But I Love Him: 4 Words That Keep You With The Wrong Guy


*This post is written in regards to those dating, not married.*


“But I love him.” I know you do, girl.  I know.  And you know what?  I did too.  For almost 4 years I loved someone that didn’t love me well. Those famous words and feelings have been confusing heads and dirtying the decision making waters for women and men since way before Boyz To Men made being in love even more emotional.

It seems to me that these 4 words have been the death of many good choices people make when they are in love. I love giving relationship counsel and in doing so, I’ve heard just under 124 billion people in bad relationships say this. You know, give or take.

“I know he has anger problems, but I love him.”

“I know he is really selfish, but I love him.”

“Yes, he was unfaithful, but I love him.”

He or she is jealous, pushy, aggressive, reckless with your feelings, treats you like an option, has a bad history with women/men and yes, you love him.  Never mind getting into how you fell so deeply for someone who has treated you so poorly, there is something else very major that is being missed here: Love is NOT the problem.  You have gotten that part down pat.  You love them. You aren’t trying to fix your feelings because you are struggling to love. The problems are the other things that love cannot fix: the major relationship issues or tendencies of the one you are dating.

For example, if you want to be with them but they are unfaithful, your love cannot fix that issue. so why are you offering it as a solution? They aren’t cheating because of your love and you aren’t dodging being hurt by the cheating because you love them.  The problem remains regardless of your feelings so emotions should not factor in to your decision to leave the relationship. Your love doesn’t remedy someone else’s deficiency in good character or care for you.

When someone says “But I love them”, it is as related to the choice to stay involved as eating pancakes is to curing obesity.  You love pancakes. That has been locked and loaded.  You want to lose weight.  If you need to make the right choice to lose weight, how much admiration you have for pancakes won’t help you not get fat if you eat them.  IHOP isn’t getting you anywhere.  If you want to lose pounds, lose the pancakes.  How much you enjoy eating them has nothing to do with solution and you know the problem you are trying to solve.  You aren’t fixing your love for pancakes.  You are fixing your weight, not feelings.

I understand that loving someone makes it very hard to leave the wrong person. Remember earlier when I said I did that very thing almost 4 years? We have all been there and I know why these infamous words are uttered by the brokenhearted a million times a day in this world.  Still, when the waves of love settle in to real life, possibly a marriage, kids, and bills, your passion will subside and leave you with ALL the traits you chose in them, including the ones that initially made you doubt your choice to be with them.  “But I love him” will not carry you through the passionless days with someone who never loved you well in the first place.  When you are dating, you are seeing the best version of someone else. They may change, but the only thing you are guaranteed for sure is what you’ve already got.  As time gives way into what should replace intense butterflies with a deep love and intimacy, what you will be left with is someone who showed you years ago that they didn’t have what it took to give you that deep long lasting safe love.

Leaving a person you love is hard, but it’s much harder to end up with someone you knew you shouldn’t have been with years ago. I would rather be alone forever than with the wrong person.  Truly, not only is staying because you love them not the answer now, it will be the very reason you kick yourself in the future.

It’s easy for me to tell you to stop dating the wrong person.  I know, I know…I can’t understand your situation.  But on the contrary, when someone who loves you tells you to walk away from something toxic, the fact that we aren’t in your shoes and aren’t in love with that person gives us an advantage, not disadvantage.  When emotion is removed, objectivity reigns and someone covered up in the love puppies could use a little bit of that.  Actually, a whole lot of that.

So should you stay with someone who is treating you consistently in a way that is leaving you less confident, hurt, anxious? No, and love is not a justification.  Emotion can’t cure what wasn’t an emotional problem to begin with.  Address what really is the issue.  Drop the pancakes, lose the love, and by all means, drop those four little words.  I love yous shouldn’t come with buts.





Photo Credit:  Shelly Griffin Photography

Big ones, Tiny Ones, Even Brown Ones

I hate sports. I hate big orange bouncy balls. I hate oblong leather brown balls. I hate little yellow ‘I hated tennis lesson’ balls. I hate, and I mean especially hate, little tiny white balls. I usually end up flinging the putter over and over Happy Gilmore style until I get 15 strokes a hole. That way I feel like I really got back at it and put it in it’s place. I truly hate hard to control ping pong balls. I hate volley balls that never go in the direction of my percise punches and jabs. I hate large heavy black solid balls that are, in fact, so heavy that I use kid sizes ON THE BUMPER LANE. Don’t judge me. I even hate cotton balls. Maybe even popcorn balls on a bad day.

