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“A son is a son until he takes a wife, a daughter is a daughter all of her life.”  As a mother of both a son and a daughter, I have both hated and loved this sentiment. I know this is not entirely true, my son will always be my son but I do understand. There is a difference. A daughter is an instant ally, a lifelong confidante. The relationship, while rocky at times, has an undercurrent of understanding. A knowledge that you are grooming your future best friend, a connection as strong and beautiful as a diamond, unbreakable by outsiders. A son? From the time he is born we are preparing him to leave us, to develop a relationship with a future wife, as sweet and secure as his relationship with his mom has always been. This is as it should be. So much is written about the relationship between father and daughter. She is Daddy’s little girl, his princess. It is a powerful and important relationship. But, no less important or as precious, is the bond between mother and son.

A son is wonder to his mother. A perfect and beautiful tiny man. A mother of a newborn pours all her love and attention into him, developing a solid foundation for his future. He stares into her eyes and looks for her whenever she isn’t holding him.  As a toddler, his mother claps when he walks, rejoices when he poops on the toilet, picks him up when he falls and cuddles him when he is sick. She is the first person he looks for when he skins his knee and he hides his head on her shoulder when he is afraid. As a preschooler, she prepares him for school, takes him to the park, and tries to swallow the fear that he is growing so fast as he climbs too high and rides his bike too fast. But, he runs to her at random times of the day, crashing into her knees and throwing his arms around her neck when she picks him up. He tells her that he wants to marry her when he gets big and she smiles while tears spring to her eyes.  When he goes to school, she misses him and wonders if he misses her. but hopes that he doesn’t, because she doesn’t want him to feel sad. She encourages him to invite his friends over and pretends to be annoyed when they eat all the food and break a lamp, wrestling in the living room. He lets her hug and kiss him still, but only at night and only if his friends aren’t sleeping over. By the time he is a teenager, his thoughts have turned to his friends, sports, cars and girls. His mother is there, in the periphery, hovering about, offering to make him scrambled eggs or asking if he put his uniform in the wash. She is most often noticed when she is not there, as she is testing out her new independence as he tests his. “where’s mom?” he will say to his father, when the friends are gone, or he will text,  “where are you? I’m hungry!”. She will hurry home or offer a myriad of choices over the phone, happy to be needed. She still insists on giving him a kiss when he leaves for work or school and he acquiesces, bending his head so that she can kiss the top of it. He goes to college, a baby boy in a man costume. She worries about him constantly. Is he eating enough, sleeping enough? She keeps up with him via texts and snapchat and creeps on his girlfriend on Facebook. He comes home on weekends, dumping his laundry on the floor, saying he’s hungry,  while a swirl of energy and nostalgia perfumes the air, disappearing as soon as he drives away. He marries, and his mom is careful and supportive of his wife. She defers to the wife on matters such as child rearing and her sons favorite foods because she would never ask her son to choose between them, partly because she knows she will lose and partly because she would never want her son to be feel the pain of making that choice. It is hard, and sometimes sad, but it is as it should be.

If this scenario seems depressing to young moms out there, know that it’s not. Just as you are there at every stage and for every pain, both mental and physical, you will always be there, and he will always look for you. On this, the morning after Good Friday, it makes me wonder how Jesus’s mother could stand to be there, when her son took on the sins of the world. She never left his side, she suffered as he did, watching her baby boy die on a cross. She had wiped his tears when he was a little boy and now could not, but she gave the only solace to him that she could, she was there. She never left him alone in his grief and his pain, just as we, as mothers would never leave our boys to suffer alone. You are no less important to your son  than you were when he was 5, just in a different way. You have done your job well, Mom. As he raises a family of his own, things have come full circle. It is as it should be.

Sometimes I’m shocked by how old we sound. Here we were, on our way to church (of course we were!), when I realized that these types of conversations happen when you’ve been married for a long time. We had just bickered briefly about the former whereabouts of a hair salon called Xanado, after we passed the new location. We gave up quickly as neither side was willing to concede and because neither one of us was in a contentious enough mood to whip this innocuous subject into a full-blown argument. We moved on to discuss a woman that we knew that worked there. “Are she and Tony still together?’ I asked. “nah,” my husband replied, “they broke up years ago, actually, it was more like decades ago.” He said this seriously but I burst into laughter because it  sounded so ridiculous and so old. It made me realize that I must have picked up a few pointers along the way that I will gladly share, but as you read them, please consider the source. Although we have managed to stay married for 25 years, we have wrangled over every banal subject under the sun, and I don’t think that it will change anytime soon.

