sidelines just happy for whatever I could do to support my boyfriend. I'd probably have gone to sleep in the Meadowlands, just happy to be with my boyfriend. If this trip didn't go the way we wanted, we'd take another in a few months. When you're dating without kids, time is your friend.

15 years later, this is it. There's just one trip. We dumped all our cash into this trip.

And it sucked.

And I'm pretty mad about it quite honestly. 

On the bright side, today was beautiful. We spent the day walking through Central Park, ate with Isabel and finished up our afternoon with a couple drinks by a lake at the park.

The trains came the way I thought they were supposed to.

The Natural History Museum held our bags for us.

Our cab driver made me want to visit Jordan, but not for a marathon.

During the race Logan was beyond thrilled when people yelled, "Logan! Suburban Bliss!" Thank you so much for cheering him on while I sweat my ass off and fought the subway.

We got to stay with Alice and Logan got to meet one of the women I hold close to my heart for the very first time.

While at the Finslippy home, I learned more than I ever wanted to know about Simon and Simon, specifically the theme song.

On the bright side, today New York wanted to be gentle with me and I appreciated it. Because last night as I laid in bed crying myself to sleep with the frustration of the day, I thought New York wouldn't be happy until I was dead.

On the very brightest side, driving home tonight I realized how good it would feel to be back in our family room. How good it would feel to turn down our street and head to our home.

Max hugged me for 3 minutes straight when we got here. The best part of getting away from the kids is coming back. Even when the trip is a huge disappointment.

Freedom

Logan's computer is stunningly fast. This could have something to do with the fact that my computer is a few years old and currently has about 300 megabytes of space left on it, down from some reasonable amount of gigabytes when I first got it. My computer probably has a little indigestion and can't really get Photoshop started in a reasonable amount of time because he's bloated, all right? Leave him alone and maybe pull some of these pictures off your hard drive once in a while.

My computer has begun doing this really fun thing where, while I'm typing it just *BOOM* shuts off! On the bright side I've become quite adept at saving often, on the dark side I continue to lose data at least once a day.

Most of the time, if I ask nicely, the machine will turn back on immediately after this fun game of "Shut Down!" But with increasing frequency the stupid thing will turn off for hours on end and then, for no apparent reason, it will power back on.

This has been happening for a while now and you may be asking yourself, "Gee, why wouldn't you just take it in to get it fixed? And for God's sake lady, back up your photos!"

The only possible answer is I like this churning feeling in my gut as I ponder all the data I've lost.

My computer was kind enough to allow me to complete both my pieces at The Buzz Off and Ordering Disorder. At The Buzz Off I'm sharing a new (to me) Halloween tradition one can do in a neighborhood where you don't mostly wish a pox upon your neighbors with the boat as big as their house.

At Ordering Disorder I'm cooking from the new Jessica Seinfeld cookbook, Deceptively Delicious with mixed results.

Logan and I have not gone away, without kids, in three years. The last time we left them for the weekend was when Logan ran the Chicago marathon. This was big fun since he had to eat a lot of pasta, couldn't drink at all, had to attend a running expo, went to bed at 9pm both nights and then ran for an ungodly amount of time. Don't worry the night after the run we went out to dinner, or rather we hobbled out for dinner. When Logan saw our table was on the second floor of the restaurant, he threw his body down in the lobby and cried for his mommy. Big big fun!

Tonight after work Logan is running 20 miles as part of his current marathon training. He's doing this because he doesn't want to squeeze it in over the weekend. Because this weekend we will have exactly zero children with us because we're going to celebrate my brother's 40th birthday in Indianapolis.

There are a few things you don't do when you have a rare weekend away without the kids. You don't bite your tongue as you deal with your daughter's rampant anxiety. You don't cut up anyone else's food. You don't wake up at 7 am and you sure as hell don't run 20 miles.

I don't think I've ever been this excited to go to Indy.

That side door holds endless possibility.

For a few years now I've said I wanted to move. I've also mentioned my desire to move to an entirely different state. Logan shudders to hear this because he happens to live with two people who react to change like a cat being dunked repeatedly into a cold pool of water.

