In defense of a "good-enough" marriage.

The New York Times magazine recently had an interesting article about a couple's trip through couples therapy and whether it was even worth it. Written by Elizabeth Weil, it chronicled her reasons for going through therapy and the issues it dredged up -- none of which are even remotely pretty.

I do suggest that people read the article -- I thought it was a fascinating view on couples therapy when people often go there looking for solutions and making things better. More profoundly for me was when she discussed at the end of the article, the idea of the "good-enough" marriage:

In psychiatry, the term “good-enough mother” describes the parent who loves her child well enough for him to grow into an emotionally healthy adult. The goal is mental health, defined as the fortitude and flexibility to live one’s own life — not happiness. This is a crucial distinction. Similarly the “good-enough marriage” is characterized by its capacity to allow spouses to keep growing, to afford them the strength and bravery required to face the world.

In the end, I settled on this vision of marriage, felt the logic of applying myself to it. Maybe the perversity we all feel in the idea of striving at marriage — the reason so few of us do it — stems from a misapprehension of the proper goal. In the early years, we take our marriages to be vehicles for wish fulfillment: we get the mate, maybe even a house, an end to loneliness, some kids. But to keep expecting our marriages to fulfill our desires — to bring us the unending happiness or passion or intimacy or stability we crave — and to measure our unions by their capacity to satisfy those longings, is naïve, even demeaning. Of course we strain against marriage; it’s a bound canvas, a yoke. Over the months Dan and I applied ourselves to our marriage, we struggled, we bridled, we jockeyed for position. Dan grew enraged at me; I pulled away from him. I learned things about myself and my relationship with Dan I had worked hard not to know. But as I watched Dan sleep — his beef-heart recipe earmarked, his power lift planned — I felt more committed than ever. I also felt our project could begin in earnest: we could demand of ourselves, and each other, the courage and patience to grow.

A disclaimer: I've talked to counselors to clear her head (as recently as BD's birth for postpartum issues), and (I will confess), dragged Jeff to one early in our relationship because while I love him, he was doing things that made me question whether he loved me (that proved beneficial overall -- I married him after all and he's still adorable). I understand the need and desire to talk to someone who's trained for this thing. I also understand the need to have an outside and neutral perspective to help mediate discussion with couples sometimes. We all need that and sometimes friends and family, while lovely sounding boards, aren't always the best people for sound advice.

"Good enough" sometimes sounds like a dirty phrase -- it's like, "It's not perfect, but it will do....I guess." But it's also an incredibly forgiving phrase. It gives you the leeway to forgive yourself and others, get up the next day and try and do better. And if you fuck up, it still will be alright. I remember reading about the idea of "good enough" parenting in a book and feeling liberated. No matter what, things will be alright, despite what the experts may say about my parenting choices.

Where was I? Oh yeah, marriage. From my perspective, after 10 years of marriage and four years of dating Jeff before he proposed, I think that the phrase "good enough" is pretty high praise. I trust him. I go to him for his counsel and we work together to attain the following goals:

1. Keep our daughter alive and happy.
2. Keep the house from burning down.

The rest is gravy.

But we haven't gone the way of becoming a hive mind. We are still separate individuals, with separate tastes. I get restless and have to go out and clear my head, but I will always return. He sometimes needs to sink himself into video games and disappear, but he always returns. We do battle, but it always feels good -- like there's been some progress made, even if it was a complaint aired.

I sometimes wonder if people define marriage by what they see with others, or what they're told it should be by others. Marriage is tricky -- basically it's what the two people involved are fine with -- it may not be perfect, but it's good enough.

And I like good enough. But I'm also admittedly a slacker.

I'm curious to hear other people's thoughts on this issue. What do you think -- is "good enough" good enough?

TALK TO THE MOOSE!

I quick saw this ad on The Bad Moms Club, which referred to a Jezebel article that called the ad a "something very Sparkle Motion/Little Miss Sunshine about it, especially at the :08 mark."

I'll let you be the judge:



Other than the fact that there is no way in hell I'm buying Gap at full price for my kid (HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE PRICES? I'M NOT BUYING $30 SWEATERS FOR A KID TO WEAR ONE YEAR), I have no objection to the ad. But I've seen the girls in my neighborhood do that same dance and I don't think that there's anything sexual about it. I've even seen my daughter do the hip shimmy because she learned it from me. It's more the idea movement and rhythm. It reminds me of all the cheerleading stuff that I'd see in junior high and high school.

And I was in high school in 1861 -- when Lincoln was elected President. You would be amazed to see how those cheerleaders rocked the moves in a full hoop skirt and bustle.

Sometimes I wonder in our vigilance to keep kids as innocent as possible, we, as adults, start seeing everything through a sexual lens. Sometimes a little booty shake is just a fun way of expressing yourself -- not the next step to pole dancing. However, I would also hope to see a bunch of little boys do the same kind of ad for the Gap. Not because I like the ads (because honestly, they make me want to stab the holidays and step dancing), but because I'd like to see some gender equality.

