Reflecting on the "F" Word

It's been a particularly emotional couple of weeks for me and that's saying something given that I'm always emotional. I think it's fair to say the "F" word was the source of my emotion overload. Yes, family has a way of affecting us like nothing else can. It can bring out the best in us and the worst. It can be a source of great joy and utter misery. We may relish the laughter of shared memories, and at the same time struggle with the disappointment of unmet expectations. We can take comfort in the power of forgiveness, or live with the bitterness of unresolved issues. Family is a big bundle of crazy that we can't imagine (though sometimes we wish we were) living without.

My family has tapped into my every emotion in the past two weeks. It started with Rob and Ian traveling to Mexico City on a week long church mission trip. I was concerned for their safety, proud of their willingness to serve, and a bit envious that the two of them were spending that special time together. I also was lonely. With communications limited to three brief text messages, for the first time in my marriage I acutely felt Rob's absence.
I discovered I missed my husband. While it sounds terrible, I confess that I'm not someone who pines for my spouse when we're apart. With phone calls and email and Facebook updates, it's hard to feel truly separated. But when Rob wasn't here and I couldn't call him and didn't know how he and Ian were, and there was no opportunity to share and take comfort in the mere the presence of the person with whom I share my life, my heart hurt. I was reminded of how much I love him and how blessed I am. Missing him was good for me.

Two days after Ian and Rob returned home, I left for three days, thereby maintaining the warm fuzzies that came from missing them. I headed to the mecca of Waretown, NJ along Barnegat Bay for a getaway with my parents and sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were home from Colorado for their semiannual visit. Time with my sister Dawn was spent laughing at painful memories of falling off my bike, competing in plank challenges (which I won both times), swatting green head flies on the boat while crabbing, and playing numerous games of Bananagrams (of which I am the champion). Unfortunately, on the first night of our visit, my mom learned that her sister Janet had died, nearly two years to the day that her sister Glenna passed away. My mom was one of five girls in her family. There are only two of them left, and this causes my mom considerable grief and pain.

When Irving Berlin wrote "Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters" he clearly had my mom and my aunts in mind. There existed a bond between those women that I've never seen before and likely never will experience personally. Interestingly, the closeness they shared is is in sharp contrast to the relationships my aunts often had with others, whether it be their husbands or their own children. In fact, in my Aunt Janet's obituary, there was no mention of her oldest son. They stopped talking decades ago, evidence of how easily relationships can be destroyed by an unwillingness to forgive and forget.

Last summer's photo.
We forgot to take one this year.

Irving Berlin did not write a song about my sister and me. While there is no bitterness or underlying root cause for the distance between us (literally and figuratively), I must confess to a level of disappointment with the way things are versus the way I'd like them to be. I would like Dawn to move home (or within reasonable driving distance). I would like Dawn to at least want to move home. I would like her to be sad when it's time to say goodbye. I would like it if we would start telling each other "I love you." While I don't expect to achieve the level of closeness my mom had with her sisters, I know Dawn and I could have more, but I don't know how to get us there.

Dawn's visit home coincided with my church's annual mission trip to western North Carolina. A truly family affair, this trip brings together all ages for a week of work and fellowship that has to be experienced because no description can do it justice. Obviously I did not go on the trip this year because I wanted to spend time with my sister. Abby, however, more than adequately represented the MacShimer family.

Abby on the roofing site with her MPC family.

Since she returned home on Saturday evening, I've lost count of the number of times Abby wished she were back in Banner Elk. For the first time in her life, Abby, who thinks a 30 minute car ride is torture, was sad to see a nine-hour car ride end (she had traveled with friends). Despite the fact that she was leaving for Avalon on Sunday to spend time with three girls from school, Abby actually seemed weepy when she repeated for the umpteenth time that she "didn't want to be home," but wished she could return to NC (which makes me sad, though I'm trying not to take it personally).

