The Not-So-New-ly Weds

A hopefully rare, extrospective and angry post: do not read herein for a dispassionate point of view.

Dear Mr. B-

When I got married, I hoped to be somebody's mother someday... but not YOUR mother, and not today. One thing about mothers is they always have something for you to do. Be idle for two minutes and you can bet Mom's got a list. I was a good kid and I always did what my motherf asked, but I certainly never went trolling for ways to support her! I didn't realize until I got married what a drag it is to be the constant taskmaster.

But like the best gifts are the ones you wanted but never asked for, the best support is the kind you need but don't want to nag out of someone. I don't expect you to read my mind (usually). I do expect you to listen to the things that concern me and spend ten minutes thinking about it to come up with some way to help.

I know this is big picture stuff. In specifics: If you know I'm trying very hard to lose weight and be healthier, and I've done all I can do with dieting but just need to exercise, YOU could be the one to suggest going for a walk. That would be great. I wouldn't feel like I'm dragging you on an outing you'd rather not go on so you could spend time with me, and I wouldn't be choosing between you and exercise. Or, if I'm complaining about cooking dinner four times a week, you could consider that its not just the cooking, but also the deciding and planning the menu that is stressful and not expect me to walk you through it.

Love,

always,

even when you royally piss me off,

LOVE

Mrs. B

Location : 242-264 W Washington St, Lexington, VA 24450,

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Mr. B and I have been trying to get healthier for a while now. I'm a pescetarian now, and as an incidental effect of that Mr. B hasn't been eating much land-meat either. I'm also trying to cut down on junk food and carbs, because I know that my diet is mostly pasta and chocolate and that's not too good for me. I'm struggling to find the time to exercise, but hopefully thins will settle down now that my Note is finished and I'll be able to concentrate more on that.

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So Valentine's Day is just shy of an hour over, and in minutes I'll be heading off to bed. Mr. B and I don't usually go all out for this particular holiday... it's just not one of the ones that's important to us. We do like to spend time together if we can and exchange sentimental gifts: usually a card with a personal message.

Mr. B insists that he isn't good at writing down his feelings for me. This is something I really struggle to believe, because the majority of our courting tool place in written form over the internet four years ago. I only ask for this twice a year, our anniversary and Valentine's Day... and even if the diction is awlward, the point is I want Mr. B to sit and spend a little time thinking about his feelings for me.

As usual, he left the whole thing till the last minute... bought the card in my presence this afternoon and spent the day napping and watching television instead of recording the brief but thoughtful message that is all I wanted for Valentine's Day. I fully expect him to realize his oversight and feel bad about it. Maybe I should have reminded him earlier but nagging makes it a lot less special to me. Besides, I don't want a message written under pressure; I want one written out of love.

So far it looks like I'm heading toward a "Mr. B is selfish and lazy" conclusion with this post. But marriage, like life in general, is full of surprises! I'm the selfish one. Even though I didn't (yet) get what I wanted and am pretty aggravated by it, my day has been pretty great. Mr. B took me to a lovely brunch, went on errands with me and cuddled with me. And today is his first day of quitting smoking- no small feat in itself and the best gift I could ever receive (incidentally, he's not doing it for me but I consider it a gift all the same).

I suppose the point of today's entry is that our subjective desires and disappointments can so often color our understanding of the relationships we have.  Now that I've thought and written about it, I realize that I am one of the lucky ones this V-Day. I am loved, I love back, and it would be unfair of me to suggest that I doubt those facts in the abscence of a written affirmation. A moment's reflection reveals it, and the fact that I could probably enhance my marriage if I indulged in such reflection more often.

May you love dearly and never doubt it. Happy Valentine's Day!

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It's true, I never warned my meager readers about going on hiatus-mostly because I wasn't really planning it myself. Hopefully I'm back but only time will tell...

I'm currently struggling with the delicate balance of courage and tact. I know this record can never be a success if I am not honest; I also know that it's currently published under my name and on my facebook account so I'm not sure how to navigate the dramatic swells of public opinion. Obviously one thing is true: nobody ever got famous playing it safe!

