We have a bit of a problem

In an effort to share parenting duties, Marc has, from the very beginning, assumed command of feeding Julianna solids.  And since he wasn't much of one for baby food, she started on regular food pretty early on.  The only snag that is that now, she really only eats consistently when Daddy feeds it to her.   Case in point - I put her in her high chair, give her food I know damn well she loves, and she'll refuse to eat it.  I'm not clear how this will resolve itself - will she be seventeen, still waiting for Daddy to preapprove all food, cut it and put it on a fork for her?  Probably not - I'm assuming that eventually she'll start eating the food I give her, but sometimes I wonder....

In my house, Thursday was a holiday

There are lots of things that Marc brought into my life, he's brilliant and kind and a wonderful father.  He introduced me to Judaism, libertarian-ism, and of course, gave me three awesome kids.  One of the things I've found most interesting is that I've found myself doing things I would never have thought I'd do (like having a total stranger chop off part of my son's penis, converting to a religion that was completely foreign to me, and - please don't tell my mother - voting Republican in the last election).

But I haven't been able to get on board with his deep and abiding love of the New England Patriots.  It's football, and that means really nothing to me.  My only vague experience is thru high school Friday night games, and I just cheered when everyone else did (which did mean that I cheered at least half the time when the opposing team did something good - which did not win me points).  I'm not a sports girl.  I'm the farthest you can get from athletic.  I'm perplexed, at best, when it comes to understanding why this matters to him, but it does.  And because I love him, because we are raising our children together, I make Patriots Football Games (yes, it does need to be capitalized) serious events at our house.

Everything stops.  Everyone must be involved - you don't have to be watching the game, but you do have to be in the room or within hearing distance.  We usually eat the same thing (Marc's a big believer in ritual) and engage in the same activities.  I curl up on the couch next to him, reading my book and nodding supportively when it seems appropriate.  I make the kids come in and listen when he explains what's happening on-screen.  I even make a game of pronouncing Ocho-Cinco.  The kids can stay up as late as they want, as long as they are paying attention to the game (or at least, in the room, not making any noise).

And last Thursday - I really, really enjoyed it.  It was a lovely night.  Julianna went down to bed early, Jessie built an entire city of blocks and figurines on my dining room table and Sam puttered on the floor.  Marc and I snuggled up on the couch, I read my book (Cinderella Ate My Daughter - awesome book) and I was achingly content.  It was one of those moments (and fortunately, there are many of them in my life these days) when I was just happy to be me, here, with these people.  And I have the New England Patriots to thank for it.

Marriage with small children

It's a side effect of having small children, I think.  It's so overwhelming at times that the marriage becomes secondary.  It's the basis of it all, but not always, not nearly enough sometimes, the center of it.  I'm really blessed because my marriage is really, really strong.  So it absorbs a certain amount of neglect.  I think that everything comes in stages, there was a time when Marc and I were the most important thing, and a time when we were just a family of three.  Then a time when we were a family of four and Lilli and Sarah were over all the time and things were hectic and crazy.  Then Julianna came along, the girls got even older, and now we're readjusting to a family with two kids in school (still trying to get used to the fact that my Sammy boy will be away from me all day five days a week), a toddler and busy, active adolescent step daughters.

But every now and again - I realize how fragile marriage is.  That's not right - because it's not fragile, I know that I love Marc and he loves me the way I know that my eyes are brown and the sky is blue.  The marriage isn't fragile.  I realize how vital the marriage is - and how terrifying it would be if I didn't have that behind me.  If I didn't have that connection.  I'm literally one of the happiest people I know.  I love my life, I really, really love being at home with my children, I love having three kids.  I love the ease of my life, the lack of drama, the comfortable-ness of it all.  Marc and I rarely, if ever, actually fight. And even if we do, we fight calmly, we don't throw things, we don't name call.  And we never, ever, don't resolve it.   If I didn't have the marriage, if I didn't have Marc, I can't imagine how I'd ever be happy.  Not like this.

Yesterday was one of those days when we actually had a fight (over perhaps the stupidest thing).  And I was angry - really angry, and that's so unusual that it was scary for me.  Marc was angry too, and between his anger and mine, it was a really unfamiliar place for us.  I'm not used to feeling not connected to him, and even after we made up, I still felt all shaky and vulnerable.

