Tag Archives: love

No one said marriage would be easy.

29 Jan

Holding hands on our wedding dayI caught up with a girlfriend recently and she was all ablush with the first glow of love.

She had met someone amazing. He inspired her, he understood her, their physical connection was electric and her whole world was turned upside down.

She thought she had met THE ONE.

Exciting stuff, right?

One minor issue stands in the way……

Not that long ago I stood on a hill, one summer afternoon, and I watched her say ‘I do’ to the man who was then The One.
She has grown disillusioned by her marriage, and disconnected from her partner.

I do not judge the situation, nor her actions, but the conversation we had that night has brought up a lot of questions for me.

I asked how things had been going in her marriage lately and as you can imagine, things hadn’t been dandy. She felt they weren’t connecting, he didn’t understand her anymore. The spark of electricity was replaced by a smoking fizzle.
They just did the day to day stuff. Work, home, food, kids, bed, and do over every day……..

‘IS THIS IT?’ she posed.

It’s a damn good question, because when you say ‘I do’ you’re vowing to be together forever and, in reality, forever is a really long time.

A long time to never have the butterflies of a new admirer.

A long time to never have another first kiss.

A long time to never feel the electric moment someone’s bare tummy touches yours.

She asked me if I was happy and I told her that I was, and that I was content….she replied ‘what the f*ck is content?’

Is content a bad thing to be?

I’m no relationship expert, as you know. This is my first long term relationship (over 12 months) so I’m really making it up as I go along, but one thing for know for absolutely certain -

MARRIAGE IS BLOODY HARD WORK.

I don’t mean hard work like Sudoku, I mean hard work like Burma Railway.

Marriage is hard because after the excitement of the first kiss and the first bare tummy rub (or other bare rubbing parts) dies down, what’s left is actually fairly unglamorous. What’s left is a roundabout of peaks and troughs that sometimes feel like you’re lost at sea, and you can only hope your boat is seaworthy.

Mortgage payments, phone bills, broken toilets, sleepless nights, finding time for yourself, arguments over housework…..this is the shit that makes relationships difficult. None of it is ground breaking stuff……but it is the toiling grit of daily mundanity that grinds you down in time.

We live in a fairly disposable society these days, so it comes as no surprise that the divorce rate is so high. You know, when the going gets tough (and other Billy Ocean songs)……

Do you not think the previous generations have felt marriage disillusion or dissatisfaction?

Of course they did. So, why is the divorce rate so high now?
Do we quit too quickly? Give up too easily and just keep on moving on to the next thing, like we do with phones and computers and shoes?

You know the secret to a successful marriage?

Wanting it bad enough to work at it.

The thing about these feelings of dissatisfaction is that you must address them head on, for the elephant in the room will become the size of Godzilla and this will only breed contempt…..and contempt will kill your relationship faster than a crying toddler kills your sex drive.

You need to stop looking at the bits that give you the shits and focus a little on what you do like about them. Maybe once you remember those bits, the faults won’t seem as massive and unconquerable. We’re not ever going to change our partners. Sure, you can train them somewhat, but you can’t change them, and trying will only cause rifts.

I think that marriage is a choice, and I know that fidelity is a choice, too.

I’m sure it’s exciting to feel all of those thrilling ‘firsts’ again, but you really need to remember why you married someone in the first place, and if you stood face to face in front of your family and friends, and pledged forever, then maybe you owe it yourselves to try to find your balance again. I think you can reconnect, but I think you really have to want to.

Because it’s hard.

It’s hard considering someone else. It’s hard being honest about your feelings all the time, and having round tables when you just feel like going to bed. You have to work out those niggles before they become relationship cancer.
And you’ll fight. Of course, you will….. But do it with respect, and sit down and listen to each other after.

Obviously, if it’s over, it over. Sometimes people drift apart and the chasm between them is too vast for the tenuous fingers of love to reconnect, and I’m never going to advocate trying to flog a dead horse.

Someone I admire said to me recently ‘No one ever said it was going to be easy’, and I had to smile.

Bastards. Could have warned us.

NB If you’re curious about what happened with my friend…..the new One, was not The One at all.

 

Do you know someone asking the big questions about their marriage? Share this with them….maybe it will help in some way.

What do you think keeps a marriage strong?

 

Hooking up with Team Ibot over at EssentiallyJess……go see what everyone else is thinking about today.

