Whatcha Talkin Bout Willis?

Posted on October 13, 2016 by tosabarbell

talkin

When the Ozman was little (okay, younger. Oz was never little. Dude gave me carpal tunnel when I had to cart him around in his baby seat. I’ve never been so happy to see a toddler toddle in all my life) he would suck on his fingers, hook’em horns style. It was pretty cute but braces are in his immediate future so maybe not so useful.

Oz also liked to talk. Basically from day one. Which meant that when he was sitting in the back seat in his little car seat, mouth full of fingers and wanting to hold a conversation without really knowing words; well, talks could be a little interesting. Some days I’d just go through which errands we’re running or where Sissy and Zac were needing to be to keep conversation flowing. He’d garble back something I couldn’t understand and that’s how we’d spend our car time. Worked for us.

Eventually, as he approached year 2, his garbling started to make sense and we started having real conversations. There were times; however; were I still couldn’t understand what he was saying and I’d say, Whatcha talkin bout Willis? Well, toddlin’ Oz didn’t like that much and he would WHIP his head around (he loved watching out the car window); dramatically pull his fingers out of his mouth and declare, “I ARE NOT WILLIS!” 

Ya, it was pretty adorbs. Enough that we’d say it just to get that reaction. I think he was around four where he finally caught on and would just roll his eyes and keep looking out the window. Damn, how was I going to have fun NOW?????

This entire exchange came to mind the other day when my FB got trolled. It was bizarro world.

See, here’s the deal. My Facebook page has some very important functions to serve. Blog post shares; food and drink pics; fun shit that friends (like, real friends. People I actually know and have a relationship with) like to put on there; dog pictures; family fun; lifting shit; competition updates or results; travel pics, and lastly, the occasional rant (okay, probably more regular than occasional but I do try to balance them out with dog pics.) FoShizzle.

Now, at any given time, there will be a handful of CLOSE, REAL FRIENDS who understand where that rant comes from. There will be the rest of the FB community that doesn’t but that’s okay. Sure, it may seem ambiguous (remember the Ambiguous Gay Duo on SNL back in the day? I miss SNL when it was funny. Hasn’t been for years) but that’s okay. It’s okay not to understand the intimate details of what’s happening with every single on of your FB contacts. Learn to live with it, you’ll be happier. Believe me!

So imagine my surprise when someone I’ve never even met started trolling one of my rants (that had nothing to do with anyone except who it did and oh, by the way, sparked a conversation that was actually helpful) and wrote on my very own FB page that I pulled out of a very important and prestigious Highland Games because of a previous rant. He even named it, “Rant 1.”

Uhhhhhhh, dude I don’t know, you’d have to go back years to find “Rant 1.” I know cuz now we get those ‘FB memories’ thingies each day and I see rants from 2008. It’s pretty fun to see what was annoying me back in 2008. Surprisingly, rants haven’t changed much.

So, according to this person I’ve never met, ‘Rant 1’ caused me to pull out of a Highland Games. Huh. Doesn’t sound like me? I’ve seen other people pull out of Highland Games, I don’t recall them getting trolled and accused by people they’d never met as to why they did. I pulled out of a Games my first year because at that time, we couldn’t afford to go. I’m not ashamed of that. I was honest with the AD and he was very understanding. In fact, the other two times I’ve pulled out of Games I was very honest with the AD’s and they seemed very understanding. I don’t hide, I just don’t choose to share reasons with people I don’t know and aren’t affected by my pulling out of said Games. That seems logical to me. I guess I could be off. But prolly not.

So let’s just set the record straight here. A) I rant. I’m not the only one. I’ve unfollowed good friends on their FB pages right now because they are ranting so much political rubbish that I. Just. Can’t. Does that make me unlike them in real life? Nope. Love’em. Just don’t want to read their shit right now. Feel free to reciprocate. I won’t be hurt. There are a lot of people I really admire and enjoy in person but don’t have them on the FB. See how we all survive?