Additionally, it's taken me 31 years of my life to find my very best friends and I'm not actually very good at making friends. Note please the prior 31 years where I did not have best friends. So I have to forgive Logan for not jumping on board the Melissa Wants Out train.

Then, right before we signed on to this house, he was offered a transfer. For the last five years I've hoped there would be a transfer or an out of town job which would call out to him and say, "Hey! Let's have an adventure!"

And here it was, at just about the most perfect time. We had no house commitments, the kids hadn't started school. We were at a perfect place for this kind of transition. I felt dizzy with the sudden possibility dropped in our laps just as we reached what I thought was our ultimate goal. The Dream Neighborhood.

When Logan came home that night he said, "You don't want to move out of state now do you?"

And my mind flipped through all the places his job has offices. "It's just for 18 months," he said.

Where could it be?

London? New York? CHICAGO!!!!

But no, it wasn't any of those options. It was Los Angeles.

Los Angeles is more than a lovely place. People love it. When I mentioned to friends this was an option on the table, they assured me not everyone in southern California is totally insane. That there are tons of places to live where people are just like any other people you'd ever meet. I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb they told me.

The thing I couldn't get past is that cost of living thing. I didn't want to be the crazy lady at the market, roaming around screaming at the grocer, "You're charging HOW MUCH for yogurt? It's YOPLAIT! It's just yoplait! How can you charge this much for yogurt? How do you live with yourself? Why are you walking away from me?"

I also looked at the price of housing and I started screaming at the screen, "You're charging WHAT for 900 square feet!?"

I realize it's expensive to live in Chicago and even more so in New York. But perhaps it's the Quaker in me, but I can see myself living in these places. Enduring through the winters, appreciating the summers for what they are. I can easily picture myself raising a family in Chicago and I can imagine raising a family in a suburb of New York, at least for 18 months.

I can't picture what raising my family in London would look like but when I conjure up what I think it might look like it seems reasonable. Maddie would just change her name to Frances and Max would get a real haircut, not that lame half a haircut his dad keeps getting for him. We could do this, at least for 18 months.

Somehow I couldn't get my brain to really wrap around Los Angeles. So we decided to go forward with our lease and let Logan's boss know we were interested in relocation elsewhere if the opportunity arises. (Another reason a year lease was more appealing than buying right now) (Also appealing: Continually dropping housing prices!)

All of that seemed smart at the time and the new neighborhood has worked out as fabulously as we dreamed it would.

Except Logan still has to go to Los Angeles every few weeks from now until quite a while and uh.....this is kind of a drag. Refreshingly, it's not a drag because I have little kids and they wear me out.

It's only a drag because I miss him. Even when his clutter and stupid fucking yearly marathon training is driving me completely insane, I am still so happy when he walks through the side door at the end of the day. This might be the night we make fabulous plans for our future. It might be the night we commiserate over our sometimes difficult daughter. Maybe we'll have a night where we make each other laugh breathlessly. Or maybe he'll work until 2am and we'll slam doors and be irritated with each other. You never know.

When I'm by myself I know what the evening holds: endless hours of really bad television in the form of Law and Order: SVU. I can't help myself. If, God Forbid, I ever end up permanently solo, Internet, promise me you'll come to my house and block all Law and Order from my cable and forbid me from getting any more cats.

Los Angeles really wasn't the right move for us, not without a significant raise (not offered). But still tonight I'm thinking maybe Maddie would look great as a blonde and Max might never have to know the hell that is the long gray winter.

Also this is a very big house to be alone in.

Tales Of A Chronic Pack Rat

We bought a lamp to go in Logan's apartment right after we were engaged in 1996. It was a very simple lamp, clean lines in silver with a round lamp shade and a handy pull chain to turn it on and off. This lamp cost about $20 from Target and we had it in Logan's apartment, then that same apartment when we shared it after our wedding and finally in the home we bought.

We've had the lamp for about 11 years, we replaced the shade twice and in the move the latest shade broke and a couple weeks before we moved the pull chain fell off the lamp making it entirely unusable since, you know, it couldn't turn on.

I thought, when we moved we might consider just dumping the lamp since it was a $20 lamp from Target and not a priceless antique. It gave us 11 good years and when you amortize the purchase, we spent less than $2 a year on the lamp and we could maybe just buy a new lamp.

