The Three Little Words You Should Never Say

And no, ladies, it is not “I love you,” though I do subscribe to the theory that you should never be the first to say those three little words either, even if you’re certain he feels the same. Nothing will make him reevaluate his feelings faster. (But that’s another blog post.)

I’m talking about “I need you.” I don’t care if you’ve been married 20 years, do not say those three little words. There is plenty of truth to the idea that men need to feel needed, now more than ever. (They are still coping with adjustment to the upheaval of sex roles in the last few decades, trying to figure out if they still have a purpose in life if their wives make more money than they do or their girlfriends know how to change a flat tire.) But that is all going on in the subconscious brain that most of them never visit. Saying “I need you” is still about as good as cursing at them. In fact, it may be worse.

Just in case you’re scratching your head at this dichotomy, let me enlighten you. It’s kind of like when you say to your husband, “Can you please take out the trash?” And he sits there in front of the TV another 45 minutes (at least) until he gets up and does it. It’s his way of asserting that he’s not doing something just because you asked him or, worse, told him to. Men still think they are and must be the great initiators.

I don’t care how progressive your beau is. Deep down in his Neanderthal brain, he does not want a woman telling him what to do, particularly not the woman he has it in his head he’s supposed to be taking care of, and that’s you.

Subtlety is required when dealing with the male brain.

Want him to take out the trash? Then you put the full and tied up trash bag in the middle of the kitchen where he has to trip over it while getting munchies out of the cupboard. Unless he’s a complete moron, he’ll get the hint, take out the trash, and feel like it was his idea. (Don’t worry, his brain will never go so far as to analyze why the trash was sitting in the middle of the kitchen in the first place.) Oh, and this works well with vacuum cleaners, too.

So back to “I need you.” Let’s say you’re in an emotional crisis, and you’d really, really like him, at the very least, to hold you and stroke your hair, tell you how much he adores you, and that everything will be okay. You absolutely do not tell him, “I’m going through hell right now, and I need you.” He will run from you as fast as he can.

Because anytime a man feels so directly and acutely needed without any mental preparation time, he panics. He can’t help it. Emotional sustenance is not in his native skill set. This doesn’t mean he can’t do it. But it’s kind of like handing him a piece of paper that says, “If you don’t want to lose your job, you have 10 minutes to prepare a speech on why Sarah Palin would be a good President, and it has to be convincing.”

And while I’m still all for the idea of “skip the guy, and go to your girlfriends, who actually know how to deal with shit,” I realize there are times when, for whatever crazy reason, you really want the man in your life to rescue you. (Yeah, we’re not over the gender role crud entirely either.)

So how do you get him to come to your rescue when he doesn’t really want to be called upon to rescue you but still has the need to rescue you so long as you’re not telling him to rescue you and he feels like he saw all by himself you were in distress and came to your aid of his own manly accord?

No doubt about it. This is a tough one. Because unless your S.O. happens to be a rare and progressive man who doesn’t freak and run into his cave to hide every time you say the words, “I’m sad,” or “I feel like,” it can be very tricky getting him to give you what you need when you’re in crisis.

So you have to play to his native tendencies, and one thing men hate worse than anything is to see a woman cry. They have absolutely no idea what to do with a crying woman and will pretty much do anything within their power to keep you from crying. But start crying, and they will bolt. So here’s the key: as long as you stay on the verge of crying, he will do anything at all to make you feel loved, cared for, and tended to. And this doesn’t apply just to your husband or boyfriend. It applies to the service manager at the automobile dealer and the president of the local bank, too.

By the way, if this looks like manipulation to you, I’ll tell you what a wise friend of mine once told me, “Doing what you need to do to get what you need and want is not manipulation; it is motivation.”

So start motivating your guy to give you what you need.

When he successfully navigates the neediness waters, praise him profusely, even if he does it clumsily. It’s a start. Tell him how much it meant to you that he held your hand through a crisis. Let him know he saved the day. Men still have hero worship complexes. They want and need to be knights in shining armor, and they have increasingly few opportunities to fulfill this biological/social compulsion. The more opportunities you give them to come to your aid, when they feel like they’ve come to your aid without you demanding or begging for it, the more confident they will feel in their role as provider of comfort and support.

You get what you need; he gets what he needs.

Because unless he’s a completely selfish, moronic idiot, he really does love coming to your rescue, particularly if he feels like he saw the problem coming and ran in to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset before anything really bad happened. It gives his ego a massive boost. And he needs that boost because, as a modern woman, you’re so incredibly competent most of the time that he finds it difficult to see where he fits into the puzzle. Evolution has not caught up with him yet. He still thinks of himself as provider and rescuer in a world where women can provide for and rescue themselves.

Time for a Trade-In? Why Men Are Like Cars….

Maybe there is something of “the man” in me, but I love cars.  No, I’m not interested in how they work, and I don’t like changing oil. But I love driving cars, really nice cars that round corners as if they were designed for the racetrack.  I often carry on deep love affairs with my vehicles…if only for a little while…when the paint is still shiny, the aluminum wheels clear of scratches and scrapes from curb encounters, and the interior as clean as my house is in the five minutes following the housekeeper’s departure.

But after awhile, as we all know, the paint gets marred by encounters with Walmart shopping carts, we drive up against the curb at the post office and take a chunk out of the wheel, and our children trash up the interiors to the point that we just give up and decide we’ll live with driving around in a trash can on four wheels.

It’s not quite so unlike our relationships with men.

And after discussing the “two-year rule” with a girlfriend this evening, I decided it’s high time we ladies have the option of trading in our men the way we do our cars. Here’s why: men, like automobiles, start to lose their glossy perfection after about two years. It’s not because we grow bored with them, mind you, anymore than we would grow bored with our cars. I’d keep my car forever if I could count on it to last me till death without rusting, breaking down, or just plain giving up.

But men, like cars, have their heyday…in relationships, that is. Ever noticed how wonderfully attentive they are in the beginning?  They listen to our problems, offer their sincerest empathy, kiss away our tears, hold us for hours and claim that they love cuddling. They open doors for us, hold our hands when walking down the street, whisper sweet nothings in our ears at restaurants, and stroke our thighs in the darkness of theaters as if we are the most tantalizing women on earth. They buy us dinner. They give us foot rubs. They cook stupendous meals for us. They make love for hours.

Then suddenly, about year two (sometimes sooner), they stop.

Some of us consider this a grand deception. We feel as if we’ve been deceived, duped, tricked into falling in love with a luxury car that has turned out to be a heap of junk.

But let’s face it: men are like cars. They wear out.

Because it really isn’t natural for men, in general, to be the doting lovers they appear to be when they are trying to win our affection and admiration or maybe even our hands in marriage. They know if they want a prime catch, they’re going to have put forth some serious effort and time. They’re not stupid.

Men know if they want to earn our love, they’re going to have to work for it. And they’ll happily do it for a little while, figuring all the trouble is worth the action in the bedroom.  And some will keep doing it even after they’ve won our hearts to prove that they are more worthy than their counterparts who become turncoats after the wedding band is firmly around our fingers. But they won’t do it forever. They can’t.

Men just haven’t been socialized to give in the way women do.  The energy and effort required for them to hold us for an hour while we cry is pretty enormous.  While it may be a matter of course for women to sit with a distraught friend for hours, it turns men into anxiety-ridden heaps of beer-craving gunk. We thrive on being there for the ones we love. Men, on the other hand, feel like we’re sucking out their innards when we require emotional sustenance.

It’s unsustainable.

After a couple of years, the effort of being the perfect man becomes too much for even the finest male specimen to bear. He gives up, reverts to his former self, and leaves us wondering why the hell we ever fell in love.

Pretty soon we’re resenting him hard for not holding us while we sleep, not giving a shit when we complain about our bosses, and not calling us on our lunch breaks to say how much he misses us. Our eyes start wandering, but our hearts keep on believing this is just a temporary funk he will snap out of. So we hang on like a spider clings to a broken web, convinced this is just a phase. One day, we think, he will return to his role as perfect Lothario.

Ten years pass.

Nothing.

He still prefers a beer and football to our company.

My only consolation here, ladies, is to say that it is not you. It is just the way things are.  Perhaps by the time our daughters (or maybe granddaughters) come of age, men will have completed their socialization into a world where it’s okay to love, and give, and feel, and need. But for now, it’s not gonna happen, I’m sorry to report.  Most men are, as a friend of mine likes to say, “emotionally stunted.”