2. I’ve said this before and I guess I’ll have to say it again: Chances are strong that something on my FB page has nothing to do with you. So while it won’t make sense to you, that’s okay. I’m over here just having a good rant and suddenly you need to bully me into making it make sense to YOU. Ummm, noooooo. That’s not what it was for. Again, there were a handful of us that it made sense to, you’re not one of them. That’s okay. (And yes, bully. I’ve thrown that word around one time on my FB. Hell, you KNOW when my husband gets involved on a thread you’ve crossed a line. That’s happened a mere ONE time in our history of together. Pay attention.) There probably are many ways my life doesn’t make sense to you. Gee whiz, I’m so okay with that. I guess the difference is that I don’t troll your social media and call you out on when your life doesn’t make sense to me. Don’t care. Doesn’t change the fact that I want you to come over and share food and drinks and laughter.

C. And this one is the most important so hear it in ‘thunder.’ IT’S FACEBOOK. CHILLAXE. IT’S FACEBOOK. My goodness. People I adore post recipes of shitty food (not just ‘taste’ shitty but really shitty for you) and I don’t take it personally. (Other friends post scrumptious recipes so the world balances itself out.) Some people post things I completely and categorically disagree with. Doesn’t affect my day whatsoever.

What affects my day is when you think you know me and want to publicly post on my social media personal details which 1. are so wrong you look like a stupid person and B) none of your business. That slightly affects my day and then you upset my hubs who is busy driving from Philly to BFE Jersey and is getting so elevated at stupid people harassing his wife that he has to pull over and tell them to STFU (and they still don’t. Uhhhhh  bye Felecia-don’t ever wonder why.) I think this paragraph could be listed as a rant, don’t try to number it, you’d be wrong. You’re missing rants that aren’t even on FB so your numbering is off. Imperfect numbering annoys me. I think I’ll write a rant about it.

Forget what hurt you, but never forget what it taught you.

 

 

 

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You Just Didn’t Want It and It’ll Be Fine On Competition Day and Frustrated

Posted on October 12, 2016 by tosabarbell
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For those new to Weightlifting, the bar is on the wrong side of the lifter. photo credit: getty images.

Years ago, I was fortunate enough to take part in a weightlifting “weekend” when the Texas crew was dabbling in coming up with a new seminar. We had weightlifters from around the country along with coaches Jim Moser and Nick Frasca. I felt lucky to be chosen to take part in the weekend. Admittedly, I wasn’t a great weightlifter. Plus, I was old. Even at 44, I was the oldest lifter to go 5 sessions in two days. The youngest was Cali kid, Jonny Renker, who was around 16 or 17. Anthony Pomponio was there going back and forth with WFAC’s Bryan Fox. A great group of ladies and men and overall, a really fun weekend. By Sunday night’s session, I was completely fried. It was hard work and I hung in there.

At one point, I was going for a 55kg snatch. Something like that anyways. Low by today’s standards. I kept missing and Jim Moser finally told me, “you just don’t want it bad enough.” Now, as much as I appreciate and respect Jim’s coaching abilities and his history as an American weightlifter at York, I didn’t like it. To me, it was a bit flippant. Mostly though, it was unhelpful.

Like, if I step up to the bar and just tell it, ‘hey bar, I really want this. Like, totally bad enough. Shaka brah’ and the bar is all, “Okay Jules, I’ll give ya this one.” That’s not how this works, that’s not how any of this works. Believe me! I tried it in Germany. I said to that last Clean and Jerk, ‘heyyyyyy bar, I’m completely spent but we just need one more lift and I really really want it.’ I did that. FoShizzle. It didn’t work. Who’s fucked up in that scenario? I’d say the bar.

But not really. Because looking at my video, I didn’t pull the bar long enough. A horrible habit from learning how to lift with power cleans that I’m only months into fixing. I’ll get it but when I get tired, I go to bad habits. And that lift came off my legs about three inches above my knees instead of 7-8″ above the knees that would have put me into a far better position to extend and get under it, even in a power position. I’m learning. Doing is another thing.