Lance has been in fiercesome denial of this fact since our wedded bliss in August of 2004. He is always like, “Hey, hey, hey, watch this play!” Not intending to rhyme, of course, because that would be really un-mascqueline and thus, un-athletic. EVERY blasted time I say different versions of the same harsh reality which all revolve around the theme of “I don’t care!”

But still, for reasons still not known, he consistently calls me to the TV to watch some sort of play. The most maddening part about it all is that I tell him every time, “I don’t even know what’s going on?” He will say, “Look at Billy Stevens” or some players name and I”ll say, “Who is Billy Stevens? I don’t know who that is AND I don’t know what he is doing anyways!” Why does he still want to show me if it means nothing to me? The equivalent would be me calling to Lance when he is doing much more important things than what I am wanting to show him and he rushes to the living room to see a cross-stitching tournament in Japanese. Why are they quilting geese jumping over lambs? Who knows? What are they saying? It’s in Japanese. Who cares, I want you to watch this stupid thing whether it’s entertaining or not and I will repeatedly call you in here to witness the boring confusion. That is my example because I truly care about sports as much as grannies cracking their arthritic knuckles over pastel threads.

Poor brother, Lance. He loves these silly games so intensely. Sometimes I humor him and sit by him on the couch while he tantilizes his peepers with UK basketball. He will get the ocassional razzled feather and yell something mean to/about a player like,” What are you doing? Can you even catch a ball?!!!” I bring a rational and emotional touch to the game when I say, “That’s someone’s child. Even if you don’t know them, it’s no more right to make fun of them. What if you were their parent?” Somewhere in his soul I think he really appreciates the sensitive side I bring to televised sporting events.

Every now and then I go beyond suffering through sitting alongside him on the couch and do things like fill out March Madness brackets. I actually really enjoy this aspect of the torture-ish season where my TV is perpetually battered by constant images of men and their games. I enjoy even more that my bracket does better than many lads who treasure said basketball games. How do you do so well, some ask? See, you sports fanatics over-think it. I just look at the stats. Simple game of probability. I add in the occasional upset based on how the name hits me. Sometimes I’m drawn to names like, Elizabethtown Community College and put it in the Sweet 16. It’s like a psychic instinct of just feeling in my guts as to who is going to win. I know, know, ECC doesn’t play during March Madness but Larry Bird and Spud Webb haven’t played basketballs for years and years but it doesn’t stop me from answering every basketall trivia question with these guys. Kind of like when I played Shout About Movies with a girl who wasn’t from America. Every time she saw a boat in the scene she would guess Titanic. You just have to go with what you know and be confident that eventually, in sweet time, it will be the answer they game is looking for.

Tonight, as you might’ve guessed, Lance has interuptted me about a watching a basketball game and hence, this blog that has made your day. Commonly, he wants to show me something that a player does that’s impressive and I just think (and say) I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT BASKETBALL BECAUSE I DON’T PLAY OR WATCH IT SO IT WON’T SEEM IMPRESSIVE TO ME. Show me a guy who can do a granny shot from half-court, an attempt I can relate to. Now that’s something I could really get behind.

I don’t think he even hears me anymore when I plead my case as to why it’s unnecessary for me to participate in viewing certain plays. It’s not even about me really. He may not even know I’m in the room. That leads me to some ideas on handling the matter….

I’ve told him that I don’t like little league, high school, college, or professional sports….no level…no matter the ball….no matter the age. I hate sports. One time I even got so flustered that I raised my voice and said with intricatley enuciated words, “I hate basketball. I wouldn’t even care if they never. made. another. basketball!” Can’t really be more direct than that. You can’t care less than not being concerned with the manufacturing of particular sports balls.

In a twist of perfect blogging irony, upon typing the prior sentence, I asked Lance if we could play a game and he walked in not with Bananagrams or Yahtzee, but with a DVD NCAA Basketball trivia game.

I smile to myself in brilliant “I’m so right about this guy” fashion and say, “You know what I’m going to answer every question with right?”

“Uh, Michael Jordan?”


