Bitter Old B*tches

My husband is just shy of twenty-years older than me.  That might seem weird to some (and society in general), but we get along very well and it's really not an issue with us.  I asked him once why he was interested in dating me instead of someone his own age and he replied that most of the women over 40-years of age were bitter old b*ches.  I thought that was a rather harsh assessment, but nodded and filed that information away in my brain's filing system.

He may have been correct!

I can't count the number of times that we've been out to dinner or out with our son and some menopausal old bag is glaring daggers in our direction.  I'll ask him if he knows the witch in question and he inevitably does not.  So he does not know this woman and she feels the need to be so up in our business that she can feel offended by our very relationship?  What a bitter old b*tch!

Seriously, what gets up in some women's twats that they get so pissy and b*tchy as they age?  Sure young women aren't exempt from the bitchiness, but they don't have the stink of bitterness on them and that bitterness is so unappealing and unattractive.  And, damn, some woman are just bitter old b*tches!

My hubs and I were at the grocery store last night.  I spotted a woman who looked remarkably like his ex-wife (well, as she looked when I saw her last - around five years ago or so) as we walked in and I mentioned it as I was feeling up the produce.  I say feeling up because he asked if I was planning to mouth the zucchini that I was inspecting prior to bagging it.  Whatever - some of us don't want to purchase sub-par produce and we thoroughly inspect every single vegetable and fruit that we purchase.  (I note that this could be the reason why the produce boys pop boners whenever I show up in their department!  haha)

Anyway, I said that I thought I'd seen his ex-wife.  He replied that I must have been mistaken because we don't exactly live around the corner from her and her husband.  I laughed and agreed that it would have been hella weird if it had been his ex-wife since we were so far from where they live.  That's pretty much it. 

I didn't talk any sh*t.  I didn't carry on about me being twenty-years younger than her.  I didn't say that I stole my husband from his first wife (I did not, by the way!)  I really don't have anything negative to say about her at all because she was somewhat hospitable toward me when we visited her home (it was a weird visit to make, BTW) and her mother is simply delightful!  Actually, I rather like my husband's former mother-in-law and my son likes her very much too!  We really are a weird family, right?

And this was it.  I wasn't an arrogant younger woman, lording her youth over an older woman.  I wasn't being a jerk.  I wasn't doing or saying anything that I'd be ashamed to say in front of my entire church congregation.

But for some reason, for some freaking bullsh*t reason, a woman gave me the stink eye over this convo. . .this convo that she was eavesdropping on.  I didn't realize at first that this cow was glaring daggers at us, but I did eventually become aware that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up so I turned around.  I turned around to see a middle-aged (not middle aged like me, but like really middle aged) old bag with her eyes narrowed to slits and pointed in my direction.  She looked at hubs, looked at me, noted our son, and huffed off with her sack of walnuts. 

Whiskey.  Tango.  Foxtrot.

Seriously.  What the f*ck was her problem?  We are a happy family and I'm guessing that our happiness is evident even to strangers.  Who in the heck would have a problem with a happy family? 

Bitter old b*tches, I guess.

My husband told me that it's to be expected. . .that women of a certain age don't like or trust me because I'm obviously okay with mating with men of a certain age and that makes them (the women) feel insecure.  Add in that men of a certain age find me irresistible and I'm in a real pickle. 

You know what?  I call bullsh*t on the entire situation!  F*ck them if they have a problem because it's not my f*cking problem!

I am not a homewrecker.  I would have never, never, never broke up a marriage.  My husband's ex-wife left nearly ten years before I showed up on the scene.  Get that?  He was unmarried for nearly a decade before I came along to light up his life. 

Nonetheless, how dare this old bag judge me and cast her baleful glare at me?  She doesn't know jack sh*t about our relationship and my guess is that she was projecting.  I didn't sex up her husband - yeah, I'm assuming her hubs left her.  I am not the reason that she is alone and buying sh*tty meals for one in a grocery market.  I am not to blame here. . .and yet she projected all of her negativity toward me and it makes me regard her as a bitter old b*tch.

Hubs tells me that I should calmly walk up to those women (we see & note them fairly frequently) and proclaim all sorts of silliness.  Basically, to give them something to actually get worked up over.  Things like, "He never told me he was married, but I just had to have him so he divorced her for me," or "Your husband never really meant anything to me. . .but this guy (my hubs) made me give up all those middle-aged married men."  My hubs has a sicker sense of humor than me at times and that's really saying something!