Car ride buddies (plus the Hicks girls)

The Sunday church service following Banner Elk is always wonderful. Those who went on the trip wear their matching t-shirts. We watch a slide show of photos from the week. The praise band (which for the first time included Abby on guitar!) plays the same music, and a few individuals on the trip share their experience in place of a traditional sermon. Naturally, I cried during several parts of the service, partly because I was disappointed to have missed being there, and partly because I was overwhelmed with love for my church family. While the church, like our flesh and blood family, has its own issues, the grace and forgiveness that we extend to one another provides a foundation for the strongest relationships I've ever known. And I don't know if it's a "Christian thing" or if we're just lucky, but my MPC brothers and sisters so openly share their love. There's no awkwardness in a hug. There's no discomfort in saying "I love you." What a gift!

As I reflect on the experiences of the past two weeks, I realize how blessed I am to have more than one family who loves me. If you've been separated from a loved one, I pray for reconciliation and healing. The bonds of family should not be so easily broken.

11 Signs You Married the Right Guy (based on scientific research conducted with women who read nothing but romance novels)

I receive a daily email from Good Housekeeping. I do this because I like to pretend that someday I'll use that easy-to-make-with-home-ingredients facial mask, plant my own organic vegetable garden, and stitch that Home is Where the Heart Is sampler.

Last week my GH email featured the compelling headline: "11 Signs You Married the Right Guy." Being well aware that I married the right guy, I was eager to confirm how lucky I am. And, I'm all about lists these days. And Facebook quizzes that tell me which actor I should be with (Will Smith), which Downton Abbey character I'm most similar to (the Countess of Grantham), and where I should live (London). So the Good Housekeeping* lucky girl list went as follows:

1. He always brags about you. If you get a promotion at work or even just win concert tickets, he can't resist telling everyone you know before you even think to mention it. Because he's your biggest fan (arguably next to your mom).
2. Even after years together, he still does little chivalrous things for you. Like open doors for you or carry you to your doorstep when your feet hurt after wearing high heels all day and you just can't bear to walk one more step.
3. He doesn't try to change you. He knows you're messier than him, that you always need a pet cat, and can't cook to save your life, and all of that is all right by him.
4. "I miss you" isn't just a sweet thing you say. It's a reality. Even if it hasn't been that long (like, two hours) since you saw each other.
5. You can cry in front of him without feeling embarrassed. He knows when to worry and when you’re just caught up in a scene of a movie. 
6. When your friends complain about their significant others or the guys they've gone out with, you get kind of quiet because you don’t have much to contribute. You don’t want to brag, but you just don't have to deal with any of that nonsense because your significant other is great to you.
7. He’s close with your family, and he’s made sure you've gotten to know his. He’ll call your dad or your grandma without any hesitation. It just makes sense that you’d go to his nephew’s birthday party, even if he's not there. 
8. He cares about your friends. If one of them is having a bad day, he suggests you go spend time with her or invite her to join the two of you for dinner. If he hasn't heard someone’s name in a while, he asks how she’s doing. 
9. He lets you vent. Sometimes when something frustrates you, you just need to go over it again and again. He doesn't get annoyed at this, and he dismisses your apologies. The only thing that bothers him about the situation is that you’re upset and he wishes you weren't.
10. He tells you, out of the blue, that you look hot. And it’s on the day you didn't dry your hair or put on makeup or even change out of your T-shirt and sweatpants.
11. You can do things like travel together without fighting all the time. We've all seen (or been) that tragic couple fighting over where to get lunch at the airport. You can do tedious things with your S.O. without all this fighting.

My immediate reaction to this list is are you freakin' kidding me? "this is not for married people." At least not for people who've been married more than six months a year. Of all my married friends, only the couple without kids could possibly see themselves in this list. (Kids change everything.)

So let's dissect this. Actually, let's rewrite it so it reflects reality and not a romance novel:

1. He always brags about the kids. You brag about yourself to your mom and dad who think you're awesome for just waking up today.

2. Even after years together, he still does little chivalrous things for you. While he won't can't carry you to the doorstep when your feet hurt (because you've put on weight since you got married), he will go get the car so you don't have to walk as far. Then he'll give you sh*t for having worn high heels when he knows you're going to cry about them later.

3. He doesn't try to change you. He knows it's your job to change him. You know you're perfect just the way you are. And yes, he eats your lousy cooking just so he doesn't starve to death.

4. "I miss you" isn't just a sweet thing you say, it's actually bullcrap. It's code for "I'm having so much fun with the guys, but I don't want you to know because you'll make me feel guilty."