A grin came across his face and he said, “Larry Bird?”

How can this game be fair and balanced when he sees all my cards? Fingers crossed.

If I only I was Spud Webb.  Then I’d always be a winner. 

And black. 

Double win.

Love and Crackers

When I was a little girl in the first grade, I use to rip off the name ‘Lance’ from Lance brand crackers packages and carry it around in my pocket. I don’t know why I did that then. Lance didn’t really even talk to me until I was in middleschool. I don’t think in the first grade you really notice guys that much but I must’ve noticed him. From 7 years old until 6th grade, that’s all I really remember about when Lance moved to Bowling Green and came to my church.

But then…I mean a BIG ‘but then’, I fell like crazy for him in 6th grade. I remember when Alanis Morisette’s song “Head Over Feet” came out, I would just ache to hear it on the radio so I could daydream about him. It got so bad that one night I actually called a friend of mine and, in all seriousness, asked her to sing it to me over the phone because I didn’t know the words to sing it myself and I loved the Lance butterflies it gave me. At this point of time he pretty much ignored me for the most part but I made sure I dressed up “cute” for youth group every Wednesday and I always tried to stand next to him during prayer so we could hold hands.

Years passed until the summer of my 8th grade year came. The youth group went on a church trip to Birmingham and this is where my love story of chasing after Lance finally became reciprocal. I remember with great detail arriving at the retreat and going and sitting a round table with my friends. The room was dimly lit and the carpet was burgundy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lance start walking. Was he walking towards me? No way. He did pay attention to me on the ride down but never really much outside of that two hour trip. But, no matter how unreal it seemed, he was, in fact, walking over to me. My stomach dropped as he asked me if I would go outside and talk to him for a minute. That walk to the hotel sidewalk was the most exciting 20 feet I had ever walked.

He leaned up against the hotel wall that was white painted brick that had begun to chip. I sat on a short wall that had planted flowers in it and I held my breath because I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to say to me publicly muchless privately. Then he started,

“I just wanted to tell you that I think there is something different about you and I can’t get you off my mind. I just wanted you to know that I always know where you are in a room.”

I would say I was exhilarated but that would’ve been a gross understatement. I had told my mother 2 years earlier as a young, “I’m sure you’ll change your mind” little girl that I would marry him someday. 730 days later, I thought for the first time, “Oh my gosh, you might actually be right.”

I was soaring the rest of the trip. The night before we left he sang me a Garth Brooks song that he changed the lyrics of to make it about me and him. Cheesy? Perhaps, but that didn’t keep me from playing the first verse of that song over and over again on my discman the whole ride home. Also on the ride home you should know that he finally sat next to me on the bus like I had dreamed about for all those years. There was a pillow over our hands and our hands were touching but not holding because neither of us had the guts. It was a four hour ride home and he didn’t move the brave 4 centimeters to hold my hand until we pulled back into the church parking lot. When he did…fireworks! There is such a sweetness to a time where all you want to do is hold hands and it takes you all day to get the nerve to intertwine your fingers. I can still remember my whole body going to mush when he squeezed my hand.

We started dating that day and it lasted a whole 9 months until I gave the ole’ sweety the boot. But, to me, that’s where the story really gets good.

From the time we broke-up until the time we dated again was over three years and I was with another guy this whole time. This guy wasn’t the best in the world to me and I picked up a big emotional ticket for it but during this time, there was someone commited to me and it was Lance. For 3 years he hurt and missed me dearly…loved me dearly. He still brought me flowers, sung outside my window at night, and still always knew where I was in a room. Two and a half years into my relationship with the other guy and right before Lance went to college, he left me quite the farewell. One morning he called me very early and told me to go outside. I lazily opened the front door and stepped on a long stem rose. I ran back inside to get my contacts and ran back to my front door to see a trail of roses end to end. They went all the way into my yard and formed a big heart made of flowers and the inside of the heart was filled with rose petals. There was another trail of flowers leading from the heart all the way to my car where there was a ribbon tied rose with a letter on my windsheild. The letter told me he loved me and with that, he was gone to Jackson, TN. to start his college years. We still always talked but as expected and as he deserved, he finally moved on and dated a girl so beautiful. The kind of girl you worry about your ex-es dating. But then again, I deserved it and I did have a boyfriend. While Lance was with this girl, if you can believe this…he left my picture up in his room. A year into their relationship they broke-up and she told him, “Either you are going to date Rebecca again and marry her or date her again and realize she’s not the one but until then, you will never give anyone else a chance!” When Lance and I began dating again a short while later, she sent me an email, a sweet one, that said, “I just want you to know that you always had his heart”.