I love my husband because he gets me as no other person on the planet can possible understand me; we are truly two peas in a pod - well, three peas now and hopefully four eventually!  Anyone who comes up with some snarky reason behind our relationship can EABOD and DIAF!  Seriously, just F-off!

I know we are May-December. . .but it doesn't matter to us.  Why does it matter to anyone else??

Happy 10th Un-iversary

Happy un-iversary to me!  Today would have been my tenth anniversary had I not somehow found the good sense to flee my first marriage.  I'm a little surprised that it has already been ten years.  I would have bet money that it was only a few years ago that I first walked down the aisle to completely give myself to another human being.  It really is true that the years seem to fly by as you grow older. . .

What about that marriage?  I went from being optimistic about the future with the person who is my ex-husband to having my spirit so totally crushed and broken that the only way to escape the pain was to drink myself unconscious every night.  I rapidly became the very definition of a highly functioning alcoholic.  I would think about drinking when I wasn't drinking and I started drinking from the moment I walked in my front door until I blissfully passed out at night.  There reached a point where I didn't even bother with a glass because it was just one more thing that I'd have to clean and it wasted time to pour.  Eventually, I simply disappeared upstairs with my booze and didn't go back downstairs until it was time to go to work in the morning. 

I did little more than work, laundry, housecleaning, cooking, and hard drinking.  More than hating him, and I burned with a furious hot anger toward him, I hated myself.  I hated my life.  It was only natural that my mind frequently dwelled in the darkest places one can go and my introspection only led me to one conclusion. 

I hated my own cowardice that all I could bring myself to do was fondle and mouth my cocked revolver.  How I longed for the guts to pull just a little more on that trigger!  I can still recall the weight of that gun in my hand, the fear that it might slip and I'd only receive a non-fatal wound.  That led me to snake the weapon down from my temple, across my cheek, and pushed firmly into my open mouth.  I'll never forget what that cold metal barrel felt like resting on my tongue, against my teeth and lips.  It's something that I hope to never taste again.

Being full of "her body, her choice," I felt it was my right to take a life that was in my control - my own.  Thankfully, there was another option - divorce - and I took it.  I've often referred to divorce as "the atomic option" and it really is. . .every now & then it's necessary to drop an atomic bomb.  Sure, it burns you too and leaves you suffering with radiation poisoning, but it beats the hell out of the casualties associated with fighting a more traditional marital war.

Interestingly enough, I knew from the wedding night that I had made a huge mistake.  And that is all I will say on that.  I realize now that it would have been easier to simply annul the marriage the following Monday, but I am not a quitter and I hate failing so I tried my best to stick it out.  I figured that I could make it work.  In my naivete, I didn't realize that it takes more than just one to make a marriage work.

I lasted until December 30, 2002.  That's the day I reclaimed my spirit and I filed for divorce.  I was so miserable being married that I swore I would never do such a stupid thing again.  I wasn't swearing off men, of course, I just wasn't going to tether myself to them and was definitely going to keep my options open.  That lasted exactly one date. . .that's all it took for me to know that my hubs was someone special, someone to cherish, someone to love.  Yes, I married my rebound guy.

I find it odd that I cried the day that the State of California recognized the dissolution of my first marriage.  I wasn't sad that I was divorced; I was sad that I had failed.  I sobbed in the arms of the man who I would marry just two short years later.  Hubs didn't judge me for my tears and he actually encouraged me to continue processing the grief that accompanied the loss of that marriage. 

I must confess that I do kind of have mixed feelings about this being what would have been my tenth anniversary.  That's not to say that I regret my decision to burn that marriage to the ground.  It's just that I realize my happiness with my hubs and our son would have never been possible had I not suffered through that dark and helpless period of time.  I don't think that I could have appreciated what a wonderful man I married had I not first married a less-than-wonderful person.  The years have allowed me to look back and give thanks for even that misery. . .it is so true that everything - everything - can be used for good.

