Why are lies in marriage normal, while honesty is radical?

When I was single, marriage was the holy grail. I spent my days searching for chemistry and fun, which led to passion, and, if I was lucky, proceeded to intimacy. From there, my relationships stabilized for a short time, then ended. Except for one.

Is there a reason marrying is synonymous with settling down? I loved my husband more than anyone on this planet the day I married him, but in every relationship, I believe there comes a choice to settle for what is left or move along.

People change over time. Before marriage, I was a long-term relationship girl. Almost every time, I left the guy confused because he didn’t anticipate the break-up. The relationship began with passion and intimacy, but over time, I would maintain that façade of stability as I changed internally. When the internal change became too great to maintain the illusion – boom – end of relationship.

I spent 13 years in the declining bliss of my marriage. And it was blissful in the beginning - we were everything to each other. But careers, children, and the mundane toll of daily living pushed me into denying myself, my true self, to maintain the illusion. This is normal, even expected, although no one admits it out loud. If you ever need proof, create a Twitter account.

The things I want today at 38 are not the same things I wanted when I married at 23. I’m not the same person as I was a year ago, or even six months ago. As I grow and change, sometimes it is the most difficult to convey that growth to the person who has known me the longest – my husband. He loves me for what we were when we met, for his idea of me. Trusting that he will continue to love me through those changes, placing complete and total faith in him, is terrifying. Lies are a normal, expected part of marriage, but total honesty is radical.

The problem is that every time I deny myself, I scold myself into not living. I place the value of my husband’s life above my own. Over the years, he became the man I loved so much that I had to protect him from the real me.

A marriage, like a child, has to mature to move forward. I’m finding that our teenage years are similar to any others. We’re experimental. We test boundaries. We search to explore and redefine ourselves because it is no longer fulfilling to contain ourselves within the old façade.

The last year has been the hardest of my life. It has also been the best. Life is a collection of experiences and those I turned down simply for the sake of my husband became the road not taken, the regret list. I don’t want to end my life with regrets and I don’t want my husband to either.

So we choose honesty. We choose to acknowledge and share pieces of ourselves that aren’t socially acceptable even within the confines of our home. It isn’t easy, but we made a conscious choice to grow and adapt instead of living our lives in the rut we spent 13 years creating. It is freeing, exhilarating, and terrifying, but we are finally learning to love each other without limits.

The almost 40 yr old MILF at the gym? Yep, that’s me.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

My no fail turkey. No joke.

My four year old daughter asked me repeatedly over the past two weeks, “Is it time for the turkey’s bath?” Today, she is thrilled because my turkey soaks in heat transfer bliss, awaiting its final incarnation as the piéce de résistance on my Thanksgiving table.

Thanksgiving intimidated me for years. Like passing boards for medical school, it took an enormous amount of preparation. Well, maybe not quite that much. But when I became a stay-at-home mom, hosting Thanksgiving was a final exam of sorts. It was my mother-in-law’s revenge for every criticism I’d uttered under my breath. She was and is a fantastic cook. I sucked for a long time. In college, I lit my first kitchen on fire three times. I might have been more successful if I could’ve scrambled eggs in a beaker over a Bunsen burner. Aspirin? That I could synthesize. A moist, yummy turkey? Not so much.

For years, I honed my culinary, hospitality, and child-rearing duties while my husband happily slobbered in front of the television. Without fail, he offered to entertain the kids with the parade and, without fail, within forty-five minutes of that offer the kids were fighting and he was asleep. Year after year, I struggled – pies, potatoes, time outs – until it all improved (even the kids’ behavior) but the turkey still sucked. Until now. I have a no fail turkey recipe. You hear that? No fail. Unless you allow the bag to touch the heating elements in your oven, in which case I’m not responsible for the damage.

I’m no genius and I didn’t devise this myself. It came to me of its own volition as I was crying in front of the TV, a gift from the Food Network gods. It is blatantly plagiarized off of Food 911. But this is the best freaking turkey ever. We fight over the leftovers and even occasionally make it on days that aren’t, gasp, Thanksgiving.

Enjoy!

***
turkey

2 sticks butter

½ bunch sage (or 1 tsp dry sage)

Salt & pepper

1 giant plastic turkey cooking bag

1 cup pure maple syrup

¼ cup water

1 package bacon

2-3 Tablespoons flour

Thaw the bird. Combine butter and sage in a bowl. Remove anything in bird cavity. Rinse bird with cold water and pat dry. Sprinkle skin and cavity with salt and pepper. Use a knife to slice small slits in the turkey skin and stuff in chunks of sage butter. Cook with or without stuffing according to turkey directions on the bag.

For the last hour or so, drape bacon over the turkey and add the maple syrup/water mix. Baste every 30 minutes, closing the bag in between. Let the turkey rest 20 minutes before opening the bag and carving. 

