Posts Tagged ‘travel’

Years ago, my husband had a milestone birthday coming up. I wanted to do something special for him. He was (and is) hard to buy for. You know the guy that will tell you exactly what he thinks if you ask him if your butt looks fat? He’s that guy.
It’s the same with presents. If you buy him something, he doesn’t care how long you thought about it, or how meaningful you think it is, or much you thought he’d like it. If he thinks it sucks, he’ll tell you.

So I thought of something great. I surprised him with two days away in Maine at our favorite inn. I called his boss and arranged for him to have the days off from work without him knowing. I packed his bag and put it in the trunk ahead of time. I got a babysitter for our son and packed his bag and put that in the trunk too.

On his birthday, after making him breakfast and telling him how much it sucked that he had to work on his 30th birthday, I said…”Surprise! You don’t have to work today!”

This was followed by the other surprises: going to Maine, staying overnight in the jacuzzi suite with the ocean view, and so on. I drove to Maine for the first time myself, not telling him where we were going. In the end, we had an excellent time and he assured me several times how much he loved his present. I was elated that I had pulled the surprise off and that he really liked his gift.

Because this is another milestone birthday year for one of us, we were talking about that time recently. I could tell he was holding something back though, so I said, “What?”

He hemmed and hawed a little before he said, “Well, it was a great surprise and a great present, but the sex wasn’t that good.”

I know.  He’s that guy; don’t ask.


This week’s guest post by Kristen Leighton. Check out Kristen’s blog at  Kristen is a wife, mother, writer, blogger,  yoga teacher, and a bad girl who bakes.


Marriage is a great institution, but I’m not ready for an institution. –Mae West

Something went terribly wrong for me the day I began washing a man’s underpants—I became invisible.  I went from sexy to shabby in eight seconds flat.  Was I really a raggedy-ass version of my former self?  I sure hope not, none-the-less, that’s how it felt.

I’m no expert on the subject of marriage, but it seems, from my observations of the species “husband” that the marriage certificate is like a big old “gotcha”—a license to fart, belch, watch too much TV, and play too much golf.  The husband reverts back to life at home with mom—no concern as to how the meal gets to the dinner table or how the clean boxers end up back in his dresser.  My apologies to the husbands out there who do laundry and cook.  I married one who doesn’t and I’m pretty sure he’s not the only one.

The problem—as I see it now—was not that I said “I do” and my husband morphed into someone I didn’t recognize, but that I morphed into someone I didn’t recognize.  The solution after fourteen years—speak up or get divorced.  It was as simple and as complicated as that.

I started with the real obvious stuff, for example, we teach our son to say please and thank-you, perhaps you should lead by example and say:  Thanks for dinner it was great (even if you don’t mean it…..sometimes you have to fake it until you make it).

Then I moved on:  On date night, which doesn’t happen often enough in my opinion, I don’t want to talk about your job, our child, or sports which, basically, without a great deal of effort would leave us sitting in the restaurant staring at our dinner plates in silence like those little old elderly people you see eating and not talking, like they’re all talked out after forty or fifty years together.  Anything worth having is worth working for.

When you track dirt in from outside or make a mess shelling peanuts in the living room while watching some stupid-ass sporting event and it causes me more work in my day to clean it up—apologize.  A little I’m sorry goes a long way to making me feel better about having to wait on you and pick up after you.

And, last, but certainly not least:  When you want to make love, don’t honk my left breast and think it’s going to turn me on like a car engine.  I need to be kissed, talked to, and romanced.

Ladies, I’m here to tell you it’s an easy problem to fix.  Men are not like us (no shit) they tend to get over things and get on with life without holding a grudge.  Tell them how you feel.

Husbands, have you thanked, kissed, sweet-talked, and romanced your wife today?  Turn off your computer and get too it.  You won’t be sorry!

Have you been married for 10 or more years?  What do you do to keep the love alive?