Misunderstanding May-December Marriages

I watched a short movie the other day while my son took his afternoon nap.  The description caught my eye for a couple of reasons:  it was about book editors and it featured a May-December romance.  I have been working on four books (in 3 different genres!) for more years than I care admit and I am in a May-December marriage so I figured that Suburban Girl would be right up my alley.  After pushing myself to watch the entire thing, I think it belongs up the screenwriter's ass.

I wrote about my May-December marriage one year ago.  The only thing that has changed since then is that we are both one year older and I'm pregnant again.  We get along shockingly well and I would guess that our relationship is similar to any other couple who has been married for 5 1/2-years.  We have a significant age difference, but I'm pretty sure that we have the same hopes and concerns as any other couple raising young children together.

Sure, my husband is in his 50s, but it isn't like we spend our evenings discussing retirement plans or whether Metamucil works.  My knowledge about pop culture is not limited to the pages of Star or In Touch and I can't think of a single time that he's brought up a topic related to celebrity or history that I know nothing about.  Similarly, I don't only want to talk about whatever it is that 30-something women like to talk about and, thanks to a daily dose of the internet, he's always known who I'm talking about when I mention the latest celebretard or pop tart.

This movie I watched took great pains to depict a May-December romance that fits society's pre-conceived notions.  The man is emotionally damaged and self-destructive, a lecherous chauvinist with a taste for young female flesh.  The object of his desire is fresh and naive, in need of a hand up in life.  A slightly kinky Cinderella, if you will.  Ultimately, they are just too different and, thanks to his support and tutelage, she has grown enough as a woman to walk away and move on by herself.  Fade to black and roll the credits.  It's so damned cliche and predictable that I could have churned out the entire screenplay in about an hour. 

May-December relationships don't necessarily have such significant inequality and I submit that problems will manifest in any relationship built on such a lopsided foundation.  I believe that statement to be true even if both partners are the same age.  I don't know why I feel the need to rant about this issue.  I guess because May-December relationships are an easy target for derision since they aren't the norm.

Why do I think my May-December marriage works?  Because my husband doesn't act like he's my teacher and I don't take the role of his student.  He's not my father and I am not his daughter.  He is not my mentor, he is my husband. . .and I love him to bits.

Bedtime Routine with Daddy

I've always thought that I have the best husband on the planet, but sometimes he makes my heart feel like it's going to burst right out of my chest. Tonight was one of those nights.

My son thrives on a schedule. I'll assume that he finds comfort in the predictability of his soporific routine. Every evening we eat dinner together, he has a bath, I sing his favorite bedtime song as I dress him for bed, I give him a quick rubdown with lotion, we sit in the rocker while I read two bedtime stories, we snuggle for a few minutes while I hum the end of his favorite bedtime song, and then I put him in his crib while telling him that I'll see him in the morning. This routine has been followed since he was around nine months old, when I stopped nursing him directly to sleep. It never varies and it nearly always comes at the same time each evening. Thanks to this bedtime routine, he has always been easy to put to bed.

Up until about six-weeks ago, my husband had never put our son to bed. I suggested that he might want to start putting the baby to bed because I might not always be here. Long time readers of this blog probably think that I have an unhealthy preoccupation with death, but it does happen - sometimes to perfectly healthy young women. Anyway, my husband reluctantly agreed to start putting the little one to bed on the evenings he's home with us.

The first time was a disaster. The second time was a disaster. It has been a difficult task, to say the very least. My heart broke for both my husband and our son: for our son because he would wail for his "mama!" and for my husband because our son was essentially rejecting his father.

Tonight was wonderful! My husband took the lead in feeding the boy his dinner. My husband gave the boy his bath and, HOORAY!, there were no tears or wailing involved. My husband got the little one dressed for bed. Our son held me for a few minutes instead of just giving a kiss, but I figured that he needed a little extra love. The sweet little one pointed at the rocking chair and asked if I was going to sit in the chair with him. I said that his Daddy was going to read the bedtime stories tonight. I handed the boy to his father and I left the room.

After I started a load of laundry (strange habit, I know, but I do it every night), I jumped in the shower. My husband popped his head in the restroom and told me that tonight was the easiest night ever. The little one didn't scream or thrash about and they were able to read both bedtime stories. Our son chatted to himself for a little bit and then went to bed.