Hence, I’m advocating for a two-year lease.

To hell with this “to have and to hold” till death shit. How about “to have and to hold until he stops acting like the ‘Prince Charming’ he pretended to be in the beginning?”

This might require a flexible leasing option. While the average male can sustain attractive behavior and good grooming practices for about two years, some can’t keep it up (no pun intended) for two weeks, much less two years. Perhaps it all depends on whether you date a Kia or a Lexus.

The problem here, as my girlfriend pointed out to me, is that the two-year leasing option goes against the grain. We sign ourselves away on useless lifetime warranties that never pay out when the product goes bad because the originator of the warranty (Prince Charming) has gone out of business. Convention, no matter how stupid and unproductive, is a hard thing to buck.

But I’m all for being a pioneer and dumping the guy at year two if it looks like his behaviors are mirroring those of a Ford Fiat instead of a Mercedes E series.

After all, guys have been doing this for years.  Sometimes they even carry on relationships with multiple vehicles at a time. They are not exclusively devoted to one make or model. Why are we?

Because we are suckers for the sales pitch.  That’s why.

So next time a man seems like the perfect match for you, do a detailed inspection before you sign on for life. And if you’re feeling a bit skeptical (as you should), consider the two-year lease.

The Guilt Diet: How and Why I Fell Off the Wagon

I know a lot about guilt, at least when you consider I’m not Catholic. In fact, I was raised Lutheran, and the great thing about being Lutheran, idealistically speaking anyway, is that not only do you not need intercessory prayer to wipe away your sins, your sins aren’t really anybody’s business anyway. At least that’s what Martin Luther said. All that muck is just between you and God.

Or between you and your mother.

If the Judeo-Christian Diaspora had need for a patron saint of guilt, my mother would be it. No improper action is unworthy of her note. Just the other day, in fact, as I sat across the kitchen table from her, to give her 20 minutes of painful and dutiful conversation, she remarked on my use of a four-letter word in referring to a less than ethical colleague. “Do you talk like that in front of Heidi? I just cannot believe the language you use.”

I am 37 years old, and I suddenly decided it was time to grab my four-year-old and hit the road before my mother began remarking on the unusual color of my toenails or advised me it was really not appropriate, given my age (nevermind I have great legs), for me to wear skirts with hems above the knee.

My mother comes by her guilt-inducing tendencies honestly enough. The great-granddaughter of Norwegian immigrants who managed to prosper through dedicated and pretty much non-stop labor in the rich soil of the American Midwest, she was raised on a solid diet of hard work, steel nerves, and eternal faith that anything that could go wrong would go wrong. Leisure time is the next best thing to a sin in this world view, and love is reserved for children who are under the age of back talking. Spouses, adult relatives, pets, and neighbors can fend for themselves unless, of course, they have reached drooling stage at which point you tend to them with a rough and exasperated sense of duty.

When you come of age under this kind of rearing, guilt becomes an everyday thing, hardly noted oftentimes.  You think being reminded for the 923^rd time that it is all your fault your parents had to sell a quarter of the farm to send you to college is normal. And you really don’t think about the fact that the reason you haven’t told your mother you’re going on a European vacation is because you don’t want to feel bad for enjoying yourself and (God forbid) spending hard-earned money on something frivolous like seeing the palaces of the Russian czars or taking a gondola ride on the Grand Canal.

There is nothing healthy about consuming a steady diet of guilt, however. Guilt represses and controls, which is, of course, what it is designed to do, but most of us who have been raised on a guilt diet, whether it’s one of moderate or gargantuan proportions, end up leading lives where duty (however it is defined by the ones holding the guilt strings) holds sway over everything else…including happiness.

And if you think happiness is for the afterlife and not for the here and now, well, you might as well stop reading. I have no argument for the doggedly, miserably faithful. Ecclesiastes noted that “all is vanity,” and “all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.” In other words, we’re all headed for the same destination whether we live lives burdened by guilt or not, so why waste time feeling bad for being who we are and for enjoying the life we have been given?

It is a question I have often asked my mother. She has never been able to come up with a satisfactory answer. Perhaps that’s because the answer is ultimately that she, like so many people, from priests to politicians, has found guilt to be a handy way of getting what she wants from other people. If you can make someone feel bad enough for pursuing his dreams, perhaps he won’t pursue them and leave you behind. If you can force someone to be devoted to you by reminding her all the time of all you have done for her, perhaps she won’t abandon you, no matter how horribly you treat her. It is the same thing churches and governments have used for millennia—do the “right” thing, and no harm will come to you; no one will judge you; and life will never be hard. You certainly won’t have to make tough choices.

And, in the end, isn’t that why most of us raised on guilt diets stick to them? Much though we may resent the steady ingestion of our unworthiness, it’s far preferable perhaps to having to put ourselves out on a limb and risk censure or ridicule (or maybe disinheritance) by doing our own thing.

I think perhaps it was watching my father that finally made me ditch the guilt regimen. Raised by a rigidly religious mother and a father who was eternally disappointed in him, my dad ingested guilt almost from the cradle. The result was that he was and still is always trying to please with some ragged hope that maybe one day he’ll be good enough. His parents are long since gone from this earth, but my mother has done a fairly good job of assuming their place and discouraging my dad from following his heart if it in any way leads him away from her…even if only for a day.

Guilt like this is everywhere, and sometimes it’s not other people who impose it on us.  Sometimes we impose it on ourselves.  How many women friends do I have who are reluctant to go out for the day with friends or to take a vacation without their kids?  Somehow they have ingested the idea that they are poor wives and mothers if they give any attention to themselves. So they doggedly devote themselves to their duties—taking care of their careers, their spouses, their children—to the exclusion of caring for themselves.  The result is a life of groundhog days.

Not too many weeks ago I was standing in the prettily landscaped backyard of a well-to-do friend who, like so many of us, on the surface has it all.  I could not help but remark, as I watched our children playing together and her husband grilling on the deck, “You have a good life.”

She literally guffawed, “Yeah, right.”

I knew what it meant, and I kind of chuckled, now admiring the new deck furniture she had purchased, pretty green cushions and a jauntily tilted patio umbrella.  “Well, at least you have great deck furniture,” I said.

We both fell into stitches of laughter. Because it was all too true. When we let duty rule our lives too much, we end up clinging to absurdities for our happiness. Maybe we resent our spouses or hate our jobs, but at least we have a really nice car. Or maybe we’re angry we have to work horrible hours, but at least we have a really beautiful house to sleep in. We cover our guilt with salves of pretense.

I’m not sure when exactly I gave up the ghost and decided to start eating life raw and real. Perhaps it was somewhere between my mother remarking, “well, it must be nice to be rich” and me replying, guilt-free, “yeah, it is,” and walking out at Christmas one year when she told me to “get out,” fully expecting I would never be so lacking in guilt as to actually do it. The funny thing about resisting the guilt diet is that the more you call the bluff of the guilt reapers, the more they back off…or at least keep their guilt-inducing opinions to themselves.

Plus, you’ll find out who really loves you. Trust me, it’s not the person who tries to make you feel bad for following your heart or doing your own thing. It’s the person who makes you feel good for being who you are.

Men Are Cowards, It’s True…But You Don’t Have To Be

She was bored.  She loved, had a capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it.

—William Faulkner, The Town

I have a friend who is about as tough as women come. I say this with both admiration and regret. I admire her for being able to plow through the world without giving up despite all its disappointments, but I also regret that she has never found a safe place to be vulnerable. On the surface, it doesn’t make sense. She is married to one of the kindest men I know.

The problem is this: he isn’t brave.

And it is not an uncommon problem. At the risk of some serious e-mail flack in my inbox in the morning, I’m going to say that men, in general, are cowards. I’m not questioning their physical prowess, their ability to withstand the stress of armed combat, the ambition and drive they exercise in climbing everything from corporate ladders to Himalayan mountaintops. But modern men are lacking in courage in some areas that have women hopping mad.

And it’s not just my friend, who complains about the fact that her husband doesn’t stand up for her, will not take her side in heated conflict, but stands there mute, and, in some cases, even allows her to be insulted. She fights back. He remains silent. Is my friend suffering from some kind of fairytale idea of a Prince Charming who is going to ride in on his white horse and defend her honor?

