Look closely, it’s a doll, like a Barbie. Scary, but true.
There are nutters out there who actually pay good money to collect things like this. Really.
I’m probably also the sole human on the planet that did fall in love with “that” dress. I guess it’s just that I am really NOT that into lace. Or something like that.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m not into the whole royal family thing. I’m the first to admit that I was totally a big Diana fan and I totally love Harry’s whole I’m a right ‘bad boy’ with a hot Zimbabwean blonde rebel girlfriend image and I too sympathise with Wills’s receding hairline issues.
I guess I’m just not excited by weddings in general.
The way I see it, weddings are really just a big precursor for the big shitstorm that follows after all the guests have pushed off, you’ve drunk all the booze, danced the last dance, squeezed out of the dress and checked out of the hall. Yes, THAT bloody royal wedding just made me want to scratch my (almost) 7 year-itch even more!
I can hardly believe it. In 2 weeks I will be ‘celebrating’ my 7th wedding anniversary.
When I look at our wedding photos, it’s hard to believe that was us. I looked so young and hopeful. Plus I was about 4 kilos lighter than I am now. We looked so in love, and we were so in love. Everything was perfect. We were perfect for each other and had tremendous chemistry. He was sweet, warm, thoughtful, supportive, ambitious, caring and loving. The only thing I already knew that I hated about him, even way back then, was that he was just a little bit unreliable at times and just a little but unpunctual. But I was prepared to put those minor disadvantages aside, because his good qualities far outweighed the bad. Little did I know (even though many wise old married hags tried to warn me) that all the annoying little foibles just increase and become more annoying as the years progress.
Fast forward to the present and add 2 small little boys and 2 stressed out parents and you have a totally different scenario. It’s not that we’re not happy. We are. Because we have so much to be thankful for and we are truly blessed. We have accomplished so much in the past 7 years as a family unit. We have a magnificent set of gorgeous boys, a cute home (with a massive mortgage albeit), we have our health (even if we do get the odd virus or cold here and there) and we have each other. Even though we drive each other mad and can kill each other from time to time, I think on the whole we depend on each other and once we can work out some decent synergy we will be OK. Sometimes it’s touch-and-go and I am ready to walk out for good. I know I’m not an easy person, we both are not easy people and that’s why it’s hard. But marriage is hard full stop. It’s always been uphill since the beginning because we repel each other so much. He’s a water star sign, I’m fire. He’s a feminine sign, I’m masculine. They say opposite attract, so I guess that’s why we got together in the beginning. But that doesn’t change the fact that we are completely opposite in every aspect, and when we fight I catch myself thinking we are completely wrong for each other. Maybe we are, but for now, we’re stuck with each other, for better or for worse.
The funny thing is that when times are tough, that’s when I realise that we really do need each other. Like the time when my better half had to fly out-of-town on very short notice for a week when my second baby was only 5 months old. I was sick and both boys were sick and to make matters worse my husband was testifying in a criminal court case as an expert witness, which meant that he could not talk to me on the phone, email me or come back home until the trial was over. It got so bad and I got so run down and wound up that I eventually hired as night nurse after 6 nights alone. I had cracked under the pressure . No one was there to share the load with me. It finally dawned on me that however much I complained about him, he really was a good dad, husband and provider. And, that I missed him and I was lonely and miserable without him. I was so pleased to see him the next morning that I plastered my face with a massive smile, threw my arms around him, burst into tears and then made a huge effort not to whine or complain for 1 full hour!
Some days we don’t fight for days. Mostly the fighting happens on the weekend, which makes sense because that’s when we’re all on top of each other, in close quarters for an extended period of time. The fights are almost always catalysed by some inane, stupid issue like “you don’t need to sleep until 10 am, I don’t care that you’re not a morning person, we’ve got things to” (him to me) or “please stop leaving your bathroom in such mess, I can’t stand cleaning up after you” (me to him) – basically housekeeping issues. The other main issue that causes us to fight are the kids. Not that they’ve done something bad just the general things kids do to drive their folks mad. I’m the discplinarian, he’s the pushover softie. So when we eventually manage to depart from the front door mid Sunday morning, kids in tow, make up running down my foundation and dark sunglasses on to hide my tears, I wonder if I should leave it all, run for the hills and give him full custody, see how he copes and all! Then, to make matters worse, as soon as we take about 10 steps we pass a gorgeous smiling couple – impossibly handsome surfylooking hubby wears a young toddler on the baby bjorn, laughs and lovlingly strokes heavily pregnant model-type wifey’s swollen belly. Gross, makes me wanna puke. Are they for reall? Can they really be happy? Or are they just putting it on for the cameras and the public? One thing’s for sure – my better half and I never hide things from the public – what you see is what you get. If we’ve just a huge fight just before we arrive at a party everyone will know it – I can’t hide it and fake it – it’s just not me. Maybe it’s better – who knows.
I’m sure I am not completely alone and lots of wives hate their husbands’ annoying habits. For me the dealbreakers are: beard-shaving remnants in the basin, snoring loudly in bed, bad driving and guilt sex demands of an over-exhausted wife, in no particular order. But even when I catch myself wanting to press my sequined pillows over his snoring face in the dark of night, I know I would be lost without him and that I would be lonely and directionless without the father of my children in my life.
Nothing resonated for me more than the recent blog I stumbled upon recently. A young Sydney mom of 2 little toddlers had her entire world crushed in a matter of 1 day. Her loving husband hung himself and committed suicide in their family home. Now she is completely and utterly alone. A young mom, just like me, is now a widowed. Left to pick up the pieces and parent her kids, all alone. The worst part of the whole story for me is that she and her husband were actually in love. My heart absolute shaterred and I made up my mind that I would not work really hard at my marriage and myself to make everything better. Slowly.
I must admit – each day gets better. I am working so hard at it and I think he is too. We do need each other and so do the kids. It all boils down to appreciating and respecting each other. For some couples it’s automatic I think and for others, this requires hard, hard work. Kids do add an extra edge and so does financial pressure. For me, I demand respect because I am a working mom. So if he dare ask me why something isn’t done or why there isn’t dinner or dares to put the pressure all on me because I am the “primary carer” (a phrase which is banned from our home since I returned to work) he knows I will crack it and quit my job so I am pretty volatile, not to mention exhausted. I am a wife who pulls her weight so I need love and respect, which I think I am owed.
But, in turn I need to value him too, and love him unconditionally, even though there’s no saphire ring, castles and yachting holidays in the South of France and a horse-drawn carriage to pull us along the roaring crowds.
It’s just me and him and that 7 year itch. One major advantage is that at least I don’t have to compete with Pippa’s smoking hot ass. Phew. And – he apparently loves me, I think, for what I am – feeding bras, warts and all!