I'm so happy that my husband likes to spend time with his son and I'm glad that he's able to put the little one to bed. Why am I so glad about this? Well, because this gives me a break on the nights that my husband is home. Yay!!

Is That a Thumb in My Bowl?

Home surgery made simple! I decided to attempt an at-home digit amputation after receiving the first book in the Time Life Home Surgery series. Well, maybe that's not exactly true. Is a thumb considered a digit?

I believe that I could split the atom with most of my knives. Why did I choose to use the dullest knife I own to chop vegetables? I adore sharp knives, but this particular knife is my absolute favorite to use. Of course, that probably explains why it no longer boasts a super-sharp edge.

Why was I bothering to cook in the first place? It was about an hour before my son's dinnertime. I had the energy, I had the ingredients, I felt compelled to make a tasty meal for my boy. And I knew I'd suffer guilt if I didn't prepare a meal.

Why would I feel guilty if I didn't cook? Because I'm a SAHM. If I worked for wages, I'd easily give myself a pass to serve up greasy fast food fare in place of home cookin'. I'd feed the kiddo frozen meals, canned pastas, and chicken nuggets all the time and I wouldn't think twice about it. I'm not saying that he doesn't sometimes eat those things, because he does, but they certainly aren't the mainstays of his diet.

Why was a nutritious meal so important tonight? Because he enjoyed a Valentine party at his pre-pre-school this morning. I wanted to make sure that he had a healthy and delicious meal for supper since he gorged on sweet junk earlier.

I thought about opening a can of ravioli after I tried to cut off my thumb. But I couldn't bring myself to serve up a supper without a single vegetable. So I dealt with my injury, washed my knife & cutting board, and continued the meal prep.

What tasty fare did I whip up? I made a quick pasta sauce with tomatoes, cremini mushrooms, onions, zucchini, eggplant, and garlic. I served it over whole wheat penne. I thought it tasted fantastic and the kiddo eagerly gobbled it up.

I'm not glad that I cut my thumb. Actually, I feel incredibly silly that I made such a rookie mistake. But I am glad that my guilt motivated me tonight because my son loved what I served.

I used to live for an atta-girl from my boss. Now I live for seeing my husband and my son enjoy every last morsel of food that I've prepared. It's one way I measure how well I perform my job as a SAHM.

Lazy Works

I had a lazy, lazy, lazy day today.

My husband took the little tater tot this morning so I was able to sleep in until 9:00 am. I heated leftovers for breakfast. I did drag my lazy carcass to church, but I didn't help in the nursery. We went out to eat lunch. We came home and the entire family took naps. We went out for pizza with some friends at suppertime. And the kiddo had a bath and went to bed as soon as we arrived home. I want to continue my relaxing day and don't really want to bother with writing this post tonight.

Most days I bust my hump. But today was not that day. And I'm okay with that because, some days, lazy works.

I'm in a May-December Marriage?

I always envisioned a May-December marriage as one in which the man is significantly older than the woman - a 40-ish man and a 20-ish woman. He's a little pervy and she's a little greedy for cash. My husband is not pervy (well, not terribly so!) and I'm not greedy - and we aren't in our 40s or 20s any longer, but I've just realized that I'm in a May-December marriage.

My husband is nearly 19 years older than me. He graduated high school before I was born. He was already in college when I was born. He had just started dating his first wife when I was less than 2 months old. And, what can I say? I don't really care about the dates on our birth certificates because I love my husband with all my heart. He is my true love and I am so happy that we found each other. He dated plenty of women. Some were more attractive than me, some were more educated than me, some were more successful than me. Some days I can't believe that he picked me. I count myself as the most fortunate person on the planet because he chose me to be his wife.

We don't know any other couples who are in a May-December marriage. Our friends are 50-something aged people who are having grandchildren or 30-something aged people who are having children. Prior to the birth of our son, we had a lot of fun with our older friends who were similarly untethered by the demands of parenthood. Since the birth of our son, we spend a lot more time with our younger friends who also have little ones at home.

The age difference has, surprisingly, never really been a problem for us. I guess I'm much older than my years or he's much younger than his. Like most things, it's probably a little of both. The only time it may have been a little weird is when we went to our high school reunions: my 10th and his 30th. He was the oldest person at my reunion and I was the youngest at his.

