5 things my husband has never done (plus 5 I've never done either)

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Yesterday morning as I chopped my apple to place in my instant oatmeal before nuking it (good stuff; you should try it), I thought about all the apples Megan had at her house while I was there last week. She has a lot. All different kinds, too, from galas—my fave—to honeycrisp and yellow ones of some sort and more.

"Preston won't stop buying them," she told me, followed by a wish he'd buy fruit that's a little easier for Bubby and Mac—especially Mac— to eat rather than crisp and crunchy apples. (That require coring and slicing and, in Mac's case, peeling and dicing, too.)

As I cut my apple yesterday morning, I thought about Preston picking out apples for his family and realized that Jim, my husband, has likely never, ever bought an apple. Not for his family, not for himself. I buy the apples. All the apples...which are usually gala because those are what I like. Even when the girls lived at home, I was the family apple buyer.

Considering my apple for yesterday's breakfast and all the apples I've bought in the past while Jim has never bought a single one, I thought of some other things that Jim has never done in our 30+ years together. Things he's never done because I did them. For example:

Five things my husband has never done (because I did/do)

1. Not only has Jim never bought apples, he's never done the weekly shopping for our household.

2. He's never wrapped all the Christmas gifts. Or birthday gifts.

3. He's never played Tooth Fairy.

4. He's never done the back-to-school shopping. Or any clothes shopping with and for our daughters. (A special hell all its own, one you may know if you've had teen daughters.)

5. He's never cooked breakfast for the family.

Seeing how it's the political season, though, and I don't want to seem as mud-slinging as those running for office, in the interest of providing fair and balanced coverage here on Grandma's Briefs, I offer this:

Five things I have never done (because my husband did/does)

1. I've never changed a tire. Ever. Embarrassing but true.

2. I've never climbed an extension ladder and hung holiday lights on the outside of our house.

3. I've never worked three jobs at one time to keep our family afloat.

4. I've never wired a light fixture, a ceiling fan, an outlet that needed repair.

5. I've never changed a catheter bag. He did—mine, twenty or so years ago during an especially scary time. (Probably more scary for him than me, to be honest.)

Now is the place in my post that I should be wrapping it all up with a point. That point, though, has morphed, the more I wrote, the more I considered my lists.

I originally planned to point out what a helpful son-in-law I have, for Preston not only buys apples and has even done the weekly shopping, he changes poopy diapers and bathes my grandsons pert-near as often as does my daughter. While that's cool and admirable and something I appreciate, it's no longer my point.

My point now is this: Who needs a husband to buy freakin' apples when they're willing to change your pee bag?

Not me.

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is your favorite kind of apple? (Bet that's not the question you expected, is it?)

Love and marriage: 30 years, 30 reasons

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When Jim and I got married, we were oh-so young, with nearly all odds against us.

That was 30 years ago today.

In honor of our thirtieth wedding anniversary, here are 30 reasons why I think our marriage has lasted—despite the odds, statistics, and predictions:

1. We still celebrate our first-kiss anniversary.

2. When one of us says, "Isn't that the one guy from not that one show but the other one, you know, with that woman we don't like who was in that scary movie, but he's put on a lot of weight since the movie where he was a jerk?", the other one totally gets it...and answers with the actor's name.

3-5. Brianna, Megan, Andrea.

6. We love each other's moms as much as we love our own.

7. I'm willing to go to a Randy Travis concert with him; he's willing to go see Chris Cornell with me.

8. We agree that Flight of the Conchords is funny as <cuss>.

9. And that Saturday Night Live isn't anymore.

10-11. Bubby and Mac.

12. We don't share a bathroom. Or use the bathroom at the same time when we have no choice but to share (like when vacationing).

13. We don't share bank accounts or credit cards either.

14. We do, though, share a mortgage—and the agreement that despite our mortgage doubling when we bought our current house, soon followed by both of us losing our jobs and economic <cuss> reigning ever since, we love our home and it's totally worth it.

15. We agree that if stranded on a desert island with only one album, we'd want it to be Pearl Jam's Ten.

16. We have a spare room available for when insomnia, snoring or restless legs get to be too much for the sleepy non-snorer.

17. In the heat of rage-filled moments, we don't call each other nasty names that can't be taken back. (At least not out loud.)

18. We agree that if when we win the lottery, our moms come first when doling out the dough and that gifts of even amounts will be given to all our siblings, despite a couple of them deserving nothing.

19. I cook, he cleans up after. (Okay...I usually help, just to keep him company).

20. We both clean up after entertaining—and agree that it must be done immediately upon guests leaving, not in the morning, no matter how late the entertaining may have ended or how tired we may be.

21. When one of us screws up our finances—because, despite separate accounts, we are indeed joint—neither one lays blame. (At least not out loud.)

22. We agree a house is not a home without pets. And that those pets shall never again be birds or fish or more than two dogs and two cats at one time.

23. He patiently waits until I compose myself when I get verklempt and can't talk, whether it's when discussing a terminal family member or an unexpectedly delightful package delivery.