5. You can cry in front of him without feeling embarrassed. I You should hope so. If I was you were embarrassed to cry in front of my your husband, he'd never see me you. He knows not to worry because I'm you're just a emotional nutcase.

6. When your friends complain about their significant others, you get kind of quiet because their issues pale in comparison to yours. You don't want them to worry that you've married the wrong man.

7. He’s close with your family, and he’s made sure you've gotten to know his. And you both know there's a healthy dose of dysfunction on both sides. He’ll call your dad if house repairs are needed, and you'll be sick on the day of his nephew’s birthday party.

8. He cares about your friends. If one of them is having a bad day, he says, "Sucks being her, but I need you here to watch the kids so I can go to the gym for a couple hours." If he hasn't heard someone’s name in a while, he thanks God there's one less woman for him to deal with.

9. He lets you vent for about 10 minutes, during which time he wasn't listening anyway. Sometimes when something frustrates you, you just need to go over it again and again. He eventually gets totally annoyed at this 1) because he's watching the game, and 2) because if something needs fixing in your life, fix it already.

10. He tells you, out of the blue, that you look hot. And that's how you know it's time for sex.

11. You can do things like travel together without fighting all the time because you go to all-inclusive resorts where the drinks keep flowing and everyone is happy all the time.

Now that's much more accurate, don't you think?

Of course, this list in no way reflects my husband, because I know I married the right guy.

I just feel sorry for the rest of you.

*While Good Housekeeping was kind enough to share this terrific list, I recently discovered it was first published in Cosmopolitan, which explains a lot.

Not So Cruel to Be Kind

One of the gifts I requested and received for Christmas was a magnifying/make-up mirror. As I grow older and face the distinct possibility probability that it's time to start applying spackle and paint on a regular basis, I thought it important that I had an accurate view of my true self. When I saw the price tag on this fancy mirror, however, I decided it wasn't worth that kind of money to see myself in what is never a flattering light. Therefore, over the weekend, I returned the high-end mirror and picked up a cheap plastic one. It requires me to squint to avoid a distorted view, but shows my flaws just the same. Let me tell you, examining your face magnified 10x is no way to spend a weekend. I nearly rushed out to the Vietnamese nail salon and apologized for assuming they were scamming me when they recommended a whole-face wax.

While self deprecation is always good for a laugh, as a rule, I'm not terribly hard on myself, though I know my blog would lead you to believe otherwise. I'd say I'm more "self-aware" than "self-critical." I'm pretty good at acknowledging my flaws and weaknesses and accepting myself for who I am. That's one of the few benefits of age. What I still haven't figured out, however, is to how to deal with the criticism of others.

The old Kim would have criticized
his misspelling of Critisize.

Criticism can take a variety of forms, from the obvious "you are so stupid," to the thinly veiled, "I wish you would think before you speak." Criticism can be blunt: "I love you, but you're really not a very nice person;" or couched in concern, "I'm worried about your children growing up without discipline." Criticism can even be communicated with nothing more than a tone of voice or the curtness of a reply. Regardless of how it's delivered, it hurts, and over time those hurts begin to scar both our sense of self and our relationships.

I doubt there's a single one of us who can claim to have never criticized another, even someone we love. But, I'm becoming more aware of its effects. Though I don't usually bother with New Year resolutions, this year I decided that I need to be kinder to others, especially those I care about. I have to decide if I'm truly offering what I like to call "constructive criticism," or if I'm finding fault "just because." I also have to consider how I'm delivering the message, based on the person on the receiving end. One of my children, for example, reacts with strong emotion to what they perceive to be criticism or "being yelled at." Being yelled at, by the way, almost never involves actual yelling or raising my voice, but that's the way it's perceived. Their reaction is usually anger, followed by profound hurt. It can be a challenge to not react in the moment so that both parties aren't frustrated and saddened by the exchange.

Our relationships might be overwhelming positive and full of love, but memories of being judged or scolded leave a definite mark. For example, I remember being criticized for things as unimportant as the cleanliness of my car or the clothes I chose to wear for Ian's baptism. And criticism (whether delivered or perceived) of the big things, like our parenting skills, cut particularly deep. To be criticized or seemingly disrespected by the people we love most leaves an ugly mark on what may otherwise be a wonderful relationship.