Till next time... Mrs. B

I was at : 2-14 N Main St, Lexington, VA 24450,

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It's true, I never warned my meager readers about going on hiatus-mostly because I wasn't really planning it myself. Hopefully I'm back but only time will tell...

I'm currently struggling with the delicate balance of courage and tact. I know this record can never be a success if I am not honest; I also know that it's currently published under my name and on my facebook account so I'm not sure how to navigate the dramatic swells of public opinion. Obviously one thing is true: nobody ever got famous playing it safe!

Till next time... Mrs. B

I was at : 2-14 N Main St, Lexington, VA 24450,

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Claim

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Claim

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Mr. B is not the only man I have loved. I've been lucky enough to fall in love thrice: puppy love, first love, life love. Obviously, Mr. B is the life. Puppy was years ago, before relationships became complicated by grown-up concerns- back when love was just you, and the partner, and possibly some drama from the classmates. First was the space in between- learning to cut back on the drama, and grow on your own, while loving someone else.

My relationship with First began well, proceeded happily, and ended. I could say it ended badly but truthfully it could have been worse. I'm over the end now and remember the relationship with nothing but fondness. First was not only my first 'grown-up' romance, but also my first significantly intimate relationship. I have never wished that First wasn't my first; it was a careful choice on my part, and I remain convinced that I made the right decision. First is a good man, a good person. A good first.

Looking back on it now, my romantic history seems a lot like life imitating art. The arc from Puppy through First and onto Mr. B has been so smooth; the time spent and lessons learned from each relationship are almost perfectly apportioned into thirds. Mr. B's lovelife has been less simple, probably because it has had more acts and a larger cast. I won't elaborate on his, but maybe he'll make a guest appearance someday and explain it all! The fact that he's had more partners than I doesn't bother me in the slightest, and the fact that I have had one other than him has always seemed right.

This morning, though, I woke up with the sun streaming through my window and an odd feeling of regret. I turned over to see Mr. B still sleeping, and suddenly wished that no one else had ever touched me. This is the first time I've had this feeling, and I'm not sure where it came from. I put no special stock in virginity, and I know my husband doesn't either. When I first felt it, still groggy from sleep, I was upset; it was a sharp and burning hurt in my chest. But I've been thinking about it all day, and I've decided to cast it in a different light.

I still remember First with fondness, and I'm sure I always will. This morning wasn't a change in past affection but a next step in my marriage- a deepening of my love, a reflection of my wish to be with one person forever. I know our future stretches out before us; my greedy heart is now trying to stretch our togetherness back into my past as well. When I think of it this way, the emotion is no longer uncomfortable. Instead, it makes me feel more secure.

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Mr. B is not the only man I have loved. I've been lucky enough to fall in love thrice: puppy love, first love, life love. Obviously, Mr. B is the life. Puppy was years ago, before relationships became complicated by grown-up concerns- back when love was just you, and the partner, and possibly some drama from the classmates. First was the space in between- learning to cut back on the drama, and grow on your own, while loving someone else.

My relationship with First began well, proceeded happily, and ended. I could say it ended badly but truthfully it could have been worse. I'm over the end now and remember the relationship with nothing but fondness. First was not only my first 'grown-up' romance, but also my first significantly intimate relationship. I have never wished that First wasn't my first; it was a careful choice on my part, and I remain convinced that I made the right decision. First is a good man, a good person. A good first.

Looking back on it now, my romantic history seems a lot like life imitating art. The arc from Puppy through First and onto Mr. B has been so smooth; the time spent and lessons learned from each relationship are almost perfectly apportioned into thirds. Mr. B's lovelife has been less simple, probably because it has had more acts and a larger cast. I won't elaborate on his, but maybe he'll make a guest appearance someday and explain it all! The fact that he's had more partners than I doesn't bother me in the slightest, and the fact that I have had one other than him has always seemed right.

This morning, though, I woke up with the sun streaming through my window and an odd feeling of regret. I turned over to see Mr. B still sleeping, and suddenly wished that no one else had ever touched me. This is the first time I've had this feeling, and I'm not sure where it came from. I put no special stock in virginity, and I know my husband doesn't either. When I first felt it, still groggy from sleep, I was upset; it was a sharp and burning hurt in my chest. But I've been thinking about it all day, and I've decided to cast it in a different light.