I actually don’t think so. I think the guy is engaging in the classic male conundrum of “conflict avoidance.”

My former spouse used to chastise me not infrequently for being a bit too vocal at times with my often controversial opinions. “You know I’m the one who is going to end up defending you with my fists one day,” he would say.  I knew there was never any danger of that, first of all, because my husband, like most men, would, when push came to shove, do everything to avoid conflict (emotional or physical), and secondly, that the likely opponent would probably do the same…meaning it was highly improbable that any man was going to come up to me and tell me “what for” in an aggressive manner that might lead my husband to clock him.

My ex-husband never clocked anyone on my behalf. And he’s not a small man, by any means.

I remember a couple of years ago another girlfriend of mine noted how a male acquaintance had made a flirtatious remark to her one day in church and then promptly patted her on the rear. I asked her if she had advised her husband of this pass. “Are you kidding?” she replied “You know how scrawny Mark [names have been changed to protect the conflict avoiders] is. He could never take that guy out.” She totally overlooked the reality that even if Mark was a body builder, he would not have done a thing. My friend even asked her husband to give the offending churchgoer a call. He declined, saying it would be “awkward.”

The fact is life is awkward.

And men just don’t like awkwardness.

Rest assured, I’m not advocating the revival of dueling pistols. But once in awhile women like to know their husbands, boyfriends, maybe even their fathers think they are worthy. And it doesn’t require beating anybody up.

It requires something much more frightening to the male psyche—emotional risk.

Most men aren’t willing to take it and will do anything possible to avoid even having to look at it. Women, who live lives rich with emotional risk taking (unless, of course, they have experienced some trauma that has shut them down and made them more like men), cannot help but get angry at the men whose avoidance of reality causes so much depression, anger, and heartbreak.

In her essay, “Why Women Get Mad at Their Husbands,” J.R. Bruns, M.D., talks about this apparent emotional “detachment and selfishness” on the part of men that “leaves women feeling abandoned and frustrated.” Bruns describes the average American marriage, marriages that are often defined as “good” (meaning only that the couples are staying united despite their daily verbal exchange of snipes, ongoing resentment, and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife), as “loveless unions of obligation.”

Part of the problem is that men, in an effort to win the prize of the woman they think they want to have between the sheets with them for the rest of their lives, play an unconscious game where they temporarily release their emotional inhibitions, often speak and demonstrate their deepest feelings, and put on a display of just how much they will give for love that frequently rivals that of a Bird of Paradise. Even the smartest among us have been misled by this mating ritual, believing ourselves to be among the lucky few who have found some rare gem of a man who is unafraid.

What happens after marriage or after a year or so of cohabitation is that men go back to being men. Meanwhile, the brave women they seduced are left scratching their heads, feeling neglected, unloved, and bitter because the guys they so adored have turned into these creatures who make them feel used and taken for granted. The loving looks across the dinner table have ceased on the part of both parties. As Bruns points out, the eye gazing has turned into eye rolling.

Most men are actually okay with this state of things so long as their wives aren’t giving them too much crap about going out every Saturday morning to play golf with the guys or preferring the company of the television to date night. As their wives and girlfriends fall into despair over the loss of emotional intimacy in the relationship, the guys are issuing forth some sigh of relief that the risky stuff is over.

And while I know I tend to try to be upbeat (or at least humorous) when discussing the absurd trials and tribulations we all go through in this life, I have to be honest, ladies, and tell you the odds are stacked against you if your quest in this life is to find an emotionally courageous man. There are plenty of them masquerading as such. But don’t maintain too many fond expectations that the guy you’re in love with right now (if you’re unfortunate enough to even be “in love”) is ever going to pull out all the stops for you one day. He’s likely no Prince Edward, and while he may tell you you’re as worthy as Wallace Simpson, rest assured, he is not going to give up the throne of England for you…or anything else that makes the average male reasonably comfortable.

You’re just not that important to him.

This is not to say you’re not worthy. You know you are.  Your girlfriends call you “fabulous,” and they mean it.  You are.

But fabulous just isn’t a big motivator for guys, I’m loathe to report. Unlike us, if they have a comfortable place to sleep, access to some fine liquor for when they have an “off” day, good food to eat, some hunting or kayaking gear to keep them amused in their free time, and at least the respect of their colleagues and kids (if not you), they’ll consider life good enough if not downright grand.  If they’ve got some true emotional intimacy with a woman who feeds their ego and makes them feel accepted, that’s just icing on the cake that most of them can live without, especially if they have to work too hard to keep it.

It’s a values game. Women value deep emotional connections; men, by and large, do not.

Women crave and dispense emotional intimacy as naturally as breathing, whether because they are biologically predisposed to nurture and love or socialized to be there for the people they adore, I don’t know.  I just know that because women are so good at it and men so clumsy and ultimately uninterested, it makes for a tragic disconnect between lovers. Women come to see the men in their lives as fakes and cowards. Men come to see their women as nagging and bitter.

Respect dies on both sides.

And once respect dies, love is the next casualty.

This morning, my four-year-old daughter crawled into bed with me, as she often does on lazy weekend mornings. After snuggling up to me and peering at me with those large blue eyes, she said, “Mommy, I love you, and I will take care of you for the rest of your life.”

She was decidedly baffled when I broke into tears.  The tears did not come because I believed her or even because I knew that children say these endearing things while we parents know full well our children will grow up, move away, and think not much about us anymore (which is as it should be). The tears came because I, like so many women I know, once believed that a romantic partner would say those words to me and mean them, live by them—consider me worthy of the risk of his heart.

I have not been wise enough yet to give up on this quest for the brave man, though some of my friends laugh at me for believing men can offer anything to my life other than grief. They have been burned so badly by faith that they have forsaken it. One of my girlfriends who watched her own parents live in seething misery with one another for years said she can remember once sitting on the countertop in her mother’s kitchen when she was nine and saying matter-of-factly, “Mom, you need to get a divorce.”

The experience of her parents’ “loveless union of obligation” cemented her feelings for life that men and love were hopeless. She would, no doubt, call herself a realist.

Another of my acquaintances who spent years in a passionate love affair with a man she admits to this day is the only person who has ever lit her fire ultimately gave up the whole thing, exchanging it instead for a stable if passionless long-term relationship with a man who is often gone from home all week. She says she enjoys the alone time and remarks that she and her life partner have “really good sex” maybe four times a year.  “And it’s enough.”

She may be onto something. Maybe we need to be more like men and start to understand the concept of “good enough.” Not only will we be less likely to be emotionally devastated when love forsakes us, but perhaps we will not resent the men in our lives so much either for failing to be brave and failing to love us as we feel we deserve.

There is one problem here, however, and it goes back to the old saga of shifting gender roles. In a world where most men no longer go off to war, earn all the bread for their families, or provide the tangible protection they offered a century ago to wives and daughters, courage has become a lot harder to define.

For some women, courage means having a husband who will tell off his dad who insults his wife. For others, it means having a boyfriend who is confident enough to cry when he is sad. It is no wonder, in some ways, that many men have given up the ghost, settled for “good enough” marriages, and forsaken love. We want them to be tough and sensitive at the same time, devoted and adventurous in the same breath.

The cultural dialogue is a mess of mixed messaging where we at once berate and honor the men who suck it up and stick around, frequently poking fun in popular culture at their dogged dedication to wives who despise and disrespect them yet then trashing the guys who go for broke and walk away from sterile relationships. Women who leave the “decay” of modern marriage, as Los Angeles Times reporter Robin Abcarian (who reported on the Schwarzenegger-Shriver split) calls it, are applauded for bravery. Men who go are often painted as selfish devils even though they were painted as selfish devils in the marriage, too.

It is a marvelous and wicked Catch 22.  Risk everything, and you’re damned. Risk nothing, and you’re damned, too.

Women know the definition of courage for themselves. It has been the same for centuries and across cultures: risk everything for love (whether that’s love of lover, love of children, or love of friend).

For men, the definition was once “risk everything for honor.” Honor used to be a much simpler thing back when cultural hegemony was the norm. Now we live in communities and countries where values, religions, and ethics are more diverse than they have ever been. There is no longer one definition of anything anymore. The result is knowing what is right and brave is often a very individual decision bound to be condemned by someone.

It is easier perhaps to just lay low, watch TV, have a beer, and tune out of all the emotional drama. That is what men do.

It is why we women are so angry.