#8 Keep the fights clean: we don’t do this at all, we are terrible, dirty fighters. We have thrown rings and insults, we fight bitterly and often and sometimes go to bed angry, Our disagreements once prompted my then six-year old niece to say, “you two are always either fighting or kissing”. This is very true. Some couples say they don’t argue at all. I don’t know if this is bad or good, You could say that they have less passion in their marriage but then again, they also would have a lot less heartache and probably more sleep.  Never mind this advice, I’m not fit to give it.

#7 Know each others strengths and weaknesses: This took us years and years to realize. When our daughter was a baby, I thought that things should be fair. We both worked and I felt that on our days off, he should take turns with me getting up early. We never fought more than during that bleak period of time, I really didn’t understand that he was a night owl and that as a life long early bird, it made more sense for me to get up, at least most of the time. When our son arrived six years later, we had seven years of marriage and parenthood under our belts and came up with a plan that worked for both of us. He would take the “night shift”, and I would do  the “morning shift”. Our son was sensitive as a baby and never slept well. After nursing him,  sometimes he slept, but often he needed to be walked or rocked for hours and would wake up as soon as these activities stopped. My husband was on duty until 2 am, and when the baby woke after that, I would take over. Since I was usually in bed by 9 pm, this actually felt like a suitable arrangement at the time, but writing this now, my gosh, this sounds like a miserable existence! My point is though, we figured out a way to make it work by using our strengths to our favor rather than our weaknesess against us.

#6 Have fun together: Millennials call this “date night” and that is fine and good  for them, but when we were just starting out, we had no money for date nights. I am well aware that this makes me sound old, but don’t worry, I wont launch into one of those, “when we were your age” parables. Suffice it to say that we have never really spent much money in the pursuit of merriment. Oh, we have taken family trips to amusement parks and beaches, we have gone out to eat by ourselves and to the movies and Broadway plays and museums. Sometimes though these have ended up feeling like a commandment to have fun.’ Thou shall take thy family to the beach and all will have fun, for thou art an American family.’ But one sandy bottom, two sunburned shoulders and three temper tantrums later and the whole “happy family” sham topples like a house of cards. These family pursuits of happiness have not all been failures. We have had fun too, but our favorite times together are simpler arrangements. Walks, board games or cribbage, playing softball together on our church team, jeep and four-wheeler rides,  hiking, (when he makes me feel guilty that I haven’t gone with him in years), shopping ,(when I make him feel guilty), all things that we do for our “date nights”. For me, I don’t care if we are just sitting on the couch watching Surviver, as long as he keeps making me laugh during the commercials.

#5 If at all possible, sleep in separate beds!!!  OK, this is a weird thing to say, and certainly this would not work for every couple, but I’m just going to say it anyway.  Because for us,  given that we are polar opposites in many ways, especially in our sleep habits, if we had not done this about 15 years ago, we probably  would be divorced now. This is why this works for us: I go to bed early, he goes to bed late. I have my covers tucked, his are swirled around like a hurricane hit his bed. I make my bed as soon as I am on my feet in the morning, if he makes his at all, it is a few minutes before he climbs into at night. I have a top sheet (who doesn’t?!?), he does not. I sleep with my electric blanket on from September until June, he is like a furnace and needs only one blanket. I like to have a mattress topper, he does not, “That stupid thing is too hot and soft”. I’m sure you get the picture. Sleeping apart has actually not separated us, it has brought us closer. I guess the real lesson here is, don’t be afraid to let go of what you think a couple should look like. Create your own bubble.

