Confessions of a Crazy Lady.

So, a few nights ago, the wicked witch came into my room and waved her wand over my head, sprinkled some crazy juice into my mouth and BAM! I turned into a 5 year old smack dab in the middle of a tantrum.

At least, that is my excuse. Really, I was just a 28 year old full grown woman ACTING like a 5 year old in the middle of a tantrum. And there was no wicked witch to blame. That outburst was all me.

I even said this to my husband, "I don't like you." I mean, let's all point to the girl in the room who needs a nap. Could I have said anything more embarrassing? I don't like you.... I have heard more 4 year olds proclaim that to their mommy's under their breath because their mom wasn't going to cut their pb&j sandwich in half. I almost wish I would have said something worse or more mean...at least it would have meant I was beyond the stage of bedtime pull-ups.

Marriage is difficult...and when you have to deal with baby Steph, it can also be exhausting, I am sure. Marriage is the most rewarding thing, but can be the most frustrating thing at the same time. And, when I get to the bottom of my issues with it, I come to this super annoying conclusion.

I want my husband to do for me what I am not doing for him.

On my drive to work yesterday morning, for some reason, I was picturing myself on a bike ride. And my tire popped. Because I filled it up too much, of course (SIDE NOTE - I am petrified of filling anything up with air for fear of it exploding in my face).  I pictured myself calling Scott and making him drive 20 minutes to come get me and my deflated tire.

And, he totally did it.

Then, as I was marvelling at story-time Scott's quickness to come to my rescue, I thought of what my reaction would have been if his tire had popped on his lovely bike ride.

And, in the middle of watching an Oprah re-run...in my comfy pants and messy hair bun...snacking on dried fruit...ok, oreos...I would answer his call for help...and if I am honest...

be completely annoyed that I had to interupt my uber important activities to go get him.

And OUCH. My daydream instantly became my own personal Dr Phil show.

I am selfish.  Crap.  I mean, really selfish.  I remember hearing Gordy Smith say during a Marriage Matters class that marriage is NOT 50/50. It is each person giving 100. And, man, I struggle with that.

As much as I see marriage as a partnership, I fail to see it as something that I give 100% to no matter what. I want more than I am willing to give. It's not like I keep a tally in my head of how many times I have made him dinner compared to how many times he has or anything like that. That kind of stuff doesn't bother me. But, if I were completely and embarrassingly honest, I spend more time focusing on what he isn't being for me emotionally than what I am not being for him.

I am quick to let him know where he is failing on the emotional attentiveness scale. But, the second he tells me something that bothers him, I have a hard time shutting up and taking it in without thinking of valid reasons as to why I did what I did.

I heard a line in a movie the other night that hit me kind of hard. The wife asked the husband why he did something (that he soo didnt enjoy but she enjoyed)....and he said, "because it matters to you".

And of course, my first thought was, "THERE SCOTT! See?? You should compliment me and my post-baby body that I am not proud of to make me feel better about myself...not because it is true...but, because that matters to me!!! And also, please, for the love of God, TAKE ME TO A MUSICAL!"

When, I should have thought "Steph, even though you don't understand why it is so important to turn every light off in the room when you leave it or close every cabinet door when you are done...do it. Because it matters to your husband. And also, please, for the love of God, stop asking him to TAKE YOU TO A MUSICAL!"

There are a lot of things in life that seem like a constant battle...trusting God with my life and path...believing the best in people...choosing other's needs before your own...

What I am learning though, is it seems like a constant battle...because it IS. And I can't run from it. I can't spend my days imagining and skipping through the fields with a basketfull of flowers and jellybeans.

But, also, I can't go through my days thinking that my marriage could be better if my husband were better. My marriage will be better when I, again, shut up and take inventory of my own crap and start working that stuff out.

Man, for someone who loves to talk, I feel like a lot of my lessons lately have started with the phrase, "shut up..."

This could be a problem for a girl who uses all 297,879 words a day. Plus some.

I Can Never End On A Serious Note. You'll See.

Next week, I will be married for 6 years to Scott. And on the majority of those days, I am more than happy that I married him. On other days, I want to shout from the rooftops "DONT EVER GET MARRIED!!!!".

I know, awful right? But, I can't be the only one who is madly and deeply in love with her husband but has never felt more dislike for another human being than him at times. How is it that I can grab him and kiss him and tell him that I couldn't imagine my life without him one minute and then look at him with disdain the next?

I have used my best words on him. And my worst. I have seen the best in him. And the worst. I married a boy who is turning into a man before my eyes. And turning into more of a boy before my eyes.

