Okay. After a two-month hiatus during which you pined for new content—I know, not really, but it’s a lovely thought—I am back, and I actually have something on my mind. Yay! Actually, I have lots of somethings on my mind, but I will try to spare you from a manic manifesto and focus on one particular something for this particular post. Well, you know what? That’s not going to be entirely possible. So much going on lately…..all these feelings……yeah. If the promise of lots of feelings doesn’t entice you to keep reading, I don’t know what will.
I feel like this is a church business meeting. I should’ve baked a green bean casserole or fudge-something-nut-something bars.
First order of business: Mrs. Ida is still recovering from hip surgery. We will need your wives to sign up to bring meals for the next two weeks, but remember—she doesn’t like collards.
Ha, ha, ha. I’m so funny…
Yeah, whatever. I’m already totally off track. Remember that time I went to church camp and my friends decided to abandon me because they couldn’t handle my anorexia and they kicked me out of their dorm and I had to room with one of the chaperones and I couldn’t fall during the trust exercise because I couldn’t allow myself to let go and trust because they’d just hurt me? Ah…..fun times.
Now that you’re nice and uncomfortable, let’s talk about what I’ve been doing while I was away and you were left pining. Yes, you were pining. Humor me.
Well, first, I was getting along with my husband. Yays! If you know me, you understand that this is not a revolutionary thing. Me and The Mister are literally peas & carrots. (Assuming you ascribe to the Rachel Zoe usage of the word ‘literally’.) Trite, sure, but we really are best friends/soulmates/joined-at-the-hip/etc., etc., etc. BUT these last couple of months have been DIFFERENT! Lately, we’re not just peas & carrots, we’re baby food peas & carrots—all blended together and stuffed in a jar. I personally did not think that there was a need for improvement in our relationship. And my husband, being a man and all, surely does not think about our relationship at all and was probably pretty damn satisfied as long as a. I wasn’t yelling at him; and b. well….you know. But as it just so happens, there WAS room for improvement. I know, because now, we’re even BETTER! And you are so excited for us, as you should be.
It all started like this: The Mister and I (is this gonna be what I call him? If so, does that beg for a TM? Can I create one of those annoying Brangelina-style celebrity-couple-name abominations? I can refer to us as TMI…) had a chat. If you have been married for more than a few months, and especially if you have children, you know that, for even the very bestest of couples, chats can be rare. All too frequently, our daily communication consisted of Can you…? Will you…? Why didn’t you…? and Why are you such a goddamn moron? (Just kidding about that last part. Mostly.) So we chatted. And chatted. And chatted. And stayed up into the wee hours of the morn chatting. And we did it again the next night. And we smiled. And we laughed. And, in my case, we cackled. And we for sure cried. Because I like to ask questions I don’t want to know the answer to. But, most importantly, we were honest. We said things we had held back for weeks, months, years. And all of this is making for excellent reading, since I’m leaving out all the juicy details, right?
So, I found out that The Mister isn’t the perfect man I thought he was, but that he is pretty damn close, and that he wants to be closer. I found out that every sweet, lovely thing he has ever said to me is 100% true. Which, you’re saying, is him BSing me, but I know him, and you don’t, so I’m right, and you’re wrong. And holy hell, all the damn commas.
And I told him things, too. Let my guard down. Answered questions honestly. Was vulnerable. Which, if you know me, is totally me but also not. I am the squishiest, softest, most-likely-to-volunteer-to-be-trampled-on-and-like-it little punk-ass girl in the world. I will say crazy things to you and give you the crazy eyes and you will think I am crazy. Especially because of the run-ons. But if you ask me something real, and you are not the 0.000001% of the population that I trust when I’m totally sober, then you won’t get anything out of me. I am passionate and moody, and sometimes outright tempestuous, but you know what? I am also a fortress. While I wear my superficial emotions on my sleeve, the other, realer, shittier ones go into a deep, dark, deep, twisty, dark, rotting, awful cave (see—I really AM all fucked up ;) ) and stay in there, alone, for eternity. And there were some things in there I wouldn’t let even TM see. But I let go, and he has seen them, and he’s still here. He’s still here, and we’re better. Who woulda thunk it?
Another yucky thing I realized is that I often react to him on default settings. Say no just because it’s the first word I think of or freak out over things I can totally handle. I find I especially go into Bitch Mode all too easily. Because I can with him and not with anyone else. Because he will take it. Because he loves me. But that SUCKS! Why should the person I love the most get the shittiest side of me? Not all of the time, sure, because I’m generally a damn cool chick. But too often all the same.
So now, we are open and honest. About everything. I mean, I don’t particularly want The Mister to tell me that he thinks of Big Momma’s House every time he’s sees my ass. But, “You are so hot that you make that huge-breasted Victoria
And I’m trying to say yes more and get rid of the ugly-bulldozer-sitcom-mom shit that TV thinks wives should be. My husband is not a fuck-up dunce. He is capable of stuff and would not, in fact, starve or wallow in his own filth without me. For very long. Just because TM does things differently than I do doesn’t mean that he’s a retard and that I have to come along and save him every time. My household needs me, sure, but it would not implode if I let go of the hand-controls for a bit.
And I can survive without him as well. If he wants to go hang out with a friend for a bit after work? Cool. If he’s running a bit late because of super shitty awful fucking traffic? Cool. Not his fault. If he wants to spend money to go watch some chick twirl around with her tits hanging out? Ok. Not cool. He’s got free tits at home, and we have bills to pay. And I am not that cool. But still.
You get my point, though. Open, honest, chill…that’s what we have become more of in the past couple months. I can shrug things off. Some things might totally suck. But to hell with it. I can get over it. I can move on. I can change my mind to be different, feel differently, and react differently. And I did. And I will. I take immense comfort in knowing that there’s nothing I could say that would scare him off. There’s nothing he could say that would make me love him less. It’s great not having that unacknowledged fear of the unknown there anymore. No more secrets. It’s been incredible.
So what I’ve been doing for the past couple months is enjoying my husband. I have been spending every available moment with him and have saved time for little else, as the mountain range of clean-but-unfolded laundry in my bedroom will prove. If, for some reason, you have missed the incredible word vomit that I spew here and call blogging, blame The Mister and our Super Mega Awesome Make-You-Wanna-Punch-Us-In-The-Teeth Relationship. Rest assured, however, that, somehow, I still have more to say ( I only talked about ONE THING! SO PROUD!) and will get around to it just as soon as our marriage goes back down the shitter. (Just kidding.)
Yours,
Meg, who’s verbal diarrhea is rivaled only by that of Charlie Sheen. (Yeah, I know. A couple weeks late to the party…)
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