Heh.

At the end of the day. I never want to rely on “wanting it.” I want to rely on solid mechanics and knowing how to apply them. This pertains to throwing too. Obviously. Wanting a 70′ LWD this year didn’t make it happen. I came close. But no cigar and now I’ll  have to fix my mechanics so I have a better chance at doing so next year. And if I want that 90kg Clean and Jerk, I have some mechanical issues to fix along with managing my warm ups so I’m not zapped by the time that attempt rolls around. Basically I have so much to learn about weightlifting application that “wanting it bad enough” is so low on the To Do list, I can’t see it right now.

Anyways. Moving on.

TOPSHOTS-ROMANIA-EUR-WEIGHTLIFTING-WOMEN-48KG-KARPINSKA

Marzena Karpinska from Poland misses a lift during the Women 48kg category event of the European Weightlifting Championship in Bucharest on April 6, 2009. Karpinska won the bronze medal of the category. TOPSHOTS/AFP PHOTO/DANIEL MIHAILESCU. (Photo credit should read DANIEL MIHAILESCU/AFP/Getty Images) For those new to Weightlifting, this is not the proper bottom position of a lift. Now you know.

Along those same lines, if I’m missing parts of lifts in practice, I do not believe that something about competition day magically fixes those mechanical errors. Yes, competition adrenaline can be helpful but as I’m learning, I need to shut down that adrenaline fast or I have nothing left an hour after my last snatch before my first clean and jerk attempt. (Thank you Chip Conrad for your advice and aloha on that subject. I’m already practicing differently and will use the information in my last meet. Mahalo!)

Mechanics. Practice. Repeat. That is my security blanket of lifting. Yes, there is an aspect to weightlifting of “manning up.” Meaning, lift the fucking weight. Matter over mind. However, if my shoulder is banged up (I hate having a banged up shoulder. My shoulders are ginormous and have always been strong. That I’m dealing with an ouchie one right now pisses me off) and I know it’s going to hurt when I slam 185 pounds or more over my head, I’ve got to dig pretty fucking deep to make that happen. How about if I, oh I dunno, jerk correctly so my shoulder DOESN’T hurt and I have all the confidence in the world about going overhead? Yes, I like that idea better.

There are times where I will vocalize an insecurity about a lift to Matt and he’ll almost flippantly state that I’ll be fine. For a while there, that wasn’t received very well (heh.) But then he put down his phone, looked me in the eye and said this, “You have succeeded at everything you set your mind to. You will figure this out too or find someone to help you do it and you’ll fix it. You’ll be fine.” Sometimes my husband is wicked SMAAHT.

Anyways.

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If you’re new to weightlifting, this is not the proper rack position. Now you know.  Photo credit: gettyimages

I have been reading articles and hearing people talk about how frustrating weightlifing is. Honestly, I don’t get it. If I’m using my feeling statements, it would go something like this, “I feel frustrated when newbs say weightlifting is frustrating.” Once someone says that, I disengage in conversation. Why?

Probably because I believe learning is fun. If I didn’t, I never would have made it past these four years in the Highland Games. (A Masters thrower told me to expect my numbers to start going down because I’ve tapped out my genetic potential. My reply? Dude, I’m still learning. What I lack in output I have the opportunity to make up for in mechanics. Don’t count me out yet.)  Now, this year I didn’t PR in the Highland Games. As annoying as that is, it’s understandable. As hard as I was hitting the fields, I was hitting the lifts and yes, 49 is awfully old to be a two letter athlete. So it’s likely that both sports were affected by the other.

We’ll see how next year goes (we’ve already decided to hit Savannah in early March for National Masters Championships and the Shammies in late March for my first 50 Highland Games!) I’m pretty stoked to turn 50. What that means is that my off season will focus on recovery. Nothing else. Drills and lighter lifts. I’ve been pushing this body hard for 3 years straight and my overweight, bloated self shows it. It’s time to back off; have fun, and LEARN!