We have been taught to follow our hearts. When we stop following them, we know we have failed somehow. Men, on the other hand, have never had a cultural injunction to live for love. They know all about living for honor and duty (however their particular culture defines those things). But living for love is not in the male cultural lexicon unless they are poets.

So while I don’t know the answer for finding a satisfying relationship with an emotionally courageous man, short of finding your own personal Pablo Neruda, I do know you should not abuse yourself as not being worthy of love or give up on life, as Eula Varner Snopes did in Faulkner’s The Town. Nor should you, however, try to draw water out of a stone.

I have forgiven the cowardly men of my life because I know the varying societal pressures under which they operate and the psychological dramas from which they come, but forgiving and accepting are two different things. Sometimes accepting means settling for far less than you expected or desired. I’m not ready to do that yet. Because the day I do it is the day I become a coward. And, in the end, if we want to define bravery, let’s keep it simple: bravery is decided and worthy action in the face of fear.

If the man you love is afraid, do not censure him. We are all afraid. Cowardice is when we let fear stop us, whether we are women or we are men. “A fellow is more afraid of the trouble he might have than he ever is of the trouble he’s already got,” William Faulkner wrote in Light in August. “He’ll cling to the trouble he’s used to before he’ll risk a change.”

Faulkner is right, of course, but just because our natural tendency is to give into fear, that doesn’t mean we have to.

Who’s Bringing Home the Bacon? And Does It Matter?

If women’s level of power in America is at an all-time high, why is their sense of adequacy at an all-time low? You’ll find some of the answers in Anne-Marie Slaughter’s recent and controversial essay, “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All,” in the latest issue of Atlantic Magazine. In it, she talks about her own feelings of inadequacy in juggling a demanding, high-powered career and the raising of two sons, remarking about her not always successful superhuman efforts, “I’d been part, albeit unwittingly, of making millions of women feel that they are to blame if they cannot manage to rise up the ladder as fast as men and also have a family and an active home life (and be thin and beautiful to boot).”

If you’re like millions of other working women, you might breathe a sigh of recognition at those words. How many days have I worked myself into a frenzy of stress, meeting inane deadlines, racing to get to daycare to pick up my daughter at a reasonable hour (or maybe going to dance class first because, after all, I have to exercise to maintain the figure of a 25-year-old when I’m pushing 40), coming home to put together what truly amounts to a pathetic dinner (thank heaven my daughter is only four and thinks making spaghetti takes skill), while I fold laundry while watching her finish her meal, then answer e-mail on my Blackberry while I give her a bath, and often find my quality time with her is accidentally falling asleep beside her in her bed after a 10-minute bedtime story.

And I’m not even married.

Slaughter is though. And while she acknowledges her husband is largely responsible for making her rise to the top possible (he took care of the kids while she was hours away in D.C. all week for two years), she does not once mention in her essay of many thousands of words making time for him. It’s about kids and career.

And, unfortunately, that’s exactly the kind of outlook that has led millions of American women to divorce high-powered husbands while their friends looked on in incredulity. Are the tables going to turn on American women (who are, by and large, responsible for initiating 80 percent or more of divorces)?  Probably not. Men just don’t have the same high standards we do when it comes to relationship satisfaction.  Lucky for us, I guess.

Pity for them.

I’m not suggesting Slaughter doesn’t love her husband or that she doesn’t value him. She obviously values him since she suggests that one way for women to climb to the top professionally is to “marry the right person.” That would be someone like her husband who is willing to take on responsibility for home and kids when she is away. And honestly, I couldn’t be happier that at least some men are willing to do this, even if only some of the time.  But um, is that all the guy is good for? For me, it’s just a little too reminiscent of the perfect hostess/housekeeper 1950s housewife. Marry the person who will help you advance your career and keep you comfortable.

We’ll never know Slaughter’s take on the husband’s role (though we suspect being a lover has very little to do with it given her long hours) because she doesn’t go into it. But we do know she asks people to introduce her as a “mother of two sons” alongside all her professional accomplishments. She does not, however, ask to be introduced as the wife of Princeton University professor Andrew Moravcsik.  Maybe she thinks her audiences already know this.

My point is, however, when did women, who have regretted for centuries their insignificance in the lives of husbands who were out in the working world, decide to be hypocrites and forget the men in their lives?  Or at least overlook them a lot.  I’m speaking of professional women, of course, and I know a lot of them.  Some of them are devoted wives; some of them, however (and I’ll admit I’ve been guilty myself at times), have come to see marriage as a convenient partnership where the benefits accrue in a rather lopsided fashion.

Part of the trouble here, as is so often the case, is the shifting landscape of gender roles. I don’t know if Slaughter makes more money than her husband, and, thankfully perhaps, they enjoy professional parity at least, but there are an increasing number of women who have outstripped their husbands professionally and financially.  And that’s where things get tricky.

A close friend of mine was persistently convinced during the seven years of my marriage that a likely source of the trouble between my husband and myself was the fact that I made more money than he did and, later, when he chose to be a stay-at-home dad for three years, I made the money, period. She insisted this just didn’t sit right with men. I persistently disputed her.

But when I look back at how frequently my former spouse defended his contributions to the household, even when they were not being questioned, I wonder. Because I’ve seen resentment on the part of female friends and acquaintances who have lower-earning spouses or stay-at-home dads for partners. They rarely mean to but they cannot help but see the guy’s role as somehow diminished because he is either not bringing home the bacon or not bringing home as much (or more) than she is.

What’s going on here?  Isn’t this what we wanted?  Isn’t this what our mothers’ generation fought for?  For us to have equal earning power with men? And to have no glass ceilings?

Sure it was.

But remember the old adage, Be careful what you wish for.

I’m not suggesting for a moment that I’d like to see American culture go back to a 1950s model. I am beyond grateful for the fact that I can be economically independent as a woman.  And were it not for the freedom I have had to grow professionally and financially, whether married or not, neither I nor my daughter would enjoy the opportunities we have to live far richer and more meaningful lives than the women who went before us.

But there is a problem here.  Men are becoming largely insignificant, at least in the lives of women who can pull off six-figure salaries or better.  Because even if he knows how to do laundry and change a diaper, well, you could always hire a housekeeper and a nanny.  So if the sex isn’t over-the-top or if he’s not just plain enormously charming, what exactly is his point here outside of offering a sperm donation?

This is a question, I’m afraid, more and more men are asking themselves.  And we women aren’t helping matters.  Because the plain and ugly truth is, there are an awful lot of high-income earning women married to men who just aren’t in the six-figure category. Why? Well, my theory is that rich and powerful men really don’t want competition.  So those of us with brains, no matter how beautiful we are, are not likely to land any millionaires.  If you check out the spouses where the wife is earning as much or more than a high-earning husband, my guess is you’ll find the two of them have been together since before either one of them was making much of anything. Women who have chosen to delay marriage until they themselves are financially secure are not likely to get too many proposals from men playing at the top of their game in high-paying fields.

So is my friend right? Is it hopeless to expect men and women to co-exist in a mutually loving, respectful relationship where the wife is bringing home the bacon and the husband is cooking it or maybe bringing home a basket of eggs instead?

It’s not an easy question to answer, especially given the archetype many of us still hold, sometimes against all reason and education, that men are the providers and protectors. It’s not just men who hang onto this idea and feel themselves less than men if it’s their wives who have the bigger bankroll. Women buy into it, too, even the liberal, executive-level women who have chosen as their life partner an incredibly worthy guy who, despite all his intelligence, charm, and decency, has an annual paycheck of $50,000.  Or maybe, because daycare is so darn expensive anyway, he’s decided to stay home until the kids hit school age while she goes into work every day at a law firm.

Is it possible to maintain love, respect, and passion under this scenario that seems so in conflict with biology, tradition, and the Jungian archetypes of our unconscious brains?

The answer is “yes,” but you better be prepared for some complex choreography:

1) Never forget for a moment that your spouse is and should always be the single most important person in your life. Put your career first, put the kids first, and you’re screwed.  And that’s the case no matter who’s bringing home the bacon. Get that in your head before you even get married because once lost, it’s awfully hard to get it back, if not impossible. Respect and love are earned; once lost, they are rarely regained…unless, of course, you want to spend $150 an hour on cognitive behavioral therapy with a marriage counselor.