I think I take criticism so hard because I want nothing more than to please those who are important to me: my children, husband, parents, friends, boss, etc. I take great joy in those rare occasions when I clearly impress my spouse by adding something valuable to a conversation or managing a challenging situation all by myself (I'm such a big girl!). I still tell my parents about any success I have at work or something I manage to fix at home without my dad's help. This need for approval might be a Shimer girl thing. Even my sister -- who is considerably thicker-skinned than I am -- calls home after every performance evaluation (of course her evaluations result in bonuses worth more than half my salary). Just picking a good movie provides me with a sense of fulfillment.

Two of my favorite critics.

I might be am most likely more sensitive than the average person, but the hurt I feel when on the receiving end of criticism has opened my eyes to the negative, lasting effect I can have when I am the one dishing it out. Hence, my vow to be kinder and gentler in the year to come so that no one ever tells me I'm "not a very nice person."

The Top 10 Things I Love about My Best Friend

This is a special edition post in honor of my best friend's birthday. He hates when I blog about him, but why stop now?

Here, in no particular order, are the top 10 things I love about my husband:

1. He's really good at small talk - whether it's the guys at the parking garage or the president of a company. And it's genuine; never sleazy sales guy banter.
   
2. Speaking of sales, years ago someone told me that, in media ad sales circles, she'd never met anyone who didn't have good things to say about Rob. And in ad sales, that's saying something!
   
3. My parents, my sister and more than a couple of my friends enjoy talking to Rob more than as much as they enjoy talking to me.
   
4. My man can dance! Just come watch him in the kitchen.
   
5. He doesn't whine, blame, or make excuses, ever. You I might want to take a lesson or two from him.
   
6. Rob doesn't mind running errands with the kids, packing lunches, or changing the bed sheets. Three of my least favorite things to do.
   
7. He bought me Swedish fish and licorice for our anniversary, which in my mind means I don't need to worry about my weight.
   
8. His first impulse is to help someone in need, be it a stranger or a friend.
   
9. Years ago, when I still had stuffed animals lying around, he'd make them "talk" to me. I have fond memories of the duck banter.
   
10. His faith is quiet, but he lives it better than most "vocal" Christians I know. 

Of course, he's also an awesome dad, a reasonably good listener, makes an excellent spaghetti sauce, and can get me pretty great seats at Phillies games. 

Happy Birthday, Rob!
I may not be "the prettiest girl in the whole wide world" anymore,
but I'm still the luckiest.

Finding Light When Life is Heavy

It looks like 2013 is going to be the year I officially grew up. It's not so much that I feel older, but I think I've matured. I've had to. The past 12 months have been challenging. The loss of family and friends, adjusting to a new job and all that that entails, managing concussions, walking with my church family through the shocking events that have affected our spiritual home, raising increasingly teenage-like teens. You get the idea.

Given the heaviness, you might think I'd be craving more fluff in my life, especially on the entertainment front. More light and silly television, movies, reading material and even music. Surprisingly, that hasn't been the case. It occurred to me the other day that my choices in entertainment are increasingly reflecting the gravity of real life. It seems I've decided to put away childish things. Take television, for instance. In September 2011 I wrote a post dissing reality TV and confessing that, "When I turn to Hollywood entertainment for my ticket out of Funkville, I look for a dreamy escape, something that will make me laugh, or sigh (a happy sigh), or simply put my brain to rest for a short period of time." Back then I wasn't much of a television watcher, but I decided that it was time to see what I'd been missing. With my Entertainment Weekly 2011 Fall TV Preview issue in hand, I selected ten shows that I thought I would enjoy as mind candy. Two years later, six of those programs are still on the air and I've given up on all but one of them (Homeland). I exchanged Once Upon a Time for Scandal. Hart of Dixie is being replaced by Masters of Sex. I opted out of Glee. Even one of my former favorites, New Girl, is on borrowed time. It's not that I don't want to laugh, but it seems that what was once amusing is now silly, senseless or downright stupid. The dramas I've switched to better reflect my mood (and possibly my subconscious desire to sleep with the president, a terrorist and a sex researcher). Perhaps I've grown to realize that consuming fantasy and fluff doesn't make life any easier. Damn, that's depressing, isn't it?