Combine the skimmings w water and flour to make gravy. Heat, then strain.

***

How honest is your review if you give every book five stars?

Every book review I’ve seen hyped on twitter is five stars. Every single one. Which leads me to question book reviewers.  Because how honest is your review if you rate every book five stars? 

I am searching for reviewers. Yes, obviously I want to hear that my book is wonderful and will at some point become a best-seller and change the world. But a reviewer should have balance, and what I truly want is for someone to read my material and give an honest, well-thought-out opinion. A few of my friends have done so and those people, the ones who will tell me the truth instead of just stroking my ego, are priceless.

So today instead of bugging you to read my book, I'm going to write my first review. 

Nobody’s Fault (***Spoiler Alert***)

by: Tyler, Terry

I wanted to love this book. Really wanted to. It is the first indie book I’ve ever purchased because the author interested me with her Twitter feed.

I rate the first half five stars. The emotions ran high and she struck a balance between Ria, Cat, Tara, Nick, Adrienne, and Caroline that drew me into their lives. I related to these complex characters and understood their motivations. I loved every word until Sharon Potts.

Sharon Potts is a fascinating character. So fascinating, in fact, that she deserved a novel of her own. Her insecurity jumped off the page and every woman can relate to a Friday night spent with a glass of wine on the computer. However, Sharon didn’t harmonize with the rest of the book. I loved her storyline until Adrienne went batshit crazy and tried to kill her.

As the story shifted, the second half became essentially a tale of Adrienne, told from various perspectives. The character resolutions were addressed, but not in the depth of emotion of the first half.  Why didn’t Sharon press charges against Adrienne? What happened on the holiday between Cat and Tara? Where were Caroline’s complex emotions after learning Darren’s secrets? Did Ria ever acknowledge her role in the decline of her marriage to Nick? Once I was that far into the book, I was invested. I wanted details.

I couldn’t put the book down; I yearned for the characters and story to return to the initial depth. Cat disappeared on her explorations. Ria relocated for a new man. Their resolutions are a quick tell with no show. Even Tara and Caroline, who received more attention, lost depth. In the end, the women all found their identities and resolutions in men, which disappointed me because I expected more from them. The characters deserved a resolution as real and complex as they began. For this reason, my rating for the second half of the book drops to three stars.

Overall, my impression of Tyler Terry is that of a beautiful writer with a strong grasp of character development. I give her kudos for taking this story off a predictable path. My overall rating would be 4/5 stars and I will definitely read another of her books.

Social media for the anti-social writer

I am not social. In fact, I generally don’t like people. Except you. You’re my friend, right? I’m comfortable when we’re together, one on one. I love to catch a movie, eat dinner, or listen to a band. But invite eight or nine other people and I’ll retreat into my shell. I won’t tell you the funny story about my husband and his off-label use of capsaicin cream. I won’t confide that I’m worried about my daughter or sluggish because I didn’t make it to the gym this week.

So what do I do instead? I write. I sit at my computer and type, over-think, and occasionally cry. I repeated this process until I somehow produced a completely unintentional novel. Then, simply to challenge myself, I randomly shot out queries to small presses and agents while preparing to self-publish. No one in their right mind would expect a positive response on an unintentional novel that was written in less than three months by an engineer. But one wonderful small press offered a contract for said novel and completely changed my world.

This should end my happy story. But somehow, this is where the hard part begins, because now I have to be social. I am supposed to sell you my book. Never mind that pesky hang-up that I have no physical product to push on you. 

I keep an Excel checklist titled How to be Social. That isn’t neurotic – right? It grows by the day. The other day I joined Book Blogs. I add it to a list including Facebook, Google plus, Goodreads, Pinterest, Twitter, and Stumble Upon. Maintaining all of these sites is a full-time job.

I didn’t produce a book with the intent of fame or fortune or even profit, for that matter. I really just hoped a few nosy friends would be interested and it gave me something to talk about other than my husband and kids. So I find myself in a pickle, because now the product is in the pipeline and I’m more proficient in writing than I am in making friends online, exactly like real life.

How do you correlate your time spent marketing vs its effectiveness? How do you balance marketing vs actual writing? When you accumulate thousands of friends/followers/likes, do you actually become friends with some of those people? Is there a sense of connection or do you just follow each other to boost numbers?

When every semi-amusing thought in my head becomes a 140 character Twitter blurb, it cannibalizes my true writing purpose, which was always selfish, and my time to reflect on my life and explore new ideas diminishes. Jostling to find a place in social media is reminiscent of flagging a bartender on Saturday night. I stand with the money out, no one looking my direction, and wish I was home in my pajamas. Now, even sitting at my computer, I miss my time alone.