And we did make up, and slept last night all tangled up together and everything is fine this morning.  We're a little more careful with each other, a little extra solicitous and thoughtful.  I just want to remember this, this sense of gratitude and thankfulness.  Not just that we made up, because of course we were going to make up,  but because it is so scary to me when we fight.  Because not having that connection, not feeling like we're a team and doing this together is so terrifying and so completely wrong.  Not everyone has that.  Not everyone feels that.  And as much as I hated fighting with my husband, I'm grateful for the fight today - because it reminded me not to take it for granted.  Not to take the peace, the connection, the love for granted.

I love you, honey, more than you'll know.  And if I forget sometimes to tell you, between diaper changes and baths and stories and cleaning the toys up and doing the laundry, just remind me, okay?

I love Marc a little bit extra tonight

It's after nine o'clock, and I'm still waiting for Marc and Jessica to come home.  I know that Marc desperately needs to work out, and he still went up to Maine to rescue our little girl.  Four hours up, four hours back, that's a LONG day driving, and he had things he really needed to do today.  But he still offered to go, and went without complaining, and I've been thinking today about what that must have been like for Jessie.   To turn around and suddenly see her Daddy and know that she could come home.  How happy she must have been, how safe and loved she must feel right now...

We all come into parenting with our own baggage, and God knows I have my fair share.  I didn't have a dad who rescued me.  Maybe he wanted to - I don't think he had bad intentions - but parenting is hard, and he bailed out.   And I had a mom who loved me, loved me, loved me, but also had to share her with three younger siblings.  I don't ever remember being scared or feeling lost and alone and being saved by my parents.  I'm sure that my mother must have saved me a bunch of times - because she was really a great parent, but I grew up early and fast because I had to.  I would have sucked it up, I would have not wanted to make my mom feel bad because I was scared.  I felt an enormous responsibility to take some of the weight off of her shoulders.  I wouldn't have added to it by giving into homesickness and crying.  My mother didn't have a husband that would drop everything and drive eight hours to save me.

Lucky, lucky Jessica.  And lucky, lucky me - because my husband is amazing.

Best fireworks ever

Every year, I go see the fireworks with Marc at the old courthouse.  We've been going since Jess was about two, so I went when I was nine months pregnant with Sam, and when Julianna was just a tiny little love bug, asleep in her pram.  This year, I think it was my all time favorite.  We just had my three (Lilli was home sick and Sarah had come for dinner, but bailed before the fireworks actually started), and Marc's parents had come along for the first time.  I wore Miss Julianna in the carrier, and Sam brought his friend Sasha from down the street.  We had snacks and water, and the very best part was that it started pouring right as the fireworks started.  It rained for a few minutes, and then cleared away, and everyone was drenched and cheerful in the way that you are when something unexpected happens.  But it was lovely, the kids were all happy and thrilled, I was able to really just sort of relax, Sam was playing with Sasha, Jessie was munching on cheese puffs and sharing them with a very happy baby (although she was distinctly ill amused with the rain).  It was one of those moments when I looked at Marc and was exceedingly happy to be doing this with him.

And by "this," I mean so much more than just watching fireworks in the rain.  I've been pondering what goes into making a happy marriage.  I think sometimes what keeps Marc and I together and happy is a combination of really high expectations and absolute commitment.  I think Marc would accept less, in terms of marriage satisfaction - he's in it forever regardless.  Whereas I really, really won't accept less,  I have a different perspective on marriage.  I've never seen a successful marriage, not really.  My grandparents (and my grandmother passed away when I was still a child).  My parents split up when I was six, all of my aunts have divorced.  Even the people I knew who were married didn't seem all that happy about it - and even today, so many of the marriages that I see are not anything I'd want to be a part of.   Getting married, for me, was something I could get myself to do only by telling myself that if it didn't work, I could always get a divorce.  For Marc, it was absolute, he WAS NOT getting a divorce, ever.  The combination of those two, my need for it to be a marriage unlike everyone else's - my marriage was going to strong, or it wasn't going to be, and Marc's absolute and utter commitment - he's not considering anything else, is what makes us work.

Marc and I - somehow, against all odds (because, really, you would never have put us together on paper - he was a very newly divorced Jewish guy with two kids from Worcester, I was a single very non Jewish girl with virtually no long term relationship experience who thought of Worcester as SO FAR away from everything), have built this really, really incredible relationship.  He's my best friend, my partner, my... everything.  And I know that he feels the same way.  We're in this together, in a way that I never imagined I could be, in a way that I didn't know existed really.  I still don't exactly understand how I got this lucky, but thank God every day for it.