NaBloPoMo: Not with a bang, but a whimper

So I did it! I completed all 30 days of NaBloPoMo. This post is the last one for the month, and I have to say that it's been an interesting month overall.

I have to say that I don't feel like I accomplished anything at all. I don't feel like my creative muscles got stretched or that I feel more creative. Really, I feel like I half-assed my way through this month. It could be that I am unnaturally hard on myself, but that doesn't matter. If you don't have the results you want, you're not happy. And really, I am the person I have to live with. If it's not good enough for me, well then, I'm pissed.

Reading my friend K.'s post about her finishing NaNoWriMo, I was struck by this:

So yeah, do something pointlessly creative today, if that's your thing. Draw a cool picture, strum a little song, punch a poser in the face (oh wait, er...) Anyway, do something fun and creative. You don't have to share it. Unless you want to :)

Besides the idea of punching a poser in the face (which I'm always tempted to do), I think that her post is a reminder of all the little half-projects I have sitting around. The half-baked concepts, the cool scenes, the random characters that swim around and are written about, but then left half-finished.

I will start with a whine -- I've noticed that since I had my daughter, it's harder to write. Which is weird. I had a job that I worked 10-14 hour days sometimes and I still managed to write on this blog and come up with ideas. I noticed that with NaBloPoMo, after the Empress of the Universe went down for the night, I would often sit and stare at the screen, drooling slightly like I had lost my damn mind. No words would flow. I couldn't write about all the ideas that I had in my head.

They say that when you have a kid, some of your brain cells die. I think that there's something to that. I mean, I can't focus on writing sometimes anymore. I don't feel like I have anything to say. Or what I have to say is proto-thoughts -- they're not even at the point where I can write them down.

This isn't an announcement that this blog is shutting down. Oh hell no. I just don't think that I can do a post everyday. The fermenting time for my ideas is taking longer and requires more patience. I suppose it's because most of my brain is now occupied by this:



Seriously, the pitch that this kid sings in is enough to make you do that "Dog-In-Pain-Thanks-To-High-Pitched-Whistle". This isn't a slight against the kid in the wheelchair -- I think it's a good educational tool to point out differences and how kids shouldn't fear them. I'm just saying that the pitch the kid is singing at is PAINFUL. And it's one of my kid's favorite videos. I think she's trying to torture me.

So yeah, I can't promise that I will post everyday or that everything will be a gem, but I would say please be patient with me. I think that right now I have to learn a new way of writing that meshes with my family life and other responsibilities. I know things may change years from now, but that's YEARS. I don't think I can keep my narcissism and exhibitionism bottled up for that long.

Motherhood on film

Maybe it's because I can be overly defensive at times, but lately, when I hear the word "motherhood" in the mainstream media, I get nervous. I think it's because a lot of times, I don't feel like the true image of motherhood is portrayed in media -- or that they're trying too hard to get it right and, as a result, they overshoot the mark into "BULLSHIT" land.

So when I saw this trailer for the movie "Motherhood", I was a little nervous:



However, I was pleasantly surprised. It feels more real than a lot of other movies that feature mothers. I think it helps that it was written and directed by a mother of two children and it also features Uma Thurman -- who's a mother of two. It also features Minnie Driver, who's a mom, and Anthony Edwards, who is a father of four.

It also helps that I find the trailer pretty funny -- celebrating both the foibles, sadness and insanity that we have to deal with as parents as well as the really sweet moments that happen. Maybe that's why I like some parenting blogs like Dooce and others -- it helps because you don't feel alone (especially important as a new parent) and when you rant about something there's a ton of other people nodding their heads and going, "Yep. Been there, done that."

In an interview, I think the director says it best when she said that in movies mothers are often portrayed as patient, lovely, saints or evil she-bitches. And it's not as simple as that. It's an incredibly complicated thing. The fact that a movie is trying to capture that makes me hopeful. It's a complex thing, but if done right, it'll make a lot of people get a better understanding of how this whole parenting thing works.

Four in the morning is no time for rational thoughts.

Last night was a rough one. While Jeff headed to work for a late night computer thing, Benevolent Dictator woke up at midnight crying and I had to soothe her back to sleep (it's amazing how 17 verses of Itsy-Bitsy Spider can calm a kid down) and get her an extra blanket for bed.

She then woke up at 3:30 a.m. crying, then calmed herself down. I thought I heard Jeff's voice talking and assumed he was rocking her back to sleep. Then after she quieted down, I headed to the bathroom (because apparently now, when you get me up at night, I HAVE to pee).

I took a glance at the library, no Jeff. So I assumed he wasn't home. Then I began to wonder about what I had exactly heard.