And I’m excited. Not frustrated. Excited. I wonder if the frustration comes with bloated expectations? I dunno. I guess I have high expectations for myself but at the end of the day, an improvement is cause for celebration and a 1kg PR on your total, especially as a Masters athlete, is pretty fucking cool. At least that’s how I look at it.  But maybe that’s why I’m not frustrated. Heh.

In conclusion, weightlifting is bomb. I’m so happy I got back into it. It brought us to Germany; and Savannah (we love Savannah), and soon back to Buffalo where I’m bringing my own personal Chiropractor. (Well, I’m bringing my cousin Stacy who happens to be an amazing Chiropractor. Matt has a work thing so I texted her and said, “I need a partner in crime in a few weeks” and she came back with “I’m in.” I sure have cool cousins.) I’m having a blast figuring out the lifts. They’ve changed so much in just a year, thanks in large part to Mike Westerling with some major tweaks. They have a long ways to go. That’s a good thing. That means, what I lack in output, I can make up for in mechanics.

See the trend.

Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it.

Bruce Lee

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Ursula and Heidi

Posted on October 11, 2016 by tosabarbell
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Ursula and Heidi

One of the best things about lifting in the last session of the day in Germany, is that when you’re done, they open up the Schnapps bar (in addition to keeping open the bar that’s been there all day); the German polka band comes on stage, and we get to relax. It was awesome.

While we were talking about the meet with Petra and Uli, these two cuties came up to me and told me they were selling necklaces and bracelets they had made. I don’t know if they instantly spotted me for a sucker or if they just got lucky but I quickly sent Bigg for more schnapps so we could get some change Euro’s to give them. While we were waiting, the little girl in the green was eyeing the flower in my hair. Her little friend said she spoke English and we were able to get out of her that she really liked the flower. So I gave it to her. (Again, suckah!!) They were just so cute and so sweet and running around to all the schnapps drinking adults selling their jewelry (Capitalism is alive and well in Germany folks. Make no mistake about it!)

When I came home, I showed a pair of clients the picture of my two little entrepreneur’s and one said, ‘Oh that’s Ursula and Heidi!’  (David makes up fun stories all the time. They have a pet cricket and cockroach who goes on tons of adventures he’ll tell me about. It’s pretty awesome.) So there ya go. Ursula and Heidi, my personal jewelry makers in Germany.

What I love most about my picture of Ursula and Heidi is that it embodies everything I absolutely adored (and am missing) about my German friends. Sweetness; ingenuity; fun; capable; a little sassy; creative, bringing fun and light in your life. That’s the German people.

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What a treat it was to spend some throwing time with Meike and her daughter, Jaqueline (the two of them are called, ‘The Hobbits’) and meet other friends of the Athletic Haus.

I don’t know if the name, “Petra” means ‘Sunshine’ but I’m guessing it’s something like that. Because that’s Petra. I had a chance to throw in Scotland with Meike and Petra and have appreciated them ever since. When Petra enters a room, you know it. Her huge…smile (heh), and warm greeting will instantly make you feel hugged. I don’t know how she does it. It’s a gift I appreciate, probably cuz I don’t have it.

You are drawn to her. Her warmth and laughter. Her innocent silliness and at the same time her deviousness. (We  were coming back to their home after grabbing Matt from the airport and Petra got there first since Uli drove with us in the new rental. We had some snacks and wine and Uli went to grab the chocolate from a drawer. He said it was a new pack but when he opened it, some were missing. Petra had already gotten into it but pushed the other pieces down so it still looked new. It’s most likely a ‘location’ funny but we lulzed pretty hard. Petra is very stealthy when it comes to stealing chocolate.)

Another time, we were touring the local Palace where there were many signs and warnings of not touching anything EVER and for the most part, items in the rooms were roped off. Well, while in the King’s receiving room, Petra’s phone went off and she quickly wanted to shut it off. So she plopped her purse down, right there on the King’s 15th Century-roped off table, to grab her phone. I thought our lovely tour guide was going to have a stroke. It took us about two more rooms to stop laughing. It was awesome!