Another tell-tale sign of this maturity trend is my Dial America magazine subscription. For years I've helped support the PA Special Olympics (at least that's what they tell me) with my yearly renewal of Entertainment Weekly. In 2013, however, I opted for TIME instead. Thought it was time I knew what was going on in the world. Though keeping up with the weekly issues is definitely a challenge, I must say that, three months in to the subscription, I already feel considerably smarter, albeit considerably more depressed about the state of our country and the world.

Then there are my choices in books. While I was never particularly fond of chick lit or Harlequin Romances, I did gravitate toward fiction. My last two reads? The Heart and the Fist: The Education of a Humanitarian, the Making of a Navy SEAL and Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. Both true stories. Both heavy. Heck, even my music's heavier and a little bit harder. All the better with which to vent my aggression and stress. Maybe I should go back to martial arts training, too.

The good news is that with all this weight I've taken on (including about five pounds), I was recently reminded of one source of light and lightness in my life. Believe it or not, it's a man. My husband, to be exact.

Rob and I spent the weekend in Charleston, SC where we met up with three of his fraternity brothers. Great guys. Funny-as-hell guys. Single guys. One is twice divorced and engaged. One is divorced and in a relationship. One has never been married. As fellow Fij came up in conversation, it became increasingly obvious that Rob's and my almost 19-year-old marriage is an anomaly. More importantly, it became obvious that I'm married to a man who understands what's important in life (me), whose values match my own, and who sees the world not through beer goggles rose-colored glasses or cynical eyes, but as it is -- the good and bad -- and never fails to recognize all of life's tremendous blessings.

Life can be heavy and hard, but I can take comfort in knowing that I'm married to a man who stands beside me and lightens whatever burden I carry. I may just try to do the same for him. 

A Love Story

I recall a conversation with a friend on the topic of greeting cards. More specifically, cards for her husband. Her husband is the demonstrative, lavish-shows-of-affection type and she's just about the complete opposite. Sometimes she feels guilty about this and on the rare occasion that the mood strikes, she'll pick up one of those warm and fuzzy, lovey-dovey cards for her man. Unfortunately, he often doesn't see them.

"I have good intentions, but by the time I planned to give it to him he's somehow irritated me again and the mood is lost." 

This leads me to the purpose for this post. A declaration of my love for my husband. I know this is not typical Kim territory. Positive, loving, and kind are generally not words associated with this freakin' angel, but the spirit is moving me today. I did consider waiting to share this on our anniversary (Jan. 7) or his birthday (Jan. 8), but there's the distinct possibility that he will tick me off by then. So here it is.

My husband Rob. A love story. Quit rolling your eyes and go with it.

Like every married couple, Rob and I have had (and will continue to have) our ups and downs. Our arguments are generally short-lived, but there are stretches of time when they seem to come more often than either of us would like. Some years overall seem tougher than others in every way, not just for our relationship. I recall 2011 being pretty crappy, but as we wind down 2012, I find myself smiling. Me, smiling? Weird, huh?

So what's made this a year worth smiling about? I think it was the way all the forces combined to remind, reassure, and reinforce what an amazing gift the love is between a husband and wife. More than a year ago Rob was suffering with extreme back problems that resulted in ER visits and ultimately surgery. I held his hand and tried to comfort him, but was otherwise helpless while he dealt with pain that actually made childbirth seem like a walk in the park. While my heart broke to see him in such agony, I think the brokenness, when healed, made my heart--and my love for him--even stronger. And this year when my depression brought me lower than I'd been in a decade, Rob took care of me. Never losing patience or avoiding the problem despite not truly understanding what I was experiencing because he hasn't been there himself. He simply loved me when I most needed loving.

Somewhere along the line Rob also started making a visible effort to be more involved on the home front with everything from housework and the kids to my ever-growing to do list. He knows my least favorite chores and takes them upon himself. He knows I hate running errands so he does the running. And he started doing whatever he could to deal with sick kids or their appointments so I wasn't always sacrificing my career to handle everything that came along. At the same Rob started pitching in, he became more attentive and affectionate. I used to tell him I always knew when he wanted something because his level of helpful activity and romantic gestures were blatantly obvious took a marked turn. Now I never know when he wants something because his good deeds are such a regular part of how he treats me. I'm never sure now when it's time for sex.This new approach to marriage was very disorienting for a while, but trust me, I've gotten used to it.