We don't always get along perfectly, but who does? Two people from two different families get along perfectly 100% of the time only if one person is constantly capitulating. I'm glad that we can both be who we are while still feeling mutual love and respect for each other. I don't even think that our differences necessarily come from our age gap. I think Neil Simon is overrated; he thinks that opinion is nuts. I think space exploration is lame; he thinks space is neat. I think that the exterior of the new Camaro looks terrible; he thinks it looks pretty cool.

We share similar taste in music, movies, and television shows. We're both sci-fi nerds. We generally see eye-to-eye politically. We read several of the same magazines: National Review, Car & Driver, Playboy, Popular Science. And we have similar views on how to raise children.

So what's the problem if neither of us has a problem with the age difference? Society has a problem with our age difference. My husband's ex-wife had a problem with it when she heard he was dating me - surprise, surprise, right? Waitstaff have called me my husband's daughter many, many times. Strangers have asked my husband about his "grandson" on more than one occasion. Though my husband is not rich (whatever that means!), I've been called a gold-digger and worse in the anonymous world of internet message boards and chat rooms.

Why do people make assumptions? It is no longer socially acceptable to make assumptions about a couple based on race. Why is it acceptable to make assumptions based on age? And, perhaps most importantly, why is it called a May-December marriage and not something else? Seriously, that was the best description they, whoever they are, could come up with?

So I'm in a May-December marriage. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Top Spot of Affection

I think it's a day that is dreaded by all mothers of boys. The day that another woman takes the top spot of affection in your son's heart.

I know that my son will still love me when he is a grown man. But he will love his wife more. He'll confide in her, he'll prefer to spend time with her, and he'll need most of his support from her. At least, that's the way I see things. A mother can't take the wife's role and she shouldn't try. Nobody likes a meddling mother.

My son is just a toddler now and I'm his favorite woman at this point, but I know that the time will come that another woman will move into the top spot of affection in his heart. And that knowledge already brings a sharp pang of sadness. Why does it bother me? Because I know that loving someone allows you to be hurt by them. I know that I'll never hurt my son, but I can't say the same for every woman he'll meet.

I wonder who this woman will be. Who will my son love? Who will be his confidante, his friend, his cheerleader? I pray that she'll be a kind and decent woman and, mostly, that she'll be good to him. The only thing that breaks my heart more than knowing he'll pull away from me to draw near to another woman is the fear that he'll be hurt by her.

I've already caught a glimmer of what it will feel like to be set aside for someone else. My son is in love with Nina, the evening host on PBS Sprout. For the longest time, she was the only thing that he would look at on the television. He would wave whenever she appeared on the screen and, on more than one occasion, he has run up to kiss her.

One evening my son and I were in the kitchen together as I was finishing up his dinner preparation. We were having a good time, laughing and playing fun little games. Suddenly we heard Nina's voice from the living room. My son's eyes widened, he dropped the toy we had been playing with, and he bolted out of the kitchen. I found him in the middle of the living room, transfixed by his lovely Nina.

I chuckled about the Nina incident, but this is just the beginning. He'll like other pretty ladies on television. He'll play tricks on little girls he likes in elementary school. He'll work hard and save diligently to take girls out on dates when he's in high school. These girls won't bother me because they aren't likely to stick around for long.

I'll be a little more concerned when he wants to bring someone home to meet us. I'll be gracious, but I'll probably want to chase her out of my house. And my eyes will mist up when he announces that he's asked someone to be his wife. Tears will come for a few reasons: I'll be so happy that he's found such happiness that he wants to keep it forever, I'll be concerned whether or not he's made a good choice, and at that point I'll know without a doubt that my reign in his heart is over.

Who is she, this woman who will bring my son such joy? I'm almost 19 years younger than my husband and he likes to joke that our son's future wife won't be born for at least another 15 years! I don't know about that, but I do know that I've prayed for my son's future wife from time to time as if she were already on this planet. I've prayed that she'll have a stable home life and will be raised in a godly home. I've prayed that she'll be loving and generous. And I've prayed that my son will know her when he finds her.

Perhaps it's a little weird to pray for the woman who will ultimately displace me. But I know that she'll be here one day and I want my son to love her freely when that day comes. For now, I'll be content that I am in the top spot of affection in my son's heart. Until Nina is on the television screen!