But no, we couldn't dump the lamp because Logan could fix it! It'd be fine! He'd get to it.....at some point. Logan has a hard time parting with the things we have. It doesn't matter if we use them, need them, could replace them with something a little better. If we have it, we need it. Last night he realized I'd discarded a (sort of ugly) table he purchased 20 years ago for $10 in the move.

"Where's that table we used to have the on the porch."
"I think I left it at the old house."
"What?! I love that table. I bought that table when I lived in Chicago."
"Baby, it was an ugly, unstable and dirty table. You don't need the ugly table so you can remember Chicago. I promise."

I have a very hard time holding onto things I don't like, don't need or don't use. I give away so much the donation guys at Salvation Army know my name and recognize my car coming up the alley. I don't want it in my house and if I miss it at some point, you know what? I'll buy it.

Yesterday we cleaned the garage and found space for Logan's beer brewing supplies, though he hasn't brewed beer in over two years. I also found space for his large collection of unfinished model cars, he hasn't worked on one for seven years. Oh and the two motorcycle helmets he still has even though he hasn't owned a motorcycle for over six years. Oops! Forgot the collection of glass and stained glass tools....though he hasn't worked with stained glass for around eight years.

When we started the process of preparing the house for sale Logan said, "I love living with less stuff!"

Over the last six months I've realized Logan actually likes living with less of my stuff so there's more room for all his crap.

As we finished the garage, I once again held up that stupid non-functioning $20 lamp and asked, "Uhm...where should I put this?"

I then helpfully suggested a few places, "How about there? Oh....that's where your beer crap is. Oh! I know how about there? Hmm....model cars. Okay I know over there! Darn it! Motorcycle helmets."

Finally he had a suggestion, "Just throw out the damn lamp."

Done.

Now to tackle the basement. There may be fist fights.

The best $150 ever spent.

Many years ago when Logan and I were still dating he told me this story as we drove to dinner one night.

He was at a busy intersection and a teenager was trying to cross the street on his bike carrying a big load of sandwiches from the Subway on the corner.

As he crossed the road, all the sandwiches fell out of his grasp and into the road. Logan watched as he hopped off his bike and tried to pick up the sandwiches. Impatient drivers started blaring their horns when the light changed and the poor kid was still in the middle of the road trying to salvage the lunch he was sent to pick up.

He said, as he watched the poor kid trying to pick up his sandwiches he felt sick to his stomach and close to tears. How humiliated and frustrated the guy must have been and how he wanted to punch who ever was honking.

I don't remember if he actually put the car in park and went to help the kid or if he just sat in the driver's seat and felt like crap about the whole thing but either way he told me that story and it made me tear my panties off and throw them at his head.

Logan turned 39 today.

When he was born his parents had to bring $150 to Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit to pay their bill and take their new baby home.

I'm so glad they did.

10 years and all you get is tin.

Yesterday was our 10th wedding anniversary. It was a beautiful day, sunny with a nice breeze. Not too hot, not too cold and not at all humid. Perfect.

There's not much to say about my marriage that I haven't said already. We work at it, fight, have great fun together, love our kids and struggle through the hard times. When we were dating sometimes I would stay the night at Logan's place over the weekends. Don't worry, I slept in my clothes on top of the sheets.

Every Monday I'd leave and head back to school and sleep alone with room mates who, left a little to be desired, and wait for the next weekend so I could be comfortable again spending the weekend with Logan.

When we got engaged, the thing I looked forward to most, even more than my actual wedding day, was being able to go to bed, every night with my husband. To wake up each morning with him and to make a home where we both belonged together all the time.

There are a lot of things I love about Logan, things I love about being married to Logan.But I'm still thrilled everyday that I get to be with him. That I don't have to pack up my toothbrush every week and go back to another life he isn't a part of.

I'm happy every day, even 10 years later, that we get to just be together.

I often get panic-y when he's late coming home because I know, considering the way I've handled the sale of this house, I would not be able to pick myself up if I ever lost him.

I've been busy this week worrying about the inspection (still no date!) and a big ball of anxiety has made it's way into bed with me every night. Things are awfully crowded with this anxiety in my bed and I'm ready to be done with this.

