The Secret Of A Good Marriage

Love . . . And Other Indoor Sports

The Secret of A Good Marriage

Today I have a special treatI am going to share the secret of a good marriage. HAHAHA, you say? Well, okay, I can understand that. Considering I am on my second marriage, and that marriage can be rather tumultuous (to say the least), I get why you might be chuckling behind your hand at my presumptuous knowledge; however, I often have people confiding in me about their relationship issues (like I’m the resident expert?), and I have only ONE statement of advice that I share with EVERYONE:


There you have it, folksno 12-step program to wedded bliss and no sound-bite, Dr. Phil-worthy, pithy pointers. Just the facts. The cold, hard facts.

There is no “happily ever after,” like the fairy tales, romance novels, and rom-com movies promised us. Nope. Not unless you are willing to work at having your own version of relationship utopia, that isand that equates to a daily mantra of “I will work HARD today to not shame, blame, or disrespect this person that I am married to.” Sounds easy, right? Well, it’s not. It’s the hardest accomplishment in the world.

Like last night, when my four-year-old busted into my bathroom right after she finished dinner, as I sat doing my business (and enjoying five minutes of silent peace). Smelling her hamburger breath, I realized that her dad (a.k.a. my husband) had not given her the antibiotics that she is currently taking for a minor throat/sinus infection. I asked her and she confirmed that, no, she had not had her medicine. Given my geo-location, I asked her to ask daddy to give her the medicine. While slightly irritated that said daddy had (A) allowed her to interrupt my bio break and (B) same said daddy had not remembered to give her the antibiotics on his own, I felt proud that I didn’t voice my irritation, because marriage is HARD work and sometimes (okay, LOTS of times) you have to suck it up, princess, and keep your mouth shut.

Until daddy proceeds to ALSO enter the bathroom (apparently pooping is a spectator sport in our house) and ask me, “Where is her medicine?”

Now don’t get me wrong, this could, in fact, be a legitimate question under certain circumstanceslike if he had just found out she was on antibiotics (he hadn’t) or he hadn’t yet given her any medicine from this bottle in the fridge (he had), or our daughter was at an age where she might actually get medicine in any form other than liquid that requires refrigeration (she isn’t), or he was recovering from a partial lobotomy. Those kinds of legitimate reasons for asking such a question.

Being fluent in sarcasm as a second language, my first inclination was to spew at him, “In the microwave, of course!” in response to his question about the medicine’s whereabouts. I have to admit, this is often the shape my responses take to questions of this calibre; however, mustering all the teeth marks my tongue could bear, I managed to say, “In the fridge,” with not a drip of sarcasm. THIS is the hard work I speak of. The daily chore of not going ape-poop crazy on your spouse for those annoying questions or habits that they’ve had since day one, even if you truly had no idea back on day one that on day 2,283 these questions and habits would have the ability to put you into a homicidal rage.

Of course, there is more to the hard work of marriage. I could write an entire blog unto itself on the types of hard work required to make a marriage successful, but I think you get the picture. There is constant communication, negotiation, compromise, forgiveness, tolerance, apology, and commitment required. It’s hard, hard work. Every day. Not just when you feel like it, or when you are in a good mood. There is no sabbatical from working hard on your relationship. No vacation from the effort. Never mind the added stress and work of kidsthat’s a whole additional layer of mutual hard work.

Now, obviously there have to be some benefits to all this hard work, otherwise marriage as an institution would have died off centuries ago. Sheesh, just the purported extended life expectancy alone should be enough to warrant saying please and thank-you consistently, holding your breath and counting to ten every day as required, or even forgiving your spouse for leaving the patio door unlocked all night (as mine also did last night). After all, we all want the same treatment from one another. Give to get, reap what you sow, and all that jazz.

Would it be easier if we were all conditioned from a young age to understand the reality of marriage? If that were the case, the institution of marriage would have died off centuries ago. Perhaps believing in the fairy tale is what draws us all in to begin with, then we're already married once the reality occurs and we have no choice but to try to work it out. WORK it out. Hard work. Keep sluggin’ away at it, day in, day outgood days and bad daysbecause just that little taste of the fairy tale that we get in the initial throes of fresh, new love keeps us going (similar to a crack addict after their first rush), continuously going back to it in the hopes that the passion fairy will revisit us.

For those who find my blog today too negative or pessimistic, have no fearI too believe in romance and moments of passion in long-term relationships. I am just too pragmatic and jaded by experience to invest in the theory that marriage is a happily-ever-after fairy tale. It’s hard work. Worth the work? Absolutely, yes. But still hard work.

On New Year's eve 2006, I married the man of my dreams. Well, ok – the second man of my dreams after the first dream ended in divorce. Seems the 1st and 2nd men of my dreams both have the same first name, but that has benefits sometimes.... With my man came his awesome mini-me son who lives with us 50% of the time so I got a 2-for-1 deal.  I always wanted children (that called me "mommy"), so after we married, we marched off to the fertility specialist. Scads of money and tears later, no baby appeared, so we began a new journey to adopt internationally.  Our brilliant daughter has been a part of our family since 2009 and is the joy of my life. Being a mom through adoption is hard. Being a stepmom is hard.  Being a transracial mom is hard. Being a mom of ANY kind is hard, as well as the most rewarding experience you could ever have. Come read all about my momiverse in my crazy, busy, fruity, sweet and spicy blog at:

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