I love that he plays video games with his friends. I hate that he plays video games with his friends. I love that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I hate that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I love that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. I hate that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. You get my drift...

The selfish and bratty and immature and lazy side of me HATES how much work marriage takes. How much time is spent talking and arguing and discussing and apologizing and working things out. The female side of me wants to marry a woman on a strictly platonic basis just so I can have someone who cooks with me and for me and goes to rom com's and spends hours talking and trying on eachother's clothes.

But ladies, can you IMAGINE being married to us? I mean, some days I think Scott is bad...please read above and you will see how fickle I can be! "Scott, I love that you have some good friends that you get to spend time with" to "SCOTT! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET OFF OF THAT $#%& XBOX AND COME UPSTAIRS AND EAT DINNER WITH YOUR WIFE WHO COOKED FOR YOU AFTER A FULL DAY OF WORK AND TWO HOUR DRIVE HOME WEARING HEELS THE WHOLE TIME AND A PONYTAIL THAT HAS NOW GIVEN HER A HEADACHE"

I mean, if I thought he was bad...

And this is the strange world of marriage. Even on our darkest days, I don't want to argue with anyone else. Even during the moments where I want to throw the pasta I cooked for him AT him, I wouldn't want to picture anyone else covered in marinara and noodles. Well, maybe our dogs only because that would be a really cute picture.

In a world where I see more and more friends separating and divorcing and cheating and hurting.... I would take my disfunctional at times, hilarious at times, heartbreaking at times, crazy at times, but always honest about it marriage.

And to my friends who are in the middle of one of those marital moments...You know, the, I would rather pull my hair out one by one than have to re-hash this issue again with you type of moment..

Please keep re-hashing. And keep working. And keep fighting. And keep loving. And whether you are laughing or crying or compromising or talking or yelling or whispering or cuddling...be ALL IN.

Just be All In.

And if it gets really rough, remember, they look pretty darn good naked.

This always helps.

Go Figure.

I am meeting with a new counselor next week. Her name is Gail. I hope she is better than what I am picturing a female pychiatrist by the name of Gail to be. Let's start our time off by clearing one thing up, Gail. I do not like closing my eyes and picturing serenity. I want you to yell at me and tell me what I am doing wrong and maybe slap me across my face and shake my head in your hands and say, "Get ahold of yourself woman!!". Now that would be awesome.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.

See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.

Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.

And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.

People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"

So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.

Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.

Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.

Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.

Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?

You.

I remember asking you to write letters with me to our 3 babies when we took a trip to the Dells. And you layed there on the blanket at the park in Devil's Lake. uncomfortable. wanting to be somewhere else. not because you didn't want to acknowledge them or face what we were facing. but because you and I grieve so differently. and this was a part of my grieving and not yours. but you wrote. and you let me cry. and you folded up those letters into a little envelope and let me have them.

I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.

I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.

I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.

I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.

But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.

And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.

I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...

Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.

And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.

I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...

Because I want to tell you. that you.

are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.

What I Meant to Say Was...

I'm surrounded by love. Yet, I struggle accepting love.

So, when Scott looks at me and says I am sorry. And I look at him and say, I dont believe you. What I mean to say is, I dont believe that I am deserving of somebody to want to be better for me.

When I say, I want to be alone. I mean to say, I need to collapse and I don't want to bother you with my collapsing.

I am realizing more and more how hard it is for me to fully accept love from others.

I notice when I get slightly frustrated when people ask me how I am doing. And I am not frustrated with them. I am frustrated that I need them. I am frustrated that I might have to depend on someone other then myself and God.

I notice when I argue with Scott and he puts his arms around me, I stiffen. Not because I am mad at him. But, because I am trying to push the lump back down my throat and pretend like his love isn't unconditional towards me.

Something inside of me sees love and wants to run in the other direction because love means that you will be inconvenienced. And I, personally, love the inconvenience of it. The "I'm coming over to your house" or the "I need to talk right now". I love to love others. But, I am very uncomfortable with someone, especially Scott at times, loving me. Someone being inconvenienced for me.

I am an independent woman and I have always taken great pride in that. But, the more and more I search, I am seeing that much of my independence is a guard. It keeps you, my family, my friends, my husband from having to take care of me.

It keeps you from having to take care of me. man, there it is. I am afraid that if I ask, you won't want to.

As embarrassing and humiliating as it is for me to even think it. When I say, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I don't need anything. I'm 27 and can take care of myself. I'll get through it. People have it much worse, etc...

What I mean to say is, I want someone to take care of me and I'm afraid that you won't want to.