I still remember First with fondness, and I'm sure I always will. This morning wasn't a change in past affection but a next step in my marriage- a deepening of my love, a reflection of my wish to be with one person forever. I know our future stretches out before us; my greedy heart is now trying to stretch our togetherness back into my past as well. When I think of it this way, the emotion is no longer uncomfortable. Instead, it makes me feel more secure.

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Mr. B has always been unselfish and supportive. This is one of the things I love most about him. He has put his life entirely on hold so that I can pursue my career- this, even though he's older than me and arguably needs a break from the "grind" much more than I do. So it might seem surprising when I say that his unselfishness needs to be tempered (and, happily, today it was)!

I read a book years ago- one that I can't remember the name or author of but that had at least one memorable passage. Since I can't remember the book I can't find the exact quote, but I'll paraphrase:

Being a good lover isn't just about skill. It's about being able to let the other person be a good lover, too- it's about letting someone love you back.

This is what I mean by "temper the unselfishness." There are moments when Mr. B feels burned out, exhausted and unhappy, and I feel horrible. Though I know he followed me cross-country willingly and we planned for him to work while I go to school together, I know that if it weren't for me he'd be in school (or graduated) by now. I also know that because of the obligations of law school (both financial and temporal), I can't do much to alleviate Mr. B's feelings of entrapment and wariness. It's frustrating, heartbreaking, to be unable to help the person you love. And if they cling too fiercely to the unselfishness, they can't accept even the help you are able to give.

A big part of the above tension changed today: we officially enrolled Mr. B in classes for this fall semester! I knew he'd be excited. I knew I'd be happy and proud of him. I knew it would be beneficial for our relationship for him to have an intellectual outlet and worthy pursuit of his own. I just didn't anticipate the giddiness I would feel when we walked out of the Registration office, holding his new class schedule in our hands! It is a wonderful feeling!

This "new spark" is a recognition of Mr. B's intellectual value to me. It is also an acknowledgment of deservedness- he has been waiting a long time for this, and I am so happy to see him go after it! By no means do I think I should get credit- honestly I am still a limiting factor more than anything. But I feel like Mr. B is taking this step and allowing me to walk with him as he does so; he's allowing me to support him, to love him, and that makes our relationship stronger than one person bearing the brunt of the hardships alone.

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Mr. B has always been unselfish and supportive. This is one of the things I love most about him. He has put his life entirely on hold so that I can pursue my career- this, even though he's older than me and arguably needs a break from the "grind" much more than I do. So it might seem surprising when I say that his unselfishness needs to be tempered (and, happily, today it was)!

I read a book years ago- one that I can't remember the name or author of but that had at least one memorable passage. Since I can't remember the book I can't find the exact quote, but I'll paraphrase:

Being a good lover isn't just about skill. It's about being able to let the other person be a good lover, too- it's about letting someone love you back.

This is what I mean by "temper the unselfishness." There are moments when Mr. B feels burned out, exhausted and unhappy, and I feel horrible. Though I know he followed me cross-country willingly and we planned for him to work while I go to school together, I know that if it weren't for me he'd be in school (or graduated) by now. I also know that because of the obligations of law school (both financial and temporal), I can't do much to alleviate Mr. B's feelings of entrapment and wariness. It's frustrating, heartbreaking, to be unable to help the person you love. And if they cling too fiercely to the unselfishness, they can't accept even the help you are able to give.

A big part of the above tension changed today: we officially enrolled Mr. B in classes for this fall semester! I knew he'd be excited. I knew I'd be happy and proud of him. I knew it would be beneficial for our relationship for him to have an intellectual outlet and worthy pursuit of his own. I just didn't anticipate the giddiness I would feel when we walked out of the Registration office, holding his new class schedule in our hands! It is a wonderful feeling!