Saturday is Andrea's wine party in the dream neighborhood. The wine party I'd planned to stumble home from....to my dream house 5 doors down. Hopefully by Saturday we'll know if that dream still has a chance to come true.

In the meantime, I painted with the kids for the Buzz Off. Not my favorite project so far. I'm also sharing food for busy parents over at Work it, Mom on a blog called Ordering Disorder.

Oh My God, He Really Does Work With Prepubescents.

I misunderstood Logan during our phone call last night. He did not go to the Tiki bar he's been dying to go to for forever.

They went.
To.
Disneyworld.

They went to the Polynesian for drinks, (the 13 year olds had shirley temples) and then they went on rides.

I hope they stuck to ones which weren't too scary for the little kids. Like the Tea Cups.

Madison and Max are pretty much pissed.

If you get this quiz wrong you need a tutor.

Reasons Logan sent me this email today: "FYI: I have to go out of town tomorrow until friday night. Talk to you soon."

A) His eyeballs were being clawed out by a wild turkey and he could only feel around the keys to communicate with me.

B) There was a freak accident in the office kitchen where he lost his tongue and was unable to speak.

C) A wild boar had eaten his cellphone along with his desk phone.

D) He knew I would lose my shit because we're having 30-60 people to our house on Saturday for a party to show off all the work we did to this house for nothing since no one wants to buy it.

Surprise! The answer is D.

But don't worry! We'll get everything done when he gets home, after we take the kids to the Fun Fair Friday night and we'll do the rest Saturday during the day. I definitely shouldn't do anything between now and then because everyone throws together large parties in around 12 hours.

It's not Logan's fault of course and thankfully a lot of the guests are Logan's new co workers who would be happy with a bag of cheetos and some wine coolers taken from someone's parents refrigerator. You know, since they're all 13.

Also, in case you were wondering if I forgot to tell you, no the house hasn't sold. Because probably one day you'll come to this site and I'll be like, "Hey! We were just sitting around having pre dinner cocktails and a couple neighbors popped in while the kids played TV Tag in the front yard with a few kids from the neighborhood."

Right.

My husband: lover of lawn servicemen.

While Logan was with the kids in Indianapolis and I was in San Francisco, the trees finally turned green and the lawn came to life and swallowed our house. When we all got home, there wasn't much time to mow because of the rain and because of our schedules and so we pulled out the machete and cleared a path and left it like that for almost a week.

On Thursday night I was outside taking new pictures of the exterior of our house now that the trees are green and things look alive. My neighbor, not the bad ones, came over and asked how it was going. I told him we'd dropped the price and I was trying to get a better picture with the trees all green.

We both looked at the house for a minute, lamenting the market and he said, earnestly, "Maybe you could mow the lawn."

Gee, do you think the jungle in our yard was deterring potential buyers?

He went on to tell us about his lawn service and how much they charge and on Saturday morning they came to our house and they mowed and weed whacked around the miles and miles of fencing and they edged.....they edged the miles and miles of concrete surrounding our house and our 4 different concrete walkways and the long, long driveway.

And Logan watched and said, "I've never been sexually aroused watching men work before but I'm pretty sure I'm turned on right now."

Then they pulled out the leaf blower and did what it takes Logan and a broom almost an hour to do in 5 minutes, and I think he may have had an orgasm.

***

You didn't think I would miss a chance to talk house did you? Look I put it down here so you could just leave with the image of Logan being sexually satisfied by someone using a leaf blower. But now you don't want that in your head do you? And you can't get it out. Here, read this.

On Saturday we met with the realtors and the owner of the New Dream House, which is right across from the Old Dream House. Dream House is a little overpriced and, even if it were well priced for the market, a little too much for us to afford. But we love Dream House. We love the big open kitchen/dining room and the family room with a doorwall to a brick patio. We love the idea of not living as slaves to home improvement projects and most of all we love the neighbors.

If I could fit Dream House into a Baby Bjorn I'd practice attachment parenting with Dream House, I love it like that. I would never put down Dream House, I would never want him to believe I was neglecting his needs. I wouldn't let him cry it out, I'd hold him until he fell asleep.