Petra was our cruise director, even before we got there. In Buffalo, she asked about the meet and where it was. And then she said, “you get a hotel there on Friday and Saturday and the rest of the days you stay with us.”  She always had a plan and when plans needed to be adjusted (we were going to Oktoberfest and the Mercedes museum on Monday but had just spent our Sunday walking through crowds of people at the Palace while driving for an additional 10-15 minutes trying to find parking. We all wanted to avoid both parking problems AND huge crowds of people the next day. New plan) she was on it to make sure we had something fun to do.

While we were driving back home on Monday from the Black Forest, Petra turned to me in the car and said, “okay, here’s the plan…” I’ll miss that. Someone giving me a plan for something awesome to happen each day. At some point after she started telling what the plan is we got giggly and talked about how, even when you have fun on the field for a couple of hours you never really know how spending time with each other for days and days will go-but then it goes wonderfully. I cherish that. New friends that your lives just merge into without incident. What a gift.

If Petra is the Sundshine, Uli is the steady breeze that ensures we are where we need to be when we need to be there; have been fed, and never falters in his steady guidance.

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One of four welcome gates to the Palace grounds. So now you see why Meike and Jacquline are called The Hobbits;)

Because his work schedule was a little more flexible than Petra’s, he made sure I got to their Athletic Haus (more on that another day) to train and eat. When I arrived Thursday night he fetched me from the airport (German lei in hand) and we went back to the Athletic Haus to meet up with Petra and the rest of friends and to eat. He asked me what I needed and I said, “Meat and healthy carbs.” Boom. Steak and spatzle fell from the sky and I was good to go. After training on Friday, we had lunch at the Haus again (a Croatian family rents space from the athletic haus and runs a restaurant. It was some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life.) Again, Uli asks what I need. Meat and some salad. BOOM!

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Ask and you shall receive. A platter of delicious meats and salads and crispy french fries. And a pretty awesome lunch companion.

Petra joined us there and after we all ate, we went to an Army surplus store they found for me to look for Ozman prizes. Again, after we fetched Matt from the airport and we got our rental car, Uli said we should come back to house before heading off closer to the meet because current traffic would make a 25 minutes drive 3 hours. (The Autobahn is very fast, until it’s not.)

I imagine spending time with Petra and Uli is much like going on a cruise where everything is laid out in front of you and you really don’t have to go to much effort to have an amazing time. The difference is, you’re not seasick and in need of throat punching hundreds of  stupid people while riding around in a ginormous petri dish. Our time with The Hobbits on Sunday’s palace tour and dinner afterwards was an extra treat. We are so incredibly fortunate to have such wonderful friends around the world who are so kind and open their homes; their lives, and their friends to us.

Before I finish, I want to say a little about my very brief time in the Istanbul airport. First off, it was fine. In fact, I will recommend Turkish Airlines to anyone who wants to travel a bit cheaper into Europe and doesn’t mind the Turk detour to get it. While it did make the trip home over 10 hours, the $600 price tag was well worth it. Hell, I’ve spent nearly that flying around America. The airlines itself takes very good care of you and in addition to multiple meals and scrumptious Turkish red wine (yes, multiple of that too) you can always grab a cheese sammich or a muffin along with bottles of water in the galley’s throughout the whole trip. I drank so much water on these flights that I landed plenty hydrated. It was awesome.

What I did notice about the Turkish people is that they are very pushy. In the airport; waiting in que; on the airplane. They constantly push. Now, while I thought it was rude, I was reminded by one of my clients that this is the norm of a population that is overcrowded. Asia can be the same way (I’m told.) So this actually makes sense. Also, I noticed that when you push back, they back off.