This "new spark" is a recognition of Mr. B's intellectual value to me. It is also an acknowledgment of deservedness- he has been waiting a long time for this, and I am so happy to see him go after it! By no means do I think I should get credit- honestly I am still a limiting factor more than anything. But I feel like Mr. B is taking this step and allowing me to walk with him as he does so; he's allowing me to support him, to love him, and that makes our relationship stronger than one person bearing the brunt of the hardships alone.

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Romantics say all you need is love. Pragmatists say what you need is hard work, compromise, and sacrifice. I say they're both right.

I don't believe that all love is the same- and that goes for all wedded love as well. My marriage is different from my best friend's marriage, which in turn is different from my cousins' or my parents' or teachers' or coworkers'. But I've found that in my marriage at least, all I need is love, because that love leads to hard work, compromise, and sacrifice.

Mr. B has always been selfless with me. I've moved him across the country (twice), away from friends, family, and educational opportunities, and spent enough money on my own education that he has to be working in a job he only sort of likes to support us. He belittles his contribution, but I am eternally grateful. Sometimes I do forget, though.

I think part of growing up in pop culture America is being inundated with ultimatums and rigid standards, especially between romantic partners. I had some myself. I'll never date anyone who smokes. I won't get married until I graduate law school. I won't let anyone change their life goals to accommodate me. Needless to say that all went right out the window the night I met Mr. B. (I'll tell out story another time.)

Sometimes, they creep back in on me though. I'll get mad over something, and I'll want to say "If you love me you'd _____. People who love others do _______ for them." Wouldn't it be easy to tell when someone loves you, if all they had to do was finish the dishes? Or quit smoking or poker? Or take dance classes with you? (Note: these are not all from personal experience!)

Oftentimes though, it's not even about whether they love you or not- it's about self-worth. Aren't I worth quitting smoking? Aren't I worth a massage a week? The voices in our heads tell us that if we are truly special, we can ask anything of our spouse and they'll hop to without delay. (I don't know if guys get this feeling too. I know I do, though!)

I have to consciously remember that love and marriage and relationship success is not about ultimatums. It's about connecting, working, improving over time. Someday Mr. B will quit smoking, I know that. I wish it would be soon, but that's not my choice- and of course I love him with cigarettes as much as without them. It's hard to remember that his personal decisions in this regard are not reflections on me.

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A new online magazine has just started up, called Filthy Gorgeous Things. It's a grown-up look at sex, intimacy, monogamy (or the lack thereof), and the things that turn us on. I LOVE it. Unfortunately the free trial has ended and I can't afford the subscription right now... but let me tell you that if this were a true, printed magazine it would be on my coffee table. I'll get back to intimacy another time (probably many more times), but today I want to discuss one article in particular: How to Make Love Stay.

One notion in the article has fascinated me since I read it: give your relationship a name. I had never thought of such a thing before! The plan is that you give your relationship a name, anthropomorphize it, force yourself to realize that it lives and grows, dependent entirely upon you. I am going to try to convince Mr. B to do this with me, and if I do, I'll devote a day per week to this blog for the care of my newly-named matrimonial creature.

The article suggests not only a name, but a set of communication. If you can't find the words to discuss a sticky subject with your spouse, you can write your marraige a letter. You can also send it an email, detailing the things you love about it and what it brings to your life. You can also set aside some time to spend with your marriage, nothing but your marriage. In the end, I suppose the name is just a symbol for your promise to work on love together with your spouse.

I definitely think it's an experiment worth trying.

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A new online magazine has just started up, called Filthy Gorgeous Things. It's a grown-up look at sex, intimacy, monogamy (or the lack thereof), and the things that turn us on. I LOVE it. Unfortunately the free trial has ended and I can't afford the subscription right now... but let me tell you that if this were a true, printed magazine it would be on my coffee table. I'll get back to intimacy another time (probably many more times), but today I want to discuss one article in particular: How to Make Love Stay.

One notion in the article has fascinated me since I read it: give your relationship a name. I had never thought of such a thing before! The plan is that you give your relationship a name, anthropomorphize it, force yourself to realize that it lives and grows, dependent entirely upon you. I am going to try to convince Mr. B to do this with me, and if I do, I'll devote a day per week to this blog for the care of my newly-named matrimonial creature.