While we talked to our realtor after the meeting the neighbors were out and waving over and I waved back and then real live children on bikes (!) rode by and said 'Hi!' and then the sky opened up and koala bears and unicorns and rainbows fell from the sky and I mashed my body into Dream House and told Logan I couldn't leave, this house needs me. He and my realtor physically removed my body from Dream House and my arms ached. As we drove away one of the neighbors said he'd get some holy water to sprinkle on the house to make sure we get it.

I have never been this spiritual in my entire life.

We can't bid on this house or sign anything until we sell this house. I've tried to convince myself otherwise, as you might imagine I would because that's how I am. One-minded. But there's this thing called "Reality" and Reality is cruel. Reality would not co-sleep with me and I would definitely feed it formula and let it cry it out all night long. (Sarcasm Helper: I love my kids and guess what I did when they were babies? All of the above.)

We can't possibly pay for two houses and this market is so fucking annoying soft, (I'm being gentler and more positive) there are no guarantees there will be a buyer for our incredibly well priced house. I tried to make Max look as sweet as I could for the meeting so the owner would fall in love with us and couldn't imagine squashing the dreams of such an adorable little boy, with freckles.

I've decided to live The Secret, no not the one about that thing you do with your ring finger while giving blow jobs*. No the Oprah one about giving power to what you focus on. I am focusing all my energy on the new house, on how wonderful it would be. I'm picturing myself there, shamelessly, without suspicion. Believe it. Achieve It, Baby! (That's a Loganism and one which has caused me to throw a chair at his head in the past.)

I'm picturing the trampoline in the backyard and the kids riding bikes with friends up and down the street and I'm picturing buying more than one cupboard of food at a time and I'm even picturing Mai Tais made with crushed ice directly from our freezer. This could all back fire of course if our house doesn't sell in a month and we can't make it happen because then I'll be spending hours in my mind moving all my furniture out of the place and weeping while I crush ice in the blender for my Mai Tais.

Also the house will weep real tears if we are kept apart any longer.

*I have only one blow job secret and it doesn't involve a technique. Here's the secret: There's really no such thing as a "bad" blow job, especially once you're married. Unless you lick it like a popsicle. Irritating.

**Wow, I thought we were talking house to get any sexual images out of your head. Sorry.

Comparison Vol. 2

Today I took pictures of my closet to help sell my house. As I took pictures of my closet I realized how my husband is not just a slob but also unable to part with any of his clothes. Last weekend he pulled two rubbermaid containers out of the attic full of tapered leg jeans and 63 torn Boston t shirts. As he dug through these containers he said to me, "Jesus, why did I keep this?"

And there was no way I could answer his question without gutting him like a fish.

Only because I told him 10 years ago when he put those rubbermaid containers in our attic, "You know, you're never going to miss those shirts."

But he didn't believe me. So he kept them for 10 years.

The good news is I now have 252 cleaning rags made from those 63 Boston t shirts.

Logan often says, "I have nothing to wear. I hate my clothes."

I often say, "I have 3 shirts and 6 t shirts and that just doesn't seem right to me."

In the spirit of our nightstand comparison from a few years ago, let's compare our closets and our dressers.

I decided a couple years ago I would only keep clothes I felt good in. This decision has resulted in an extremely pared down collection. Here is my closet.

Here is Logan's closet.

He never has anything to wear. Please note the 15 shirts right there in the closet.

But wait, there are more clothes! Here's Logan's sweater drawer.

I don't have a sweater drawer. I have three sweaters stacked next to my t shirts on a shelf in my armoire. See?

I just realized haven't worn that sweater on the bottom in two seasons so guess what? I'm getting rid of it.

I have a stack of 10 t shirts. Logan has a very deep drawer full of t shirts.

There are at least 55 t shirts in this drawer.

Songs on Logan's iPod which might make you think he's a girl. Vol. II

Every single weekend for the last three months we've worked on the house. Logan likes to work with music playing.

Sometimes his choices are, surprising, as I already noted years ago.

Barbara Streisand: Jingle Bells

Beyonce: Irreplaceable "To the left, to the left."

Brie Larson: She Said (Radio Edit)

Christina Aguilera: Ain't No Other Man "Hey! Do your thang honey!"

Journey: Who's Crying Now.

Sixpence None The Richer: Kiss Me

Ashlee Simpson: The Entire Autobiography Album. Holy shit.