The thoughts you have at 3:30 a.m. are not rational thoughts. I thought about all the horror stories I had read as a kid. Like the urban legend about the killer who left the note, "Dogs aren't the only things that can lick," the opening to the Graveyard Book and my personal favorite: "Can't sleep. House will eat me." So obviously I can't sleep, and I'm trying to calm myself down thinking rationally. My daughter is safe. She calmed herself down. It's time to go to sleep. Then suddenly the room seems to have gone darker.

Which sounds weird. It's night time. It's supposed to be dark, but in this modern age, with all the glowing clocks, LED lights, etc, our house is never truly pitch black. So when a light dims, the house does get a little darker. My brain, full of worry, starts to get fearful.

Then I hear the toilet flush. In a house where I think I'm the only one awake. My daughter is not toilet trained and she sleeps in a crib. Now the fear is replaced by full-blown panic.

Mustering up my courage, I wander downstairs and while I rationally know it's Jeff, I haven't seen him yet or heard him. I don't know for certain that he's home. He could still be at work. So there's no proof that he's in the house. The bathroom light is on and the door is cracked. I push the door open.

And to my husband's credit, he didn't scream when he saw his sleepy, deranged wife open the door (when he thought she was sleeping). I would've screamed.

"What are you doing up?" he asked.

It's a testament to love that he listened to my insane ramblings about the house trying to eat me, serial killers and ghosts, hugged me, told me that he had come home at 2:30 a.m. and was talking on Ventrilo on the computer (which is why I heard his voice) and was waiting for another call from work. After calming down a wife with an overactive imagination, he came up to bed and with me snuggling up against him, we both fell asleep.

So yeah, today I'm not really coherent. I'm hoping to find my will to live in the pot of coffee. I'll let you know if I do.

Yet another cop out

So I know I should write something, but it's bloody late and I am already in bed. I have no excuses, but for NaBloPoMo, I feel the need to write something. So here it is. I got up late today, had scrambled eggs and ham for brunch, played with my kid for most of the day and then played D&D tonight. Not a bad day overall.

Happy Turkey-Eating Day!

So I have a moment to breathe before the next act of THANKSGIVING: THE TURKEYING! and I figured that I'd take a moment, sit down and write out a list of everything that I'm thankful for. A lot of these things are obvious: Health, family, friends, love, etc. Some of them not so much. But it's always a reminder that no matter what, there are things to be grateful for:

Sesame Street online for giving me enough time to cook while my kid surfs the web and plays games. Jeff for being a sweet husband, with enough push to remind me that I don't rule the roost all the time. My daughter for being the shortest and funniest partner in crime I've ever had. Afternoon naps. U2 -- always U2 for inspiring me to be a better person. Green and Black's organic dark chocolate bars. Good wine. Snarkfest and forum folks like Genevieve, Kiran, Brainchild, Bookworm, Particle Person, Laurien_Kit, MollieWollie and many others who make me laugh and give me a place to go crazy with my pop culture ideas. Craig Ferguson's dancing puppets. Keidra for encouraging my insane ideas. Sid for her thoughtful discussion on race, gender and hot men. Christina for quick medical advice and NKOTB insanity. My sister and her family for being awesome (and my sister for those late night conversations that give me perspective on life). My mother, while she may drive me crazy, the woman will help me out when I ask for it. My grandmother for always being amused by my granddaughter. Funky socks. A good backrub. The Tudors (aka Ye Olde Yellye Sexe Showe). Henry Cavill for being a hot geek. My friends -- Abby, Joe, Heather, Aaron, Sarah, Erich, Jenno, Alan, Eva and many more for welcoming my daughter and doting on her. My neighbors and their kids who offer good laughs and have taught my daughter many things about playing with others. The fact that the Verona Public Library's self checkout comes with a "Pirate" language option. Spa Pedicures. Pumpkin Lattes. Sleeping in until past 9 a.m. The fact that Netflix is streaming on our Tivo. My mother-in-law for being a friend as well as a family member. My in-laws in general for being family. My nieces, Ally, Jena and Sami, for bringing that girly touch of pink when you need it. Tea parties. Mo Willems. Reginald Von Hoobie Doobie. Kevin Henkes. Lily and her purple plastic purse. Maddie, Elliott and Mali for being generally awesome. How I Met Your Mother. Twitter. Blogger. Journalists who still go out and get the story, despite the shitty pay and insane hazards. Sunny days. Hot chocolate. Threadless t-shirts. Legos. Sonic's Cherry Limeade. Popcap games. Dinosaurs. Totoro. Tea and cookies. Ninjas and Pirates. Webcomics. A quiet moment before the child wakes up from a nap.

There are many more things I am thankful for, but right now I can't remember them all. However, I would like to wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving/four-day-weekend. May your day be filled with family and fun.