Don't get me wrong. Rob was never a lousy husband (I know a few of those). I never questioned his love for me. But like many women, there were times I felt like my biggest job as a wife and mother was making sure everything didn't fall down around us. We were in that rut that is so easy to fall into after 15+ years of marriage, two full time jobs and full-time kids and incredibly full lives. I truly believe having cared for each other through some difficult times and actually listening to each other's needs has brought us to this much better place. I don't know if it's Rob, the new job, or the correct combination of meds (probably all three), but I haven't felt this content, this thankful, or this light in a very long time.

Rob, I know you don't appreciate being the subject of my blog posts, but I hope you know this one was written in love to thank you for all you've done, all you're doing, and all you are to me. Now don't screw it up.

Living through the Change

When we marry, we hope that the things we love about our spouse will always stay the same, and that the things we can't stand don't care for will miraculously disappear or be significantly improved upon. More than one marriage has failed due to such unrealistic expectations. 

When I married Rob, the list of qualities I loved about him was (and is) long. About the only things I could hope would change were his home improvement skills and interest in yard work. I'm not holding my breath. Interestingly, while Rob hasn't morphed into Mr. Fix-It, a few years ago, seemingly all at once, he did make some other significant changes that I didn't see coming:.

• He joined a health club. And actually worked out. A lot.
• He started training for a triathlon.
• He seemed to be purchasing better shoes.
• He started wearing cologne.

Naturally I jumped to conclusions: He’s having an affair a mid-life crisis. Of course, it could have been worse. He could have purchased a sports car and a toupee instead of a road bike and gym membership. And thankfully he stopped wearing cologne after a brief while. I say thankfully not because I didn’t like the scent, but because my “bat shit crazy” self really did worry that something more than smelling good was up with that. I am also pleased to report that cologne was the only thing he dropped from his impressive list of changes. He is still working out, still training for a triathlon, and still wearing nice shoes. The bad news is that Rob has recently made yet another significant change in his life, and I worry about how it will affect our relationship.

Rob appears to be going vegan. Meat and potatoes Kim, married to a vegan?

Thanks to a documentary called Forks Over Knives, Rob has decided to primarily eat only those foods which do not come from animals with four legs. Or something like that. The difference is obvious, in my refrigerator and cabinets, anyway. There’s stuff in there I’ve never seen before. Like vegetables and fresh fruit. And whole grains. And more beans than one man (or woman, for that matter) should ever eat. And did I mention soy milk?

I asked Rob how I was supposed to cook for him now that’s he’s made such a major change to his diet. He responded with “Why start now?” The man has a point.

I know I should be pleased Rob is taking such good care of his health, but being the unsupportive and self-absorbed anxiety-ridden spouse that I am, all I can think about is how this affects me and the children. For example, there is much less space available in the fridge for stuff like soda, jello and pudding, and heavily processed baked goods. And there’s barely room for chips, sugary cereal, and mac-n-cheese in the cupboards. On top of issues of space, there is the issue of added expense. This healthy stuff ain’t cheap, meaning I should probably consider cutting back on the wine and takeout pizza. I also have concerns that Rob will turn into one of “those people” who live in Swarthmore and shop at the Co-Op. He actually brought home their membership brochure. And of course the biggest problem with Rob’s new diet is that it makes me feel bad about myself.

I know I should eat healthier, but I love the not-so-good-for-you stuff. It's my bread and butter, so to speak. I also come from a long line of not-so-healthy-eaters who live into their 90s with no health problems. And thankfully, I seem to have my dad's metabolism. In other words, the incentive just isn't there. I truly believe the only thing that would make me change my eating habits is an immediate threat to my life. As in “Step away from that beer, cheesesteak, and pierogie, or I’ll shoot.” And even then I might attempt to negotiate with my would-be assassin. 

In all seriousness, I’m thrilled happy that Rob is making such positive changes in his life. It would seem to indicate that he wants to live longer, probably so he can spend more time with me. Or, he wants to outlive me so he can enjoy a few years of solitude. Either way, good for him.