Daddy Knows Best

Last week I clocked 17 hours stripping wall paper and I still have nearly half the room to go. I am using a steamer which is slowly searing my fingerprints off and a scraper which has changed the shape of my hand permanently as I slowly scrape, scrape, scrape the walls.

As expected, the wall paper was up for a reason. There are spots on the wall which are fresh plaster uncovered by paint, there are other parts where the trim was torn off leaving exposed door supports and still other places where the walls have cracked and been 'fixed' using something which resembles caulk. Also the steam is causing something, which seems like paint to bubble up and pull away from the paint underneath. I hope the new owners of this house like the 'charm' of slighly lumpy walls.

This weekend my friend's husband Mark gave us his Saturday to help us hang sheetrock on the very shimmed ceiling of our kitchen.

Dear Future Owners, I hope you like lumpy walls and never want to find a stud among all the firring strips and shims we've layered under your new drywall. We did the best we could.

PS: Don't try to install recessed lighting unless you hate life and want to torture yourself.

Because Mark is a process engineer, this job involved no swearing. This might very well be a first for our family.

Since Mark's wife Andrea was out of town for the weekend, we lured Mark into staying for a couple of beers and some pizza with their girls. I left to pick up the pizza and, you know, some other beers because we had run out and since I had two men in my presence (making this all perfectly safe) I had to take advantage.

Logan relayed this talk while I was gone and the guys cleaned up the house from the drywall mess.

Logan, inspecting the swiffer wet jet and attempting to put the liquid cleaner in it starting to unscrew the top of the cleaner. Mark steps in, "No no no. Don't take the top off, just stick the whole thing in there."

Logan grabs the swiffer pad and says to Mark, "This goes on here right?"

"Yes," taking the whole thing from him. "Put it on here."

I think Logan's a pretty hands on guy. He does laundry, washes dishes and what he does with a vaccum is so arousing, I make him wait until the kids are asleep. When Logan told me this story I stared at him and then asked, "So....why did you transform yourself into "Clichéd Bumbling Dad"?"

The drywall guy is coming this week and I got boxes off Craigslist this weekend. This means we're about .0001% closer to actually listing this house for sale. Of course I still have to get the rest of the wallpaper off the walls.

Which will likely happen once every one of my fingerprints is seared off my skin.

I'm really excited about this. Can you get a mortgage if you have no finger prints? Footprints work, right?

Caught.

This morning someone from the dream neighborhood (sniff-sniff) emailed to let me know Logan was in the paper.

With ANOTHER WOMAN!

(photo by Daniel Mears)

I forgot my Man-Saving Panties and look what happened?

Damn, I really wanted to play the whole thing up but enh, it's just not working for me.

Logan and his friend Kim, you might remember Kim from this post, went to have a drink last Friday and got their picture taken. Kim made this delicious dip at that tailgate and I unhinged my jaw to eat it.

Logan is very excited about having his picture in the paper, he feels a little famous. He's hoping Matt Lauer calls to ask him about all of this.

"So Logan, do you really like the Black Lotus Brewery?"

"How were you feeling when this picture was taken? What were you thinking about at that moment?"

"You're an amazing man Mr. Summers, the way you hold that glass of stout, I think I'm speaking for America when I tell you.....we're proud you're one of us."

They also make great rockets.

I have an illness.

When I first started dating Logan, when I was 13, I would often stay the night as his parents place after our dates (we lived 45 miles apart and Logan was living with his parents for 6 months paying off debt).

On one of those weekend overnights, we were with his youngest sister, I told him, "I need to stop at the market. I need supplies."

Supplies as a term for feminine products might be the longest held 'inside joke' of our relationship.

We've progressed from that point, to here, where I can call Logan on his way home and say, "Listen can you pick up milk and supplies on your way home?"

And he knows exactly what I need. 1/2% and Orange (if you know what I mean).

I don't know if I'd put that in a personal ad, "Needs to be unembarassed to pick up feminine products at the store." But it's a nice thing to have in a marriage, maybe put it on your B-List.

Anyway, no, my illness has nothing to do with Logan buying my feminine products. Though, you would think that because the majority of this post involves that subject.