2) Create an atmosphere of equals. If you think the fact that you earn more money (or all the money) is going to mess with your ability to see your spouse as an equal, then you probably shouldn’t get married. But if you’re already in the stew, then make sure things are as equitable as possible. If you’re bringing in a quarter million a year and working 14 hours a day six days a week, it won’t take long for you to resent the spouse with the regular 9 to 5 job who’s not earning nearly as much. Together, figure out what you need to do to make things feel more equal. If that means he mows the grass, cooks dinner, and gets the kids to bed, fine, do it.  And if that’s the agreement, stick to it. It’s not fair to start resenting later when he’s pulling his weight exactly as you asked him to.

3) Don’t pull out all the feminist crap. After all, it’s the two of you, not society at large. Let him do things for you.  Let him carry your luggage, open doors for you, pay the cab driver, hold you when you’re scared, kiss away your tears, fix things that are broken, take charge of whatever he wants to take charge of. And don’t think there is something wrong with you because some part of your brain needs all this. We’re human, and it’s totally okay to let down your defenses with the one you love.

4) Don’t forget why you married him in the first place. You can tell yourself it was because the doctors, lawyers, and CEOs wouldn’t give you the time of day (and maybe they wouldn’t), but did you really want that kind of man anyway?  The kind who considers his career more important than you?  And let’s face it, the man who is top-notch in the boardroom is rarely top-notch in the bedroom—he really just doesn’t have the time.  So honor the characteristics that led you to choose this man who may not be CEO of a Fortune 500 company but who puts meaning, love, and joy ahead of making money and gaining power. Count the many blessings of having him in your life. And no, I’m not talking about the fact that he knows to separate whites from darks before tossing clothes in the washing machine. I’m talking about the way he looks at you as if you are the only human being on earth…because, in his mind in those moments, you are.

Before some of my female cohorts jump my case, let me say that none of this is to suggest that there are not men out there who will not take advantage of their six-figure earning wives. Some intend it from the beginning; some do not but end up doing so over time, just as the “desperate housewives” do who come to value the backyard pool, the European vacations, and the BMW more than their spouses. If you’ve married the kind of guy who sees your high-powered job as a great opportunity for him to kick back and enjoy the fruits of your labor without contributing much labor of his own, then my uncensored advice is this: dump him.

Because if you’ve climbed the ladder high enough to have attracted (or created) a gold digger, then you’re worthy of something far better…unless, of course, you have failed at points 1 through 4 above and the most exciting thing outside your professional life is the cocktail you have after work to deaden the heartbreak of going home to kids who know you only as the person who paid for the latest trip to Disney World and to a spouse who has grown more accustomed to sleeping with the family dog than with you.

Nothing is set in stone, however, much though it may feel that way. With summer here and school out, I have been letting my daughter stay at home from daycare a couple days of the week, and she occasionally drifts into the home office, leans against my chair, head tilted into my shoulder, and says, “Mommy, why do you have to work so much?”  And some days, like today, I get a clue and break from my story editing to cut out paper dolls for her.

My own mother rarely played with me when I was a child. She was too busy working.  One of my girlfriends, who graduated college at the top of her class, had the same experience with her own mother. Despite all of her promise as a rising professional, she dumped it to be a stay-at-home mom, and she actually plays with her kids, knows how to relax into it, and can leave dirty dishes unattended for hours without too much guilt.  I’m not quite that good.  But I’m trying to learn the art.

Long ago, I became a writer in part because I envisioned it as a flexible career that would give me greater control over my time. And it did to a point. Once upon a time, my ex-husband and I enjoyed three-week long vacations and monthly weekend getaways. Never would this have been possible in a conventional career.  My career also made it possible for him to retire from the military and stay at home after our daughter was born. I cannot thank my work enough for the life it has given me.

But it has also taken some things away.

And that is the challenge for women, who, for better or worse, are still expected to be nurturers, caregivers, and lovers even as they also assume the role of breadwinner. We are never allowed to slough off any of our roles. We just keep adding more, and so often they seem incongruous.  That is the hardest part, trying to figure out if it is okay to be in charge at the office and then let go of it in the arms of our spouses.

I’m here to tell you: it is okay, and it is critical.

Keep bringing home the bacon if you will.  But if you really want the meaningful home life (and one that includes your husband as well as your children), you’re going to have to drop the role of powerhouse at the door and allow yourself to be vulnerable to love, open to being cared for, and willing to let go of the idea that you have to be on top of things all the time. You do not. Give it up. Let it go. So maybe your husband fell in love with you, in part at least, because he found something tremendously sexy about your take charge attitude, your intelligence, the way you look in a suit and three-inch heels.  My guess is, however, that he also fell in love with the idea of finding the vulnerable woman who needed him beneath all that.

Let him have her.

And soak it up whenever you can because heaven knows there is rarely a place for letting down your guard at the office.

And when you’re standing on that stage accepting the Nobel Prize or whatever grand distinguishment your career earns you, remember to thank all the important people in your life who made your success possible, including, if you’re lucky enough (and hopefully, you know just how lucky you are), the man who has been confident enough to stand aside and let you have your glory.

To Settle or Not to Settle: That is the Question

There’s nothing particularly fun about divorce. Of course, this is not news to the 50 percent of American couples who seek one each year. So why do we do it? Good question. I suspect most would answer that, for whatever reason, the often massive hassle of divorce and the despair and loneliness that often go with it and follow it, are preferable to remaining in the marriage.

And trust me, that’s no easy call.

It struck me just what a hard call it is when a friend of mine said recently that in the wake of separation and divorce and subsequent failures to find Mr. Right, she actually got to the point where she would drive through tunnels and across bridges, hope that they would blow up on her, and then be angry when they didn’t. That’s how bad it felt.

I think most of us have, at some point or another, felt that level of despair in life, that “oh my god, can it please just be over because I cannot take one more frigging day” feeling that comes when tragedy strikes or life doesn’t go as planned. But who would choose to feel this way?

Because that’s what divorce is—a choice to go through hell…at least for a little while.

I’m not even sure I speak from experience. My separation has been, for the most part, amicable, and I cringe when other people tell me their horror stories of two-year long custody battles, raging and expensive wars over personal property, losses of years and years of earnings and assets. Why indeed would anyone go through such mess? Is it like childbirth? We dream of the joy that must surely follow the pain?

I’m not so sure.

How many divorcing or divorced people do you know who maintain a sunny outlook on relationships and a belief they will one day find that person who meets their expectations and needs? I’m trying to think here…I can’t think of a one.

But somewhere, deep down, that’s got to be the driver. Else why do it?

Well, it could be because married life really just sucks that bad. So bad, in fact, that we divorcees believe that trading an unhappy marriage for a potentially unhappy single life is a good deal. At least if you’re single, you can’t get mad about things like your spouse sitting at the computer for the 70th night in a row, ignoring you completely, or his lack of ambition to mow the grass, requiring you to hire a landscaper for a not inexpensive weekly fee so you don’t have to bushwhack through the yard to get to your car.

The fact is you’re just not as angry about sitting at home on a Saturday night when the person leaving you alone is not in the next room blissfully reading BBC News while you are sipping wine in front of the fire wondering what the heck. And you don’t really get annoyed about mowing the grass either when your spouse is not snoozing on the sofa while you do it. There is something to be said for minimizing one’s exposure to opportunities for funk.

But plenty of people settle. 50 percent of the population remains married for the long haul. I’m not saying all of these folks settle for uninspiring relationships that leave them bored, resentful, and frustrated for some 40 years of their lives. I do know a handful of happily married couples (and I guess knowing them and knowing “happy” just might be possible in the same sentence with “marriage” is what keeps me from throwing in the towel on love completely). But I also know what I can only call a crapload of, if not unhappily married couples, couples who certainly don’t get their kicks from being together. They have entered into something of an unspoken truce that reads like this: “I’m not all that crazy about you, but it’s too much of a hassle to get you out of my life, so we’ll just suck it up and try to stand each other as best we can until one of us keels over.”

I’m not sure that’s any way to live. So why do it?

The answer lies in the basic cynicism most of us develop about life and love the longer experience we have with both. There’s nothing easy about living. There’s nothing easy about love. Yet we grow up thinking the experience of these things is gonna be grand. We fall in love, or maybe only lust, cannot imagine ever not feeling that way and marry the wrong person or marry the right person but then decide to take him or her for granted because, being human, we are lazy. And love, like life, takes work.