Living Up to the Stereotypes

A giggle, a toss of the hair.
All in a day's work on The Bachelor

Last week and again on Monday night, I watched "The Bachelor," purely for research purposes. Here are the top three things I learned in the first (and last) two episodes I will ever watch:

• Single women giggle ad nauseum when in the presence of a desirable man
• Pathetic single women are willing to stand in line to make out with the same man, regardless of "God knows what" being exchanged in all those sloppy seconds
• Men are oblivious to the evil schemes of desperate women, particularly when access to their brain is obscured by a woman's large...

While the women on "The Bachelor" reflect a dozen ditzy blonde (regardless of hair color) stereotypes, I can guarantee that the one woman "thing" you will never see them do on this program is nag. We typically save nagging until we're in a relationship. Yes, I went there. We women have a propensity for nagging. Now lest you think I'm dissing my own species with a blantantly anti-feminist statement, allow me to explain. First, you should know that nagging is Latin for "we truly know more than you do and you would be wise to listen." And historically, men who did not listen to their nagging infinitely wise women met with misfortune. For example:

Cleopatra imploring Caesar to watch his back.
His body language says "Woman, I know best."

• Cleopatra told Caesar repeatedly to "beware the ides of March," but did he listen? Nope. And he was stabbed (23 times) to death.
• The Queen of Sheba begged King Solomon to spend more time with their son Menelik because she feared he was on a dangerous path. Did he listen? Nope. And Menelik went and stole the Ark of the Covenant and we're still looking for it today.
• More recently, Calista Flockhart highly recommended that hubby Harrison Ford pass on a role in the 2010 movie "Cowboys and Aliens." He went for it anyway and it made the Rotten Tomatoes list of terrible films.

Women have different self-imposed guidelines for when they will nag share helpful advice. Some go public with it, while the more sophisticated among us prefer to limit our wisdom sharing to one-on-one time with our man. Keeping mum in public when instruction is needed, however, can have tragic consequences. Case in point: We recently spent time with friends, drinking and enjoying a rousing game of Apples to Apples. A lit candle sat on the table near the husband. He reached over the candle to pick up a card and the sleeve of his sweater was suddenly wrapped in flames. The wife's reaction?

I was going to say something because you kept reaching over the candle, but I didn't want to tell you what to do offer advice in front of friends.

The husband's response?

You regularly nag me about every little thing offer me helpful suggestions, but you chose now, when I could have caught fire, to give the nagging advice a break?

The lesson here is clear. Women were born with superior intelligence, reasoning skills, and a natural desire to nurture and care for our men. These are inherent traits that have caused countless divorces prevented many a tragedy. Men, if you would just listen to us, the world would be a much safer and productive place.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to call Rob and remind him to put down the toilet seat and ask him why he failed to bring in the trash cans last night. I swear, I have to do everything around here.

This One Goes Out to the One I Love

Tomorrow I leave for Key West with my best guy of 15 years, returning to our honeymoon location where apparently it's almost as chilly as our bedroom it is here. Yes, I've been in a state of wedded bliss for a decade and a half. Known the man for nearly 20 years. It's definitely time to move on. I couldn't be happier!

Marriage is a battle of the wits, requiring incredible stamina, tricky thing. Everyone tells you how much work it will be, just like parenting, but you don't really believe them. Especially in the beginning. You think there's nothing that will touch your happy union. But the reality is, all marriages see their ups and downs. The good news is that when you stick with it, give it all the love and attention it deserves, your marriage can thrive.

All goofing and marriage advice aside, I do want to announce to all of cyberspace how blessed I am to be married to my best friend. Yes, there are times when he makes me crazy (and vice versa) and I could fill a couple dozen blog posts with all the things I find maddening about him (and vice versa), but when it comes right down to it, there's simply no one else I'd rather spend my every moment with. This guy makes me laugh. He stimulates my mind. He holds me when I need to be held. He leaves me alone when I threaten to kill him. He makes me a better person.

I think the only thing that could come between me and my man is Greg Dobbs. If Greg leaves his wife and calls me, I'm outta here. But knowing how cool my husband is, he'd probably be okay with that.

I love you, Rob!

P.S. If you bring your laptop on our vacation or spend more than 10 minutes a day checking your Blackberry, there will be hell to pay.