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Half Year, Half Birthday. My little love……

21 Nov


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Brotherly Love

23 Oct

When the divine Zanni, from Heart Mama, was expecting her new baby to join them any second, she wrote to her daughter Elka about the impending changes. Her letter got me to thinking about siblings, and in particular, my children.

In some families siblings are best friends, and in others they are like distant ships passing in the night.
Can you encourage friendships to grow?

Five month old Kiki lies on the floor, her eyes training on D Man’s every move. She is transfixed by the golden haired boy; her big brother. He runs back and forth in her line of vision, delighting in the fact that she turns her head to watch him, over and over again. She gazes at him adoringly, startling every now and then at his squeals, and he basks in her attention. Their giggles are like fairy laughter in my ears as I observe these first independent interactions of my first-born son, and new-ish daughter.

This is their earliest play developing, and they are so happy to just be near each other.

My son, D Man, often looks to me with his little arms outstretched -

‘Hold, Baby?’

We set them up so they’re safe and supported and gently put Kiki in his arms, and he just sniffs her and kisses her head…..then he gets bored and he pushes her away so she face plants on the couch and he reaches for a plastic dinosaur with one hand and picks his nose with the other…..but the first part is no less beautiful.

 

To continue reading, pop over to Heart Mama

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An Anniversary and A Marriage Made in Heaven…..Strawberry Frozen Yoghurt

30 Sep strawb yoghurt 2

Tomorrow is Mister H and my second wedding anniversary.

If I had a hat, I would surely have been clinging onto it because we’ve had one hell of a ride, if you think about it. Life is really quite an adventure, huh?

International jaunts in the guise of honeymoons, a seriously grown-up mortgage, a move from the urban cool, to the suburban un-so, watching our delightful little man grow from a baby into a boy, and of course, our darling baby girl joined us and three became four.

One hell of a couple of years, indeed.

In fact, if we continued this trajectory, with this speed, our heads may well implode by our tenth anniversary, which would be a shame as I’m looking forward to making it to the tin gift, as I’ve always wanted a genuine billy can.

Mister H and I broke up for a time in our early dating period….. Or to be more precise, Mister H broke up with me.
What an idiot.

When he realised he’d made a terrible fuck up faux pas, one of his wooing techniques was to whisk me away to Port Douglas for a weekend of romance. I was making him work pretty hard for the honey, but I relented in the case of a tropical, all-expenses paid, weekend away in Far North Queensland.

One morning, we were walking along the romantic, crocodile infested, waterfront when we happened across a stunning little, white weatherboard chapel amongst the palm trees.
It had stained glass windows, and housed maybe 50 people at a push, and I fell in love…..With the chapel, not Mister H. I was still cranky as hell at him.

I’m going to get married there one day, I murmured, all glassy eyed, but not thinking him.

Just someone special.

Anyhoo, fast forward 12 months or so and he did propose to marry…. And as you may have guessed I said -

‘Sure thing, Sugar Lips, let’s get hitched’

Sorta. That’s what I wished I said. That would have been cool, huh?
What I actually said was along the lines of -

‘You’re not just saying that because I’m up the duff, are you?’

I’d pushed that chapel incident far to the reaches of my mind, so imagine my surprise when I asked my Dutch husband-to-be, with friends and family all over the world, where he would like to get married?

Port Douglas. In a little chapel.

Someone special, indeed.

Strawberry is the fruit of love and they’re damned cheap and delicious at the moment. Each tasty, little, red gem is like pure sunshine on your tongue.
I can truly see why they’re the fruit of love…..and the food of love? Ice cream, of course.

‘Tis surely a marriage made in heaven?

I wanted to make a creamy, yummy, strawberry frozen yoghurt but every time I’ve used fruit in an ice cream it’s gone icy and poo.

I realised my favorite fruit ices were often delicious swirls of fruit that actually tasted more like jam than pureed fruit, so after a couple of experiments, I came up with this.
It’s easy, it’s healthy, and it tastes like love in a bowl.
This can be made either with an ice cream machine or without….something for everyone.

Yield – about a litre

You will need -

  • 300g fresh strawberries, hulled, and chopped
  • 150g castor sugar
  • 700g good quality Greek yoghurt

Throw your strawberries and sugar into a heavy based pan over a low heat on the stove. Cook down, stirring occasionally, for 45 minutes or so until it’s quite jammy and strawberries look kind of clear and gummy.