You are clearly not a blogger because I am a blogger and thus verbose and I don't get to my point very quickly. (Wait, you mean some people blog with half the words and twice the entertainment? What? Wha? WHA?)

No, my illness has to do with the fact that tonight I put tampons in a wicker basket because that blue box looked horrible in the closet of my new bathroom. How could I live with that?

I couldn't. I put my tampons in a reasonably aesthetically appealing wicker basket. From Ikea.

I am ill.

The Robot Speaks.

Logan decided he wanted to write something, so he did.

When he finished this post he sent it to me from the other room and prefaced it by saying, "You don't have to post this if you don't think it's good enough."

Ha.

============================================

Our bathroom is, at once, the best and worst part of our over 8 years here. It was inconceivable that we'd live with that room we bought for as long as we did. Mirror tiles! Golf courses of the world! Cheap linoleum tiles on the floor! But live with it we did -- for 8 years. And our vanity took a beating... So did my spirit.

Remember your first home and the joy and expectation and hope of it? I've looked at the fickr set of photos of our bathroom project at least once a day over the past few weeks. To make the transformation real, I think. Because we lived with our crappy bathroom for so long -- putting the improvement of it off for so long to do things like modest vacations up north, and lazy weekends, and soccer games, and Friday-night-out recovery time. It started to seem inevitable that we'd live with that bathroom until we left this house.

It's a fine line to draw between doing what you want to do and what you "need" to do -- in terms of the pay-off of it. Our bathroom has been "in-progress" for over 3 months. A month into the project, Madison asked me if I'd ever spend any time with her doing fun stuff again. That question broke my heart. Living with our crappy bathroom for so long also broke my heart. And started to break my will to rise above it.

There's a phenomenon in our neighborhood that Liss and I have observed over and over. A young, eager couple or family moves in full of life and energy and the excitement of a new home in a new place. And soon enough, things like that old folding chair leaned up against the garage wall get overlooked. Not because it doesn't drive them crazy to see it there every time they come back home after being away -- but because nobody else in the neighborhood seems to mind the folding chair leaned up against their garage wall. And living amidst good folks who don't seem to mind such things day after day after month after year -- it can kill your will to remember how you want to be living. It's tried to kill our will to remember the satisfaction of living up to our dreams. And it's tough, because when it's been a matter of spending time with each other or our kids or spending time making our home what we've always imagined it to be, it's been easy to put the home improvements off.

When we first moved into our house, we spent countless hours, days, months improving -- new paint, new rugs, new furniture, freshly painted trim. And we were very satisfied with ourselves. And then we became satisfied with ourselves for raising children who, even through the worst tantrums and sleepless nights made us very proud to be parents.

There's a saying I repeat to Liss each time she gives me shit for my running habit. I say, with tongue-in-cheek, that good health is its own reward (don't tell Liss, but I do believe it)[Ed Note: Gag.]. Living up to the standards you want can also be its own reward. Whether it's the standard of how you want your kids to grow and learn, or the standards of the environment you want to be living in. Putting off your dreams, no matter how large or small, can kill your spirit. I've felt it for a while now...

I'll be proud to show off our fresh new bathroom to all who enter it. But more than the vanity-depletion-recovery I'm enjoying is the renewal of a sense of urgency I'm feeling to keep the ball rolling. It's hard to keep the ball rolling sometimes, and a remodeled bathroom may not be the best example of a renewed spirit, but I've started to feel the energy of starting a long tough job that's been a long time coming, and getting to the end of it and having it resemble very closely the picture in mind when starting -- and feeling the happiness of overcoming all the setbacks encountered.

And my spirit is soaring...

Maybe I should have married "Always Leaves The Seat Up"

Last night on the way to see friends, Logan is driving and telling me about this commercial.

You should go watch it. Go ahead.

As he's telling me about the commercial he turns left to get on the freeway where there are about 8 signs saying things like, "Your wife always tells you not to go this way and you do it anyway."

So, once again I say, "You know, you're not allowed to get on the freeway from here."

And he ignores me, continuing to tell me about the commercial and the customer named, "Never Listens To Women Ever".

Oh we laughed!

I said, "That could be your name! Or at least your nickname! See how you just turned there and I suggested for the 1000th time not doing that since it's illegal! And you ignored me all those times!"