#4 Remember what attracted you on him in the first place: My husband is a bad boy,  I have always gone for the bad boy. They are exciting and dangerous and everything I am not. Bad boys are fun to date but a nightmare to marry. At least he was for the first several years, Still is sometimes, but although he hasn’t changed, my attitude has. For the first several years, I tried to change him and mold him to my version of the perfect husband. This created so much drama that I wondered if we could ever get through it. But, about the time that our daughter starting having problems with a bully at school, I realized the value of having a tough customer on your team. He has dealt with every tricky situation, including somehow, the bully,  and walked head on into difficult and sometimes dangerous situations to protect and to keep our family together. He also keeps things interesting, as he did when he followed a staff member at a rock concert, acting like he knew what he was doing to obtain a front row, standing room only section, a spot so close that someone in our party excitedly proclaimed that they had gotten a performers sweat on them. This may not be your souse. Your spouse might be the solid, boring one, as I am. Remember, what you liked and admired about that person and try to be thankful  that they are different from you. which brings me to…

#3 Embrace the differences: My husband and I are like night and day. He is bipolar and has ADHD. Because of this, he is spontaneous, and colorful, fun and a risk taker. But, he has so much going on in his brain that at times, he is overwhelmed and can become anxious. I am solid as a rock, but a little bland and not much of a risk taker as evidenced by the fact that I have been working at the same facility since I was 16, that’s 28 years if you are counting! He helps me to have fun and I help him to stay calm and grounded. He wrestled with the kids while I kept things on schedule. He hunted, fished, rode ATV’s, hiked and showed them wildlife, and I read and watched movies with them, went to every game, meet and event and most practices, sat in waiting rooms, filled out insurance forms and comforted the sick and injured. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes we did these thing together and because the my job requires me to work every other weekend, he was pressed into service and nicely filled my shoes as Mom, albeit, a fun one. Last night, I asked him to make me a grilled cheese, because he makes  the best, and when I was finished eating he asked me to make him a “big sandwich”, a giant deli cheese and sliced ham stuffed affair. I could have made my own grilled cheese and he could have made his own sandwich, and twenty years ago, we probably would have, reluctant to ask a favor, lest one of us be beholden to the other and unwilling to admit that we each have skills the other does not. These days though, older and wiser, we see this as a benefit, not a competition.  I never liked wrestling on the floor with a rambunctious kid and he is not really a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

#2 On the big issues it helps to agree: We may be the Bickersons  about mundane things, but on the big issues we agree, To me, these are, politics, religion and money. well, we really don’t agree on money, because he is generous to a fault and also never in my life I have I seen someone literally lose money like he does. I’ve actually witnessed it fall to the ground, not that surprising as he does not like a wallet and instead stuffs bills in his front pocket. But, we do agree that I’m the better manager of it so usually I handle the bills and do whatever I want with it except for large ticket items. Those, we talk about. Although, it’s really not much of a discussion as the more I spend, the better he likes it. The other two issues, we agree on. He is maybe a little more zealous about politics and I am more so about religion, but we do agree and because our values mesh, we have had a solid foundation to build our marriage.

#1 Prayer (Don’t stop reading here!) This is not the part where I try to force my Christian values on you. I know that not everyone who reads this believes in the power of prayer and that’s OK. Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water, as my mother has been known to say. Actually, I hate that saying. Anyway, Prior to meeting my husband, I had a few relationships, that after a time,  I felt the need to pray about. Each time, I asked that if this was not the right person for me, to end it now. Four times I did this, and three times the relationship ended in a week. To some, this might seem like a coincidence or maybe that I was just acting out what I obviously felt anyway or why would I have prayed in the first place. Whatever you believe, if you find yourself at a crossroads why not throw that prayer out there? It wont hurt either way.

So, that’s it. I’m sure there are many reasons that we are still married that I have not mentioned.  Chief among them, might be stubbornness, convenience and maybe we actually love each other (I know we do). It’s a gamble for sure. The stakes are high but the payoff is higher, at least for us. Now, pardon me while I have my husband read this. I’m pretty sure I know just what he will say. “oh, that’s nice, I look like an irresponsible jerk and you look like the martyr”. We quite possibly will argue about it this afternoon. apparently,  that’s just the way we like it.

P.S. What he actually said after he read it was , “Yeah, that’s nice, it’s pretty good……..martyr”.