It’s really not like riding a bicycle. You can forget how to do it. You can get rusty at it. And if you let it rust too long, forget it. No amount of Rust-Oleum is ever gonna wipe off the crud. There’s nothing to do at that point but toss the heap of oxidizing love into the trash and maybe try to start over. If you’re brave enough. Plenty aren’t.

While some divorcees remarry, many do not. And most of those who do not are women. I’ve heard their war stories, their “I’m done with love; I don’t need it” attitudes. They don’t feel like risking their hearts, their assets, and their sanity for another round of tennis with a blind teammate who doesn’t know how to do the laundry or the dishes. Better to settle for singlehood, less risky and probably less headache. And most report being happier single than married anyway.

Then there are those who are just settling for married life as they’ve got it. Because that’s less risky, too. Better to live with the devil you know than wander the streets sifting through the devils you don’t. And there are the kids, too, if you have them. You fake it for their sake, hoping they won’t notice you don’t hug and kiss anymore, don’t have fun dinner conversations, and stick to your own side of the bed with a book at night. And you kind of hope they won’t take those same tactics of settling into their own romantic lives.

But they often do. After all, no one has taught them differently. And they certainly haven’t observed what a happy marriage looks like.

Which is part of the reason I decided not to settle, not to let my daughter think it was normal for a husband and wife not to adore each other, not to respect and admire one another, not to want to play together and help one another…at least once in awhile.

But I also realize I may be engaging in another form of settling. Chances are good I will either settle for singlehood, always wondering in the back of my mind if maybe the right person could have been out there and I could have been happy, or settle for another relationship down the road with someone who doesn’t necessarily light my fire but offers tolerable companionship without too much grief.

Last weekend, I cleaned all of my ex-husband’s stuff out of the garage, wiped down all the shelves, swept the floor, creating a new space free of the clutter that never bothered him but always made me nuts. I thought about how I might have been able to accept the clutter and a hundred other little inadequacies had there been more love.

While cleaning off the shelves I found a bag of sand-peppered seashells he, and I, and Heidi had collected on the beach two autumns ago during our annual trek to Corolla for my daughter’s birthday week. Tonight, I emptied them into the kitchen sink to rinse off the sand, and, as the water cascaded over them, their colors brightened into multitudes of orange, and red, and black, and pink. And I remembered sitting on the sand in the last light of afternoon as my husband drew Heidi into the ocean with him. It was one of the last times we spent together with some level of peace and happiness as a family, a rare moment without resentment, or conflict, or spoiled hopes.

It is a good memory.

But I have no regrets. Because had I stayed for those rare and isolated moments of something not quite joy but almost good enough, I would have been settling, I am sure.

Several days ago, finding myself in a funk over divorce settlement concerns, I mentioned my despair to a friend. He said, meaning to give me hope, “You’re a survivor. You’ll make it through.”

He did not realize that was perhaps the last thing I wanted to hear—that I would survive. Who wants to survive life? I’d rather live it. Giving up on a dream that did not work out was part of my effort to live instead of settle. Because sometimes the best thing one can do with a dream is let go of it and try for something better.

Guys Will Be Guys, and That’s Okay…For the Most Part

It all started when a heterosexual male acquaintance of mine remarked that he’d never been hit on by a woman in his life. What made it worse, in his mind anyway, was that he’d had several “offers” from gay men. I told him this was a clear sign he was hot.  He did not agree. He felt it was only a clear sign that something about him must scream, “Pick me; I’m gay, too.”

But as fellow contributor Dorothy Stephenson likes to point out, “Even gay men are men.”

In other words, no matter whether a guy wears pink shirts and has the most beautifully decorated house in the neighborhood, he’s still got testosterone. And testosterone drives men to be, well, forward about soliciting sex.  What my male acquaintance overlooked in bemoaning the solicitations he had received from homosexual males while getting nothing remotely similar from women is that women, by and large, just don’t walk up to a man and say, “Hey babe, your house or mine?”

It’s not that we don’t necessarily think it, mind you. It’s just not how we operate. The female come-on generally consists of something like making eye contact across a crowded dance floor and maybe, if she’s especially brave, smiling slightly once his gaze meets hers. This is the signal. But the average man doesn’t consciously read it as such. He just knows some cute girl looks like maybe she won’t turn him down if he offers to buy her a beer.  Let’s say he does, and the two of them end up getting married three years later: the guy will undoubtedly say it was he who made the move.

We ladies know better, of course.

But far be it from a man to read subtleties. I’m guessing the guy who complained he’s only been hit on by guys has been missing signals left and right his whole life. Or, at the very least, assuming he made the first move on all the women he’s ever dated when in reality his subconscious mind (yeah, men do have them, but they’re buried deep, baby) saw “the look” and jumped on it.

And because women are, by nature, so much more subtle in their communications, a lot of them (and I’ve been guilty, too) suffer not a little outrage at the overtness with which men often approach them. Most of us would never dream in a million years of cozying up next to some man we hardly know at a cocktail party, making shoulder contact, and leaning in hard to tell an off-color joke. At least not unless we were three sheets to the wind. But this is how guys do it (unless they’re incredibly emotionally mature and have had experience with the risk involved in such maneuvers), and, unless we’ve already established we sort of have the hots for this person, we’re immediately turned off.

And then we go tell our girlfriends what a complete jerk the man was. “Did you see the way he bent his head in close and pressed his arm up against mine?! Apparently, he thinks he’s irresistible or something, the moron!”

Yet if the guy is irresistible, we accept it, even find it titillating. What’s a guy to make of all this?

You got me.

Because men, in general, don’t take hints very well, as I’ve already mentioned. A case in point is a neighbor of mine who takes “touchy-feely” to the extreme. Even though he’s married, he never misses an opportunity to put his arm around me or try to hug me. And the word on the street is this is his normal manner of operating with women. The last time I got the too hard and too long squeeze around the shoulders from him and felt my blood run cold, I went to my friends asking how to subtly let him know his advances were unwanted.

Everyone pretty much agreed subtlety was not going to cut it given that the guy obviously had no ability to understand that not only were his advances not invited (i.e. no eye contact across a crowded room), but he also failed to note the golden rule of “if she doesn’t reciprocate, back off, buddy.”

(You’ll notice I’m not even addressing the whole issue of the wedding ring on his finger because, guys being guys, that does not even play into the equation when they’re putting on the moves.)

In some ways, it’s easy to understand why women get so aggravated with men and think they’re all players, and often awkward ones at that. I’m not an apologist by any means, but, um, they are guys, you know. Which means they are biologically, socially, and emotionally different from us.

They are far more driven by their reproductive organs than we are, at least when it comes to hot pursuit of the opposite sex. In their brains, sexual and emotional intimacy are largely the same thing. And they’re socialized to be more aggressive, less subtle, and, in general, poor readers of all the psychological signals women live and communicate by.

Being in full awareness of their own sexuality and observant of it in women at almost all times, it is difficult for them to imagine why their wives and girlfriends get annoyed by their double-takes when the hot young college girl walks by in a bikini on the beach. It is second nature. They do not even know they are doing it until they get slapped on the wrist.

I remember when I was a girl how my dad would always say to my mother as we were getting ready to head off for the pool in summer. “Well, I’m off to gaze at bathing beauties,” he would tease, though my mother was never amused. Nevermind that my dad was well into his 40s, sporting a pot belly, and a hairy chest, all of which ensured no female in a bathing suit would ever look at him twice. Sweet blue eyes aside, he was past his prime. But my mother could not help but be threatened by the idea that he window shopped, as most men do, just for fun. It was irrelevant that he had no intention of buying and could never place a high enough bid anyway.

And what happens when women express their persistent disdain at men for these trifling pastimes? Well, if recent psychological studies are to be believed, the harder you get after him for looking, or flirting, or just “being a guy,” the more likely his window shopping will turn into, “how about I just walk in there and try something on for size?”

Just because you, once you’ve found Mr. Right or Mr. Pretty Darn Right or Mr. As Right As It Gets in This Life, you stop noticing the college guys playing volleyball on the beach (because for you, it’s all about emotional intimacy and that makes him the world’s sexiest man in your eyes), it does not mean Mr. She Thinks I’m Right as Rain is going to stop noticing the grad students in their bikinis. Just doesn’t work that way. He’s not you, and he’s never gonna be. The good news is, however, if you’re confident enough not to give a flying fuck who he looks at as long as looking is all he does, you’ll find the apple of your eye never strays very far from the tree.