The Istanbul airport is pretty much like any other airport except the people watching will include people from all over the world where as the people watching in Milwaukee consists of fat locals in Packer jerseys. Not nearly as exciting. I’m sure my face did go ‘tourist’ when I saw something like this…

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…a group of about 15 women in Burka’s shopping for Turkish Delight candies. This was new for me. I tried not to stare. They were so, I dunno, beautiful. Strong. Majestic. What I DID notice is that I wasn’t the only affected by it. One woman, sitting at a table across from me, just said, “Wow.” Yup. Wow. Here’s another little tidbit, if you want to further the myth that women in America have very little rights, you live in a fucking bubble. Grow up. White American women are some of the most privileged and protected women in the world. There have been a lot of people who have helped that along and I suppose it’s fair to say that any group wants more rights than they have. But for today, we’re doing pretty good.

Anyways, Turkish Airlines is A-okay by me. Istanbul, at the end of the day, is just another airport but with a lot of cardio as they make you traverse one end of the airport to another while they make four gate changes on one flight.

Lastly, this girl:

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Quite lovely, isn’t she!?

Our beloved Highland Games sister, Annie Marshall, moved to Germany late last year and I know I can speak for others when I say how missed she was by all of us on the fields this year. I am so appreciative of her making the trek out on a rainy, late evening to come and watch me lift and grab a few moments of laughter and as many hugs as we could fit in before a quick goodbye. She is a gem and I’m so incredibly thankful for our time together.

While I love to share our journey with our friends, it makes me a bit melancholy for them. OH! After my last (missed) lift, Matt brought me back a glass of wine (their local wine is my absolute favorite. Each athlete who got on the podium went home with a bottle. It is very special and will be drank at some appropriate time if we actually get around to celebrating these World Championships) and I instantly went out of “athlete” mode and into “tourist” mode. Because of that, I didn’t even realize that even going 2 for 6 at the meet, I increased my total by 4kg. Now, that may not seem like a lot but an increase of 4kg a few times a year is a huge increase overall. Especially approaching 50. I’m super happy with it! I have one more chance this year to increase my total, hopefully by 2-4kg and I’ll be incredibly satisfied with my lifting this year.

And while I have many pictures to enjoy from the trip, this one of Ursula and Heidi is one of my favorites. I hope good things for them. I hope they meet fun people from all around the world and forge friendships with them that brings them together. At the very least, I hope that for them.

Wherever you go, go with all your heart.

Confucius

 

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Monday Bacon: My Marriage Sucks

Posted on October 10, 2016 by tosabarbell

Well, now I have your attention.

suck

Happy Day

I’ve been watching some British movies lately. Gawds, I love hearing the Brits cuss, it’s so regal. There was one (I never remember the names of movies, I don’t movie well) with that painfully skinny actress in the Pirates of the Caribbean series before they decided to get someone with a personality and inserted Penelope Cruz. The husband was played by a guy who was in a Terminator movie but the ones with Christian Bale, not the newest guy. (Yes, this is mostly as close as I come to knowing who actors are.)

Anyways, it was depressing. A seemingly happy marriage derailed in one evening by a work trip cheat by him and a flirtatious non-cheat encounter by her. Yuck. The next movie was far more lighthearted following a couples journey from wedding to eventual divorce by the end of the first year. Minnie Driver played a small role and I like her (if I know an actor’s name I either like them or have vowed never to watch a stupid movie of theirs again-Julia Roberts.) Minnie’s marriage seems like a train wreck with the insults going back and forth but when her sister asked why she stays with the husband when they hate each other, Minnie’s character comes back with:

Of course we do (hate each other), but that’s marriage. To embrace the hatred. Marriage is about living with the imperfections, isn’t it?

And then she did something British and funny again.

I like that, living with the imperfections. I should have seen more British comedy movies about marriage, it would have given me a far more realistic view of it all than what my parents gave me.