"I know! Isn't that funny?" he said, shaking his head. "Wait, why is that police man staring at us? Why is he turning around? Why is he getting behind us? Why is he turning on his lights?"

It's all so very "funny". Except not at all funny because this is the month with that big holiday at the end? And we already got hosed by the plumber! And another unexpected expense! I love money so much.

Thank God he doesn't have acne.

Forget what I said about enjoying the posting every day thing.

I never realized how boring I am on a daily basis. Actually, maybe I realized it before but didn't need to write about it every day before.

I made the mistake of trying out Madison's Nintendo DS. She saved half the money to buy it for over a year and got it at the end of the school year. I've mainly ignored this tiny machine for 5 months. Until she got Super Mario Brothers for her birthday. I was overwhelmed by nostalgia and decided to just 'See what's changed' and pretty soon I couldn't put the stupid thing down, dazzling the children with my 'secret' knowledge of hidden tubes and invisible blocks to crack open.

Now we have Mario Kart (another birthday addition) and last night I went to bed with my husband next to me in his underwear driving Mario to his best lap ever. 

Being married to a teenage boy is pretty awesome.

Would-Be Fan.

Logan has had an affinity for Lance Armstrong for many years and the beginning of his affinity for Lance coincided with the time when my husband lost 30 pounds and dabbled with what may have been an eating disorder but was definitely an asshole disorder.

I've sort of tied Lance together with that unpleasant time between Logan and I and because of that I'm not a big Lance fan.

If, after running the marathon Lance Armstrong hadn't just said he "...thought the marathon would be easier."  But had instead come out of the marathon saying, "What kind of asshole runs like this for fun?"

Then I could have been a Lance fan.

Really useful advice.

The other night, on Halloween, after Dutch and Wood had to leave to get their small panda to bed the other three couples sat down in Andrea's living room. Since Andrea's house is laid out exactly like The Dream House let's call it The Dream Living Room.

The six of us sat down and tried to have a conversation. Between the six of us we've had sex at least nine times and all nine of those times were represented by children. Some of them quite small and in need of things. Often in need of things every 1.3 seconds and when you have nine children in need of things every 1.3 seconds you've got someone asking for something pretty much continuously.

Andrea has 3 girls five and under and Leslie has four kids 5 and under. At one point Leslie had two of her four kids hanging on her while she tried to talk and Andrea had one of her three kids hanging on her as well. But Logan and I were completely free of children hanging on us.

Logan says, "You know, I've got to recommend having your youngest child be five. I mean we've found that works out really well for us when socializing. So if you can make that happen, I'd try to do that."

Best Halloween Ever.

Halloween was eventful for the Summers family.

We were invited to hang out at my friend's house in The Dream Neighborhood. And it was...dreamy. Full candy bars, lots of kids and people handing out beers.

The Junipers also came out to The Suburbs to partake in the trick or treating with their adorable baby panda.

Last year we tried to take the kids trick-or-treating in our neighborhood and made it to three houses before the children had a total meltdown. They were afraid and uncomfortable and we went home in tears.

I was relieved it went so well but also a little forlorn because well, I may have mentioned this before? But I, uh, really hate my neighborhood and am dying to move? And we have to unload the house before we can move? And we can't really afford the neighborhood I want?

Look how talented I am! I just took a positive and flipped it into a negative. My therapist loves me.

But you don't want to hear about that. You want some pickle action!

Yes! Logan ate the pickle and he moaned and whined and complained the entire time. You would think he was being forced to eat a barrel of hissing cockroaches. The man can run 26.2 miles, but the pickle. The pickle nearly killed him.

I taped the 4 minute ordeal, where you can hear Logan's claim that it's just like Fear Factor. Then you can hear Dutch say, "Fear Factor for the biggest wimp on earth."

So I didn't get any pictures, but as you can see in the video, there are plenty of flashbulbs going off during the ordeal. Here's one of Dutch's pictures.

You should go watch the video and I'm going to go back to trying to conquer my massive 'get the house on the market right this minute' to-do list. The list includes "Throw hands up and wonder how it is anyone ever moves."

Thank you again to everyone who sponsered Logan's marathon via the MS Society. $2500. Internet, you amaze me.