So let him be a guy. He lets you be a girl, right?

Yeah, so he only does it because he has no choice if he wants regular action between the sheets. Sometimes we all worry a little bit too much about motives and miss the good stuff…which is the here and now with the man you love.

As for the wacko who keeps hitting on you despite all your graceful attempts to let him know he’s not your type, not even in your generation, and certainly not on your short list of men who are allowed to put their arms around you, you might just have to do something incredibly unwomanly…and be direct.

Didn’t Get a Lexus for Mother’s Day? You’re Not Alone….

I’ve heard more negative flack about Mother’s Day than I care to think about.  This Sunday in May is so built up that nothing short of the honor afforded to the Queen Mother could even begin to meet the expectations of the average over-tired, overwhelmed, and over-stressed Mother.

Why is it the mere mention of Mother’s Day is often met, not unlike Valentine’s Day, with groans and eye-rolling from many otherwise reasonable women?  I think it has to do with the breadth of space between Hallmark-inspired expectations and sobering reality.

This crevasse is littered with disgruntled moms who remember years of making brunch for their mothers-in-law while they themselves had very young children tugging at their skirts, golf outings scheduled by husbands while moms stayed home with the kids, boxes of favorite chocolates thoughtlessly given in the midst of hard-won weight loss goals….

I remember my first Mother’s Day.  I was in a group of young mothers who all had children born within a few months of each other.  Usually this group offered comfort to me as we all commiserated over the common experience of new parenthood.

The problem was that one of these women got a Lexus SUV for Mother’s Day.

Excuse me?!?

Though no one bothered asking, we could assume there was a bouquet of roses arranged elegantly on the hood with the big bow…and dinner reservations with a babysitter arranged.

You can imagine how the conversations went at home that evening…between every couple but one.

So why has this Sunday in May become the resting place for such a storm of emotions?

In an effort to figure out just what the problem was, I decided to interview some women who actually looked forward to Mother’s Day and all the sentiments it supposedly embodies.  The resounding message from every mom with a positive view of the day was that, like most events for women, Mother’s Day joy is up to you.  That’s right, Mom. Don’t expect hubby and the kids to rise to the occasion on this one.

I was most impressed with Danielle, whose husband gave her the day off on Mother’s Day.  Of course, she reciprocated on Father’s Day.  This is what Danielle, mother to two sets of twins, had to say:

“Not sure how we started it, but I’m pretty sure it was when we realized that with four young kids, there is no such thing as a true day off, ever.  So we let each person spend two days a year — their day (Mothers/Fathers) and their birthday in any way they choose: your time is your own, and no one can make demands on it.”

In other words, you can make the family go for a day hike with you, or you can go spend an entire afternoon at the spa…blissfully alone.

Ask Danielle if she likes Mother’s Day, and you’ll hear a resounding “yes.”

Another very content mother of four told me she recognizes Mother’s Day by remembering that she is a mother because of her kids.  It’s more like Mother-Child Day to her.  “All I want is a day of treasured memories,” Christine told me.  “A Great Mother’s Day is when the Mom realizes it’s not truly her day!”  Christine makes sure she carves out other special moments to pamper herself during the year but doesn’t make Mother’s Day about herself.  As a result, she never gets the Mother’s Day Blues.

Perhaps these two great moms know the little secret that it took me years to figure out.  Some of the best mothering advice I’ve ever received was: claim the time you need.

As I was complaining about how my husband spends an hour or two in front of the television many nights, a wise friend of mine asked me why I don’t do the same.  She continued to say that the reason I don’t have down time is that I don’t take down time.

I had to admit she was onto something.

Maybe my relaxation wouldn’t take the form of a prime time show but an afternoon latte with a friend, a walk at lunch, a rest on the sofa with a magazine on a Sunday afternoon, or a decadent piece of chocolate eaten when no one was around to beg me to share.

Unfortunately, mothers overall tend to play the masochist.

Few mothers, especially those with very young children who need a break the most, really know how to give to themselves without feeling guilty about it.  But this “mother-as-martyr” serves no one and only heightens the resentment so many overworked and under-appreciated moms already feel.

Mothers need to adopt a new paradigm.  That means we have to stop begrudging the fact that our family hasn’t given us the proper deference on the one day artificially pumped up by Hallmark and brunch venues to honor all our sacrifices.  Instead, we need to give ourselves the gift of kindness on a regular basis.

But this advice doesn’t always work for the most vulnerable of mothers–the new ones.  Not only do they lack the perhaps unfortunate experience necessary to understand no one is going to pamper them but themselves, but they also likely have the least ability to do it amidst piles of soiled diapers, inconsolable crying (that would be the baby’s, just to clarify), and the general sleep deprivation that leaves them too mentally fried to pour formula into a bottle without spilling much less pour themselves a glass of wine.

New dads, step up to the plate.  This is the one special Mother’s Day that rests squarely on your shoulders.  This is the Mother’s Day where your beloved has embarked on a journey that will shape the rest of her life.  She’s exhausted and overwhelmed, questioning her abilities, her sanity, and maybe even her choice to become a mother in the first place.  She needs some affirmation–to be told that she is still beautiful to you, that you are astounded at the miracle of her strength, and want to honor her.

The deal is that if you exceed expectations on that first Mother’s Day, you’ll be set for the next 18 years. Because honestly, the kids will make sure the rest of her Mother’s Days are full of scrawled hand printed cards and Dixie cup marigolds.

So what if you can’t buy a Lexus SUV?  It doesn’t need to be that big, but a handwritten card that makes her cry is a good start.  And, in a pinch, even a Hallmark card with lots of mushy stuff could work if she’s into that.

And see if you can’t swing a good piece of jewelry that’s classic and substantial enough that your newborn infant daughter may consider wearing it for her wedding someday. And for super-bonus points, don’t forget to mention this line of sentimental “daughter’s-wedding-day” thinking as you’re sliding it on her finger or holding her hair back from her ears as she puts on the diamond studs.

Don’t have such deep pockets or are lucky enough to be married to a non-bauble-loving woman?  How about planting a pretty flowering tree that will “grow with our new baby?”

The key is to put real thought into it.  It will pay off in future years.  Don’t be afraid that you’re setting a precedent (for I know that’s what you fear).  Instead, realize you’re paying it forward.  By overdoing it this year and putting the idea into her head that this is your year to do Mother’s Day, you’ll avoid beginning her life as a mother with that snowballing of resentment that causes women to say they hate Mother’s Day with as much passion as they do V-Day.

But ladies, remember that, aside from the first Mother’s Day when you’re having enough trouble taking care of a tiny little one much less yourself, redesigning Mother’s Day rests on your shoulders.

Anytime a woman depends on others to meet her needs, she will end up short. If you really want your Mother’s Day to be perfect (or any day really), make it that way, and seize your own joy.

10 Reasons to Stop Believing in Love…and Why I’m Ignoring Them

1)      Pyschological wisdom says the “in love” feeling only lasts 8-12 months, and then it’s gone. After that, love takes work. I’m rather convinced that most things in life worth having take work. Unfortunately, humans, being the stubborn and born for misery creatures that they are, like to ruin a good thing over dirty dishes in the sink. I figure if you’re not having sex with your spouse because he failed to scour the baked on lasagna off the oven pan after dinner, you probably deserve what you get. And if you’re the spouse who was supposed to do dishes, start scrubbing. Give and take goes a long way in any relationship, but particularly one with two people living under the same roof day after day.

2)      It hurts…a lot.  Sure, you could skip a lot of life’s worst troubles by skipping romance, but who wants the pinnacle of their existence to be a rising crust pizza in front of the TV on a Saturday night? No pain, no gain is actually true.  If you want something bad enough, you might have to walk through fire to get it. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego did it; so can you.

3)      Finding true love is a pain in the ass.  Between the dates with mindless idiots who do nothing all night but talk about themselves to the letdown of thinking you’ve found “the one” only to discover you were drunk the night you made that revelation, finding true love is usually an ordeal. Lots and lots of failure, boredom, and drama.  But then so is parenting, and lots of people are doing that.  Not that the actions of the majority necessarily mean anything is right. But heck, you’re here, you’re alive, you might as well give it a go.  At the very least, you’ll get a fine education in human nature.