See, my parents have a marriage that is 50+ years strong. And it was always portrayed as strong. While there were tiffs here and there, there was always respect. Not only in the obvious ways, but respect for what was important to the other person. Dad had his garden and would get lost in it on his one day off a week. Yes, he had chores to do around the house and probably got to them all eventually-I don’t remember our home ever being run down or things that broke staying broke so he obviously was on the motherfu…well, you know. But Mom knew that garden time was important to Dad’s winding down and never once complained (at least around us kids) about the hours he would spend out there. I always thought that was cool. I wanted that for my someday marriage (truth be told, I never thought I would get married. I didn’t have that whole Disney princess wedding dream. I wanted to live in a Penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago and live my own little version of Alexis Carrington’s life. True story.)

My parents always seemed to be on the same page. I liked that, well, except when I didn’t. Complaining to one that the other was unreasonable was futile and would probably incur an even larger piece of wrath pie than what you started with. You learned that pretty early in the Peterson house. My parents always had cool friends. I liked that. I loved the Bible Studies they would host because it meant fun people were in the house and those wafer cookies that actually taste like sugared cardboard for treats afterwards. Back in those days, my bedroom was almost always a chaotic storm that was organized in such a way that I knew exactly how many days left I had to wear a semi-smelly t-shirt or which book was okay to read at night to avoid nightmares (mom actually stole a book from me once after telling me that I was waking up the house with horrific screams at night.) Bascially, it was a mess. The problem was that it was right across from the bathroom so I had to keep my door shut (fine by me) when company came. Well, in order to get me to clean my room to avoid embarrassement, my mom had my dad remove my door. Still fine by me. Don’t care. Mom finally caved 5 minutes before the first doorbell rang and had dad put the door back on. A rare victory for teenage Jules.

My parents had pretty specific roles in the house on some things but complete flexibility in others. I liked that. Dad packed the car for road trips. He was the master packer. Mom would pack everything in the house and it would be laid out just so on the lawn so dad could tetris that shit before Tetris was even a thing. I do that now. So does Zandra, makes a Ma proud. Dad did dishes too. Cooked and cleaned up and was always good at asking Lynda what needed to be done around the house. I like that. I perceived that to be another form of respect. Which means NOT doing that is a form of disrespect.

But ya know what? Their marriage sucked.

And don’t even get me started on the “Married” role models my grandparent’s were. I’ve already written about how my grandpa nearly worshipped my grandma. At the very least he cherished her and showed it in so many ways.

Guess what? Their marriage sucked too.

Oh sure, not always. See, when I look back at life, it’s easy for me to remember fondly all this good stuff. The positives. Grandpa always wanting to hold Grandma’s hand. Dad lovingly teasing Mom and making her smile to herself. That’s my Disney experience. Only it was real which made it so much more important to expect in my own marriage.

But it wasn’t. Grandpa, at times, was tough. Self-absorbed and for lack of a more appropriate word, an outright asshole. He once sold a home that my Grandma loved to buy a crappy duplex a few blocks away. It made Grandma sad. It’s not nice to make your wife sad. I also know my parent’s 50+ years together has not been without fires to walk through of their own (like, non stupid kid related where our actions ramped up the crazy in the house a billionfold.) At times, their marriages sucked.

Matt and I were with my cousin and her husband one evening, talking about marriage in general and the hubs (not mine) said something along the lines that he didn’t understand why people think marriage isn’t easy. His view (good on you dude) is that marriage is one of the easiest things he does. Like I said, good on you. Unfortunately, I don’t agree. When I said so, it was obvious that I struck a nerve. What do you mean marriage is tough? Whoa Matt, look out. What’s going on? Whoa.

Hokay poncho, take it down a notch. I have no clue why my words elicited such a reaction, but I stand by them.

Marriage is tough. Some days it sucks. My Disney dream of respectful sharing doesn’t happen some days. Some days one of us can get a bit “me-centric.” If both of us do on the same day, well, look out. Past relationship pain can cloud what is actually happening in our moment. That sucks. Sometimes, the suck doesn’t even mean to suck.

suck1

Doin’ our thang.