Icecream machine -
Chuck your yoghurt into the machine and turn it on, stirring in all but 2 tablespoons of your strawberry mixture. Churn as per machine directions (about 15-20 minutes), then transfer into your freezer container. Dot your remaining strawberry mixture on the top and then swirl it through gently with a spoon.
Freeze for 3-4 hours until firm.

In freezer without machine -
Mix your yoghurt and all but 2 tablespoons of strawberry mixture in a bowl and place in the freezer. Every half an hour, remove from freezer and stir vigorously breaking up all of the ice around the edges and making it smooth again.
Repeat about 4 times until it’s almost a soft serve consistency.
Dollop your remaining strawberry mix around the top and then swirl through.
Freeze for a further 3-4 hours until firm.

This would work with almost any fruit by my guess. I can’t wait to try nectarine, and peach….oh, and mango.
I don’t generally give D Man store bought ice-cream yet, but he loves this and I have very little guilt giving it to him. There’s a bit of sugar, but whatevs…..no preservatives, no hidden nasties and sweet, sweet fruit of love.

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Tragic Love and Chicken Soup Remedy

17 Jun

I’ve dated some truly prized dicks in my time. I’m not referring to appendages, but to appalling character. I never purposely intended to date penises, but it would appear that I have shown some rather poor judgment of character in my past. I wish someone had have told 18 year old me that bad boys were a fool’s pastime. Being a know-all, I doubt I would have listened, but that’s by the by.
I reckon the contenders for the Top 3 All Time Most Shithouse Boyfriend would have to be as follows :

Mr Double Jeopardy
Oh, my Lordy, this guy was a great player. He had a whole double life goin’ on. It must have been fairly bloody exhausting for the poor chap, in retrospect, as I know that maintaining one relationship is hard enough work, so cultivating two high maintenance ladies for a year, one of whom (me) he co-habited with, probably entitles him to some kind of award. He was also incredibly industrious with a secret career as a drug dealer. I would have loved the opportunity to agree to be the Bonnie to his Clyde, but alas, I was ‘that woman’ who has no idea what’s going on right under her nose. I dare say that if he did receive an award it should definitely consist of a monstrous pair of brass balls mounted on a plaque, because that’s what he needed to pull off such a feat of duplicity. Anyway, it ended spectacularly with a suicide attempt (his, not mine), and a stint in therapy (mine, not his). The truth of the matter is, he was probably so exhausted from his ruse that he just wanted to sleep the eternal sleep. His family whisked him away and I never saw him again.

The Greek Hitler
I thought this dude was so cool. He had a 1960′s Dodge, and a ’50′s BMW motorbike. He wore cowboy boots and vintage leather jackets, and worked in a nightclub. I moved into his pad within two weeks and strapped in for a fairly fast and furious roller coaster ride of mind bending. Some people just love power play, and this cat could have powered the grid to the whole Eastern Suburbs. He was so damned controlling. If he played guitar like he played me, he would have been a cross between Hendrix and Slash but without the ‘fro.
My mum came to stay and saw the whole embarrassing lot and very subtly left him a note when she departed. It read ‘Do not try to clip the little bird’s wings, as she’s just learning to fly’. Then, she not-so-subtly told me she thought he was a dick.
God bless that woman. I bought a one way ticket to the UK.

Mr Anger Management Fail
Holy guacamole, this dude had a temper! Once he flipped his shit he couldn’t control himself and I stupidly stayed with him for a year and a half. WTF was I thinking? I was young, he was sexy, and he told me I was nothing without him…and I believed him for a minute. The dichotomy about this charming fellow was that he made a cracking farmhouse style chicken soup. Ironic, huh? Chicken soup is hailed as the most nurturing of all liquid meals and this thunderous lad was about as nurturing as Hurricane Katrina. He made this soup by boiling chicken wings and adding some veges and there was something so wholesome about it that even though we broke up with a very loud bang, I still thought about his soup. It was so long ago but over the years I tweaked the formula and now I have a winning recipe.
So much so, that recently a girlfriend of mine said she could eat this soup every day for the rest of her life.
I’d actually like to dedicate today’s post to her. Not only has she known me throughout all of these tumultuous dalliances of my twenties, before I hit the jackpot with my Mister Right, but she has just bought home twin baby miracle girls. Her husband has been away for two weeks, and she has coped magnificently, even coming to visit me in the ‘burbs, two 15-week-olds in tow, and freshly washed and blow dried hair. Ah-may-zing!