4)      Being emotionally naked in front of another person is scary as shit. And also incredibly freeing.  Ever wonder why little kids go to their moms when they are hurting?  Because Mom accepts them for who they are (at least we hope so).  When someone else does the same, it will rock your world. Unfortunately, you’re probably gonna have to get naked in front of a lot of people before you find “the one.”

5)      There’s no such thing as a soul mate, at least not if your idea of a soul mate is someone who can read your mind. Even Prince Charming needs a guidebook sometimes. If you’d prefer to sit and sulk over all the things your S.O. isn’t doing that you need him to be doing rather than giving him a few heavily dropped hints (or maybe even being downright direct—imagine that!) about just how much it would mean to you if he’d plan a romantic getaway for your anniversary or actually do something besides stare blankly at you when you tell him your latest problem, then I can guarantee finding a soul mate is not in your future. Soul mates are the people who get you after you tell them who you are, not the ones who intuit your every need and whim. The latter is actually your mother, your obsessive compulsive mother who makes you want to jump off a cliff every time you pick up the phone and you hear her voice….

6)      Screwing up not only hurts; it can get expensive. And it might also require you to give up that in-ground pool in the backyard of which you’ve become so fond. (Yeah, I’ve actually had friends who were baffled when women left their wealthy husbands who provided every material comfort known to man for the wild and crazy notion that maybe being miserable was not worth the Lexus and the annual trip to Europe.) Messing up in love can cost you an ugly divorce settlement, or it can cost the sacrifice of a materially perfect life, maybe both. If you have to think too hard about whether or not you love your closet full of shoes more than the chance at a fulfilling relationship, then I’d say put on a pair of Manolo Blahniks and get as drunk as you can. For the rest of you, bury the keys to the Lexus in the yard (just for kicks), and start living like you mean it.

7)      Men are basically jerks anyway. Yes, it’s true, but a few of them actually don’t mean to be—they just need a little tough love.  For better or worse, most of them have been spoiled rotten by their mothers…and by us.  They are so used to the sweet and natural attentiveness of women that they take it for granted.   They know that if they go on that fishing trip with the guys on Mother’s Day, you’ll forgive them.  You always do.  While I’m not an advocate of game playing for the most part, sometimes you need to kick back hard.  Don’t be so darn available.  You’ll find the jerkdom dissipates pretty quickly (if he’s a basically good guy deep down) after he discovers you actually don’t think he’s God’s gift to the universe of women. At least you don’t think so when he’s being a jerk….  And did I mention there are plenty of female jerks out there, too, who take advantage? If you never get a “thank you” for all the times you open doors for her, bring her drinks, or rub her feet after a long day at work, you might want to consider whether she likes you or just your foot rubs.

8)      All men want is sex. It’s close to the truth, but shift your perspective, ladies. Sex doesn’t carry all the emotional sustenance for you that it does for him. (Yeah, I’m serious.)  Call it socialization; call it biology. The reality is it’s between the sheets that guys feel most vulnerable. Reject him there, and you might as well tell him he sucks at life. You can have a less than stellar night in the bedroom, get up the next morning, have your girlfriends tell you you are “fabulous,” have your children kiss you at the bus stop, and have your boss tell you how sharp you are, and all is well.  For him, failure in the bedroom is kind of like what happens to you on a bad hair day. It cuts to his self-worth.  Give him a break. If he bends over backwards to please you in bed, he’ll bend over backwards to please you in life.

9)      Communicating need opens you to potential ridicule. But you’re not going to reach the heights of ecstasy if you sit there being resentful because your S.O. prefers a slam dunk to a long ramble down the court. Speak your mind. If the other party is offended, sure, you’re gonna feel like an idiot, but did you really want to waste a year hoping that person in bed with you would magically hit the right spot? Move out, and move on.

10)  Risk is the scariest thing on the planet. And that’s because whenever you’re talking about risk, you’re talking about uncertainty.  There’s no bigger uncertainty in the average life than wondering where your heart will take you…if you let it do the driving. And plenty of people don’t after a few close brushes with disaster. They toss their hearts in the trunk and hide the key before something else brutally ugly happens. There are plenty of good arguments for playing it safe, no doubt about that. But you only get to drive this circuit once (as far as I know anyway). And what have you got to lose?  Absolutely nothing. Because the last time I checked, the idea that you can control anything, from your kids and your boss to your spouse and the stock market, is complete bunk. You’ve got nothing but time…and maybe not even that. Hop to it.

In Search of a Well-Built Man (And Why I’m Not Buying Anymore Fixer-Uppers)

Time to call in the professionals....

A friend recently forwarded me an essay in which the columnist referred to men as “fixer- uppers” and noted that an acquaintance of hers actually claimed to have “fixed up” her “fixer-upper” husband.

Being a builder’s daughter, this got me thinking.  I grew up under the tutelage of a man who made me believe that anything could be fixed, no matter how complicated. Granted, the fixing might involve a lot of time, trouble, and cursing…and maybe even the use of a sledgehammer.  But nothing was unfixable.

That seemed to be the take of the woman who claimed to have “fixed up” her spouse.

But this begs the question: do you really want to marry a fixer-upper?  Because it’s going to require the same kind of investment as a fixer-upper house…unless you’re okay with all the leaks, rot, and cosmetic deficiencies.  And most of us just aren’t.  Plus, if the fixer-upper is so bad that you need to use a sledgehammer and start gutting the whole thing, well, that’s the sort of work you want to leave to a professional.

Unfortunately, for me, it took me awhile to learn this.  Builder’s daughter: anything can be fixed.  Sure, if you want to spend a lifetime doing it. Meanwhile, you could have just bought a well-built house (or man) to start with.

I’ve fixed up a couple of houses.  Scraped paint off of rotting window sills, replaced shingles, ripped out shag carpet, even jacked up a foundation once to replace the rotting sills underneath. And while the experience of all this home remodeling eventually led me to the conclusion I wanted to build a new house from scratch instead of trying to make old and icky ones work for me, I did not take that wisdom into the realm of dating and marriage.  Somehow I thought if I could be the general contractor on a home renovation project, I could also be one on a man renovation project.

Unfortunately, being the kind of “let me test the limits of my abilities” kind of person that I am, I selected whole house gutting projects. (I hope my former spouse is being honest when he says he doesn’t read this blog, but if he is reading this, perhaps he’s been fixed up enough that he’ll think it’s funny….) My experiences have run the gambit from trying to make a compulsive liar stop lying to trying to make a guy with zero self-esteem pick himself up and do something. These were projects for people with PhD’s in psychology, not for an English major with home improvement background. I was way out of my league.

If you have to jack up a guy’s foundation because it has rotted away, you’re in serious trouble.  It’s like a friend said to me not too long ago when talking about whitewater kayaking: “If you get into big water and don’t know what you’re doing, you could get really hurt.”

The same applies to home renovation and relationship building.

But there is something to be said for “trial and failure.” You learn a lot.  I never got the compulsive liar to stop lying. (I finally gave up on him after helping him write stellar job application letters for several months only to find the unmailed applications stuffed into the glovebox of his car.)  And I never got the guy with trampled self-esteem to believe he was worthy of love and success either. (Though I gave it the good old college try—something along the lines of taking seven or eight years to get through college because you keep failing the same course over and over.)  I’d like to think I can now recognize a major fixer-upper a mile away.

Not that I’m looking for perfection, mind you. I’m okay with a few squeaky floorboards, some air leaks around the windows, and maybe even some scratched up cabinetry. I can live with imperfections on that scale as long as the big picture looks good.  But if I see any faulty foundations or caving in roofs, I’m heading for the hills.

Of course, I realize some of my gentlemen acquaintances are going to be quite happy to turn the tables on me here and talk about “fixer upper” women.  And I realize on the male scale of renovation projects, I might look like a property deserving of demolition given my propensity to do things that men find extremely annoying…like write blog posts such as this one, for example.

But that’s okay. We could all use a little self-improvement. The thing to remember, however, is that people aren’t like houses. You can’t just go in and start tearing things out and putting in new plumbing. If the guy (or gal) you’re with doesn’t want to improve himself (or herself), no amount of fixing on your part is going to do any good. (Which is why I am suspicious of the woman who claims to have “fixed up” her husband.)  You’re wasting your time, your life.  Move on, get over it, and find something (or someone) that doesn’t need repairing.