When I first moved here, Matt and I were so happy to finally be in one place after more than a year of long distance. Now, I’m a horrible sleeper on a good day (I’m actually better now thanks to Magnesium and better food) and Matt sleeps like a rock. Well, at some point, Matt started waking up in the middle of the night, would rub my arm lovingly and give me sweet, love you baby. He’d then roll over and go back to sleep. Guess what I’d do? Be up for the rest of the night. Pissed off and stressed on how I’m going to function the next day.

Mother. Fuck. The time finally came where I said if you do that one more time, I will beat you in the head with my Asp. (By the way, to this day I don’t know where my Asp is. I guess I scared him enough;) The problem was, Matt didn’t even know he was doing it. His subconscious was just so sweet. But I was sleep deprived and stressed about even going to bed for fear that he would wake me up to tell me he loved me. Who’s fucked up in that scenario??

So you see? Even whispering sweet nothings can make my marriage suck. Heh.

There have been lots of Highland Games weddings this year. No, not actual Games weddings I guess but some of our fellow throwers whom are much adored have tied the knot. I love weddings, or, I should say I love good weddings. Last spring, one of my clients got married. I love this client (I appreciate all of my lifters but this guy is special.) He’s good and takes care of himself and walks through life with so much appreciation that I just really enjoy him. Now, I’m not going to lie, Matt and I have walked through some pretty significant lava flowing fires this year. Maybe we’re the only one’s in the world going through things but I don’t think so. I’m not even afraid to admit it. One thing you’ll never get from me is a bullshit persona that is afraid to hashtag thestruggleisreal. Some days, it’s real as shit.

Anyways, while we had plans to celebrate our own anniversary that weekend, I needed to go to my clients wedding. I needed to participate and view something good. Something new. Something sweet. See, while I see Matt and I as strong, we’re rarely sweet. And I guess I really need sweet sometimes. So we went to the wedding together. And it was perfect. I imagine that so many of our fellow throwers wedding days were similar. So bright. Beautiful. Full of love and promise. Smiles. Dancing. Everything about a “non-sucky” relationship overflowing.

There are sneaky ways that marriage sucks. For instance, when neither of you speak up to change a destructive habit. It could be as easy as food. I’ve seen a lot of marriages where a lot of weight is gained. Cookies, cakes, candy are an everyday occurrence. If both sides are deep in the belief that this isn’t actually destroying their health and reducing years of functional life, your marriage sucks. We  had dinner with Matt’s sister and new fiance a couple of years ago. He stated that he never wants to make his almost wife do anything she doesn’t want to. Ummmmmm, okay. Yowzer.

At times, it’s good that our marriage sucks. With every fire we’ve walked through, we’ve come out stronger. A little singed, yes. I guess those little burns remind us how precious and fragile this marriage thing can be. Living with imperfections takes precedent over feelings of love, or at least, I believe they do. Love can be forgotten; diminished; or all out destroyed. America’s current divorce rate of 50% indicates that love isn’t as patient or as kind as we profess it to be on that wedding day.

At some point this past summer, I thought again about my parents and my grandparents. That they set this impossible standard of “happy” marriages that go 50+ years so seamlessly and easily. And I think I finally got it. See, their marriages sucked. At least, in ways important to them in terms known only to them. But they didn’t let it deter them from being married.

Huh. You mean my marriage can suck but I can stay married? I can Minnie Driver my way to embracing the hatred and just living with all of the imperfections of our relationship? Wait. That’s an option? (Yes, there are times marriages should end. First and foremost if someone isn’t safe. That isn’t the point of today.)

Today is about the lesson of my parents and my grandparents. Embrace the imperfections and thrive in spite of them. Admit that the suck is just another day of it and keep stepping to tomorrow. Matt and I have done that, so far anyway. Some days are tough. Some days are easy. We just keep stepping. Through the suck. And ya know what? I’m pretty glad we do. He’s pretty cute. He’s pretty worth it. And if I had one bit of advice to give so many happy new couples it would be this, your marriage will suck. At times. It’s okay. Just keep stepping and you’ll come out of it. Better. Stronger.

Your wife is a rose. Love her with all her thorns.

Matshona Dhliwayo

 

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