24. A few hours into the stonewalling after a disagreement, one of us will apologize—even if we know <cuss> well we're not at fault—just so we'll be friends again.

25. That third strand in our marriage cord stayed strong and kept us together when the other two strands, at various times, frayed, gave up or broke completely.

26. We agree that it's sometimes okay to hit the sack before the news. Or to stay up late on a weeknight because we must see what happens next on a series we're streaming through Netflix.

27. We agree that the majority of Christmas gifts should be opened on Christmas morning, not Christmas Eve.

28. We have similar stranger-than-fiction-and-Jerry-Springer families and histories few others would understand...or believe.

29. We take pride in owning—and aren't willing to pass to others—the title of Longest Married Couple In Our Families (even longer than our older siblings and our parents).

30. We grew up together. Like two intertwined saplings that grow together into big, strong—though entangled—trees, if you try to separate them, one or both will surely die. Or so I've convinced him.

Happy anniversary, Jim. Here's to 30 more years and 30 more reasons!

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

The key to a successful relationship is _________.

Love manners and matters

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When I was a child, I rated my affection for something based on one question: Did I love it more than I loved my mom? To me, love was a hierarchy, and Mom was firmly and forever at the top.

Sure, I loved macaroni and cheese, I loved mashed potatoes, I loved listening to the Bay City Rollers and wearing my ever so stylish elephant pants. But did I love those things more than Mom? Not even close.

I soon started applying the same question to people. I loved my sixth-grade teacher, but not more than Mom. I loved my BFF, but not more than Mom. I even thought I loved a boy or two, but certainly not more than Mom. (Their failing the test, I now see, was truly a blessing for me.)

Then came Jim. I soon learned a very important lesson: My love test was silly, my love test was naive. Love isn't a matter of degree, I realized, it's a matter of manner, and I loved Jim in a far different manner than I loved my mom. Not more, not less, just different.

Yes, I loved my mom, but I sure didn't want to spend the rest of my life with her. I did, though, want to spend the rest of my life with Jim. Fortunately he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, too. So we married. And had kids.

When the first baby was born, there was the struggle of coming to terms with the fact—for Jim and for me—that the manner of baby love was such that it required more attention, more nurturing, more time than anything else in our world. It wasn't a matter of loving the baby more than Jim, though it took a while to convince him of that.

When the second baby was set to arrive, I had to convince myself that I wouldn't love my first more than the second. I had yet to learn how much the heart expands with each child. The lesson was confirmed when that second baby arrived. And again when the third baby arrived.

Again and again I've learned—and did my best to teach—that each and every one of those loves of my life were loved the very most I could possibly love, just all in a different manner. I've never loved one child more than another; they're loved in manners befitting them. Sure, there were—and continue to be—days when one drives me more batty than another, but that has nothing to do with love. I love them all fully, love them all completely. I just love my oldest daughter in a manner far different than the second, which is far different than the third. I like to think, and continue to hope, that the manner in which I love them is the manner in which they need, deserve, love in return.

If you're a mother, you get that.

When I learned I'd be a grandmother, though, I clearly didn't get it. Not fully. I wasn't sure I could love my grandchild as much as I loved my children. How, how, how could I, I wondered, when I loved my girls so fully and completely?

Again the matter of manners came into play. The manner in which I love my first grandson is so very different than the manner in which I love his mom...and his aunts. No one more, no one less, all of them different.

Which made it easier when my second grandson came along. I now fully and completely love him, too, yet in a manner so different from how I love his brother.

It's been more than thirty years since I first learned the lesson that love isn't a hierarchy or a matter of degrees, that it's a matter of manners. My love has grown to encompass so many in that time. I love my grandsons. I love my daughters. And I love my cats, my dogs, my house, my home. I do still love macaroni and cheese, too, and do still love potatoes. The Bay City Rollers? Well, not so much anymore.

Through all the additions, though, I still love my mom.

And I still truly and deeply love Jim.

And despite all that we've been through in our decades together, all the other manners—and the oft-heartbreaking matters—that have been thrown into the mix, I do still want to spend the rest of my life with him.

All of my manners of love matter, but today, that is the manner that matters the most.

Happy Valentines Day!

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What love manners and matters are on your mind today?

The Saturday Post: Zeppelin wedding song edition

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As of tomorrow, Jim and I will have been married 29 years. When planning our wedding all those kajillion years ago, we knew right away that we wanted "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin as our wedding song. Our pastor, on the other hand, said, "I will puke if you play that song." Seriously.

So we relented and simply had my sister read the lyrics to "Thank You" as a poem during the ceremony. Our official song ended up being the generic but still lovely and fitting "The Wedding Song" by Paul Stookey...played on guitar and sung by our non-puking pastor.

In honor of our anniversary, here is the song Jim and I consider our real wedding song, albeit a more recent, more mellow version than the original. Just so no one will puke.


Happy 29th anniversary, Jim!

Today's question:

What was your wedding song?