Thanks for reading,

Susannah Warner

 

27 years ago, I met my future husband at a party in a third story apartment on Orange street in Lewiston, Maine. I was 17, and had a perm and an embarrassed smile. He was 24, with a mustache and tattoos. As soon as he saw me walk in, he stopped talking to the dirty girl who was sitting on the coffee table listening to him, and walked up to me. I could see that he was dangerous and bad, exciting and fun. We talked and listened to the Little River Band and when my friend and I left to go to another party, he followed us. He was persistent and bold and all the things I was not. So, 24 hours later, when he tied a leftover piece of tinsel on my ring finger, I thought to my self that I would never take it off. I managed to keep it intact by mostly keeping my hand dry all the next week and surprised him with it when I came down to see him the following weekend. He asked me to marry him the weekend after that and I knew that if I stayed with him, he would take care of me always. And so it began…

I wrote this a few years ago about the night I met my husband. Our circumstances have changed through the years, he went to college while I worked as a CNA, then I went to nursing school while he worked. We had two children, bought a house and had a granddaughter. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, PTSD and ADHD about 10 years ago. Always what I thought of as a character, a rascal and sometimes a jerk, this brought a sense of relief to know that there was a reason for the way he acted, sometimes in bed for days, sometimes the life of the party. We have hung on through 26 years of marriage because we have fun together, because we love and like each other and because we balance each other out perfectly. I am the roots and he is the leaves. I am the earth and he is the sky. I am our anchor and he is our wings.  I was right about thinking that he would take care of me always, he protects me physically, but I shield him mentally. Together, we are one.

Now, this is exciting. Forgive me for sounding so childlike and maybe even ridiculous, but I can’t believe that I have had views (ok, a view) from strangers on my first post! I keep checking the stats as if they were stocks and marveling that someone who I don’t even know would read something I wrote! This is amazing to me for several reasons. First, I don’t know how to blog, I have never even read a blog. I don’t even know how to find a blog to read. Therefore, my concept of a blog is limited to suggestions from worldly, albeit much younger relatives and friends that have read my Facebook posts and suggested that I start one. Secondly, although random thoughts pour out of my head like a waterfall, I am severely limited in my typing skills. I use only two fingers, sometimes three, and have to look at the keyboard. I blame this disability on the fact that when I went to high school in the 80’s, I was pressed into taking “honors” classes for the college bound. Clearly my teachers had not counted on my lack of motivation and general lack of interest in academia as a factor when they convinced me to sign up for these intellectual obstacle courses. As I was sleeping through class or just not even showing up ( thank you Tiny!), I was missing out on the much more practical “business classes” that included typing and bookkeeping. I never missed the latter but the former would sure come in handy about now. And finally, my spelling and grammar leave a lot to be desired, (please refer to the sleeping through class reference above) sorry Mrs. Blood (not kidding, actually her name), as some of you, who have actually suffered through this winded, run on sentence, née, paragraph can tell. So, I said all this to say, with absolutely not even one read blog under my belt to compare it with, I will continue on with this self-absorbed virtual diary until I am either A. figuratively tarred and feathered (very real possibility) or B. run out of things to say (don’t count on it).  Be forewarned:  I am very bipolarish ( I feel OK about using this term as my husband actually is bipolar and he wont mind) about my writing. I will either write several posts in one day, or I might go three days with nothing. I know enough about blogging to know this is not smart, but I never claimed to be smart or a blogger.

Thank you for reading,

Susannah Warner

• Well, this is exciting! My first post! I found my way here by literally googling “how do I start a blog” this morning. My desire to write and to share my life has finally outweighed any reticence I have felt about this strange new world. currently I am befuddled by terms such as widget, gadget and cookies. I know this is pathetic but if you are out there and are miraculously still reading, please be kind and offer any insights and pearls of wisdom that you may have. In the meantime, I will carry on, stumbling through the blogosphere like a virtual Mr. Magoo, blind and clueless but basically harmless. No doubt, many blogging blunders await as well as an occasional social gaffe. But like thousands of explorers before me, I will plunge in and forge ahead secure in the knowledge that at least for me, movement in any direction, even occasionally backwards, is better than sitting around and waiting for something to happen.  Thank you for reading.

Susannah Warner