Now you have the recipe, my dear friends, go forth and eat this soup every day of your life.

Read the recipe through first as I kind of do the stocky bit first so as to not get soggy vegetables.

Yield : a big pot full

You will need :

  • 1 kilo chicken legs, skin on
  • 2 litres chicken stock
  • 2 carrots, chopped
  • 3 stalks celery, chopped, but with the tops and leaves left whole
  • 1 leek, white part only, chopped, the green top part left whole
  • 1 onion finely chopped
  • 3 bay leaves
  • a small handful of fresh thyme (2 teaspoons-ish dried if it’s all you have)
  • 1/2 cup barley
  • 1 potato, skin on and chopped
  • a handful of beans, cut into 1/3

Throw your onion, celery tops and leek top into a big heavy based pot with a little oil. When they’re all fragrant, add your chicken legs and just start to get them a little browned. You don’t need to brown all of them all over, we’re just starting a little caramelisation process to release the sweetness of the veg and the yumminess of the chicken. Add your stock and your barley, throw in your thyme and bay leaves and pop on a lid for about an hour or until the chicken is coming away from the bone.
Using a slotted spoon, pull out the celery tops and leek and disgard. Put the chicken into a separate bowl and allow to cool.
Pop your potato into the soup and allow to cook for 5 minutes before adding the rest of your vegetables excluding the beans. The beans go in in the final three minutes so they keep a little al dente. Pick your chicken meat and add to pot.
If you want to skim the fat off, you can either refrigerate it until the next day so it;s all on the top, or you can lay a piece of kitchen roll on the top of the soup and it absorbs into the paper……I just eat it. Fat equals flavour…..sorry, Michelle Bridges.
Season to taste. Serve with crusty bread.

I like to add lemon juice and Tabasco to mine.

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Expansion of the Human Heart

12 May my babies 2

One of my biggest fears when I fell pregnant for the second time was whether or not I would have enough love for more the one child. When you feel as though you love somebody more than life itself, how can you possibly multiply that? What if there physically wasn’t enough space in my chest (that’s where love lives, isn’t it? Not to be confused with ON my chest either which is in crazy E cup, fit to bust, glory right now) to fit more love? I was scared that perhaps I would have to share the existing love, as if measuring out ingredients to make two equal loaves, but how could you ever measure such massive quantities, or what kind of implement could ever properly measure such an intangible thing?

I had heard of women who loved their toddlers, of course, but when their new baby arrived they shunned their older child as they suddenly felt detached from them. They felt that, although the older child was previously their ‘baby’, they were now a big, cumbersome, boisterous creature that was getting in the way of bonding with the tiny newborn. Would this happen to me? COULD this ever happen to me? I’m crazy about my little buddy, D Man. We hang out and we do stuff together. Of course I get frustrated sometimes about the ‘Groundhog Day’ it can seem like I’m living, and sometimes D Man is not the most intellectually stimulating cat on the block, but surely, I would never shun him, my first born heart?

Or the other possible scenario is that I didn’t bond with my newborn, for whatever reason. Perhaps breastfeeding was difficult or I felt differently about the labour and I didn’t feel the same love that I felt with my first baby. When D Man was born I felt that my heart had suddenly been opened in a way that I would never have thought imaginable. My capacity for love, not just for my child, but for the entire world had grown exponentially with the placing of that little person in my arms. I suddenly saw a bigger picture that was not about me, or my personal happiness and I knew that from that day forward I would do whatever it took to protect and love this creature that was of my flesh. Would I be able to feel that again?

The answer, thankfully, is yes.

It’s not the same. The intensity of that first realisation of motherhood is lessened slightly the second time around, but it is because I cannot relive first moments, not because I feel less for my baby. It is sure to me now that your love does not halve, it doubles…..plus some. A considerable sum of some, it appears. We, as humans, have the ability to keep growing love infinitely and people with 10+ children must need a wheelbarrow with which to carry their hearts.

Just as I was thinking these thoughts I came across this quote from Yasmin Le Bon in a magazine – ‘Discovering that with every child, your heart grows bigger and stronger – that there is no limit to how much or how many people you can love , even though at times you feel as though you could burst – you just love even more’.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Happy Mother’s Day, peeps.

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