The article suggests not only a name, but a set of communication. If you can't find the words to discuss a sticky subject with your spouse, you can write your marraige a letter. You can also send it an email, detailing the things you love about it and what it brings to your life. You can also set aside some time to spend with your marriage, nothing but your marriage. In the end, I suppose the name is just a symbol for your promise to work on love together with your spouse.

I definitely think it's an experiment worth trying.

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My name is Mrs. B. I'm a 2B, meaning I've been married for two years now. I'm madly in love with my husband, and I am happy to report that our marriage is going very well. Since this blog is devoted to my experience with marriage, I don't feel like I'm gloating when I say that. Which is nice. Because too often, I do feel like I'm gloating when I talk about how happy I am. Why? Well...

Because I'm married. But I'm also a 23-year old, second-year law student. Also a sister, a best friend, a daughter, a swimmer, a reader. And an English major, a poet, a political thinker, a funloving individual.

Mr. B is married (obviously). He's also a onetime psychology major, an aspiring ecologist, a history buff with a passion for learning. He's a poker player, a hiker, a musicologist. Also a barista, a bartender, an avid reader, a record collector... and you guessed it, a funloving individual.

Surely by now you see the theme. People- above all young people, the people we hang out with most- look at the two of us, see the rings on our fingers, and form this image in their minds of glowing fireplaces, puppies curled up at the foot of the bed and old-fashioned pipe smoke curling into the cinnamon-apple-pie scented air. They see me in aprons and curlers even though I own neither; they see Jeff with a briefcase even though he makes drinks for a living.

People don't seem to realize that in today's world, married couples aren't always together; unfortunately, Mr. B and I are alone quite a lot- I work 8-6 most days and he works 2-10 (forty miles from home so its more like 1-11). Or, even worse, they take the two or three times you had to decline an invitation so you could spend some time with your spouse for the first time in a week as evidence of your domestic preference.

Granted, this problem is resolved relatively simply. It just takes an honest discussion with one's friends about why it sucks that you never get invited anywhere, because they thought you'd be home playing patty cake with your husband (or wife). Happily, my single friends have gotten much better about changing their mental image of me, barefoot and pregnant in my spotless kitchen. I don't resent my young compatriots for their assumptions, but I kind of resent the uphill battle it's been to change them.

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My name is Mrs. B. I'm a 2B, meaning I've been married for two years now. I'm madly in love with my husband, and I am happy to report that our marriage is going very well. Since this blog is devoted to my experience with marriage, I don't feel like I'm gloating when I say that. Which is nice. Because too often, I do feel like I'm gloating when I talk about how happy I am. Why? Well...

Because I'm married. But I'm also a 23-year old, second-year law student. Also a sister, a best friend, a daughter, a swimmer, a reader. And an English major, a poet, a political thinker, a funloving individual.

Mr. B is married (obviously). He's also a onetime psychology major, an aspiring ecologist, a history buff with a passion for learning. He's a poker player, a hiker, a musicologist. Also a barista, a bartender, an avid reader, a record collector... and you guessed it, a funloving individual.

Surely by now you see the theme. People- above all young people, the people we hang out with most- look at the two of us, see the rings on our fingers, and form this image in their minds of glowing fireplaces, puppies curled up at the foot of the bed and old-fashioned pipe smoke curling into the cinnamon-apple-pie scented air. They see me in aprons and curlers even though I own neither; they see Jeff with a briefcase even though he makes drinks for a living.

People don't seem to realize that in today's world, married couples aren't always together; unfortunately, Mr. B and I are alone quite a lot- I work 8-6 most days and he works 2-10 (forty miles from home so its more like 1-11). Or, even worse, they take the two or three times you had to decline an invitation so you could spend some time with your spouse for the first time in a week as evidence of your domestic preference.

Granted, this problem is resolved relatively simply. It just takes an honest discussion with one's friends about why it sucks that you never get invited anywhere, because they thought you'd be home playing patty cake with your husband (or wife). Happily, my single friends have gotten much better about changing their mental image of me, barefoot and pregnant in my spotless kitchen. I don't resent my young compatriots for their assumptions, but I kind of resent the uphill battle it's been to change them.

Read More...