As all of this went on, I was at the point where I couldn’t take my old relationship. 6 months later I called it off and two weeks after that, I kissed Lance for the first time in 4 years and it was the single best kiss of my entire life hands down. He had always tried to kiss me EVERY time he saw me, boyfriend or not, and finally we did. Lance told me he loved me right away because even after all that time, he never stopped. One year later we were engaged and married the following year. Coming out of the last relationship I had I was so damaged, hurt, and anxious but God blessed with a man who had already proven to me that he could love me even when I didn’t love him. Not only that, he did so not as an adult but as a young, teenage boy who didn’t have to wait around for unrequited love. Loving him again was one of the easiest things I’ve ever had to do.

That year leading up to our wedding was so wonderful and so exciting. We bought our first little house and fixed it up and I loved every second of every minute of getting to that altar. On August 7, 2004, teary eyed I put on a dress and took the arm of another great man who walked me down the aisle to the person that it seemed like it took me a lifetime to get to. It was the most exciting 20 feet I’ll ever walk.



Definitions of ‘annoy’
The American Heritage® Dictionary– (2 definitions)

(transitive verb: -noyed, -noy·ing, -noys.)

  1. To cause slight irritation to (another) by troublesome, often repeated acts.
  2. Archaic To harass or disturb by repeated attacks.

I would add to this definition:

3. Product of being married longer than 1 year.

Lance and I had a newlywed couple to our house last night.  They have been married 5 months.  I asked them if they had anything yet that really grated on their spouse’s nerves.  They named one or two things.  I told them I could come up with 30 things on the spot.  The challenge began.  I kept getting louder and louder and more animated in explaining these “slight repetitive disturbances” until I was all sorts of bent out of shape.  This became another case similar to telling people about Lance talking in his sleep.  Everyone else laughs at my daily misfortunes and I end up more and more crazy one day at a time.  I thought you might enjoy hearing about my spousal burdens in a rant I call, “Oh How You Drive Me Crazy, Let Me Count the Ways”.

Ways 1-9 :  forgetting what he’s saying and repeating “uh” or the first part of the sentence over and over until he remembers the rest, his obsessions with reading anything and everything to me from newspapers to coupon books, when he asks me the same questions 20 times, when he leaves his toothbrush half rinsed out and foaming on the sink, how he sticks his finger in his ear and shakes it over and over (both when he’s awake and asleep), how he chews on everything from pens to sweatshirt strings, how he calls he’s-she’s and vice versa, how he can’t figure out what button to push on our alarm clock even after all these years resulting in hitting the radio button and making a newscast blare into the morning air….BUT those aren’t the ones I’ll be discussing today.  I saved the top 5 for the spotlight.  They are as follows:

1-  Lance has 2 ways of walking. One I call dinosaur feet and the other carpet skiing.  In Dinosaur Feet, he walks with big loud thuds much like a T-Rex.  We could also call this earthquake feet as it causes mild tremors.  The other is carpet skiing.  I guess you get tired of dinosaur walking after a while and can no longer bear to lift your feet off the ground.  This results in carpet skiing:  The sliding of your feet one after the other to produce a walking motion that causes a swooshing sound.

2- For this next point you should refer to the post “Watch Out for Singing Rabbits”.  This burden refers to the constant outbursts of vocal performances and in this case, harmonizing.  Lance finds it pleasing to his ear to harmonize with all songs.  Commercials.  Check.  Rap songs.  Check.  Everyone knows the way to compliment a rap tune is with sweet melodious harmonies.  What enhances gangsta rap quite like a beautifully sung note?  Nothing guys.  The answer is nothing.

If I sing anywhere in the house, any song, for any numbers of words there will be a harmonious echo somewhere in the house.  If I’m singing in the kitchen, don’t worry, Lance will harmonize from the office.  He is about one year away from harmonizing with sounds around the house. Cat’s meows…doorbells…it’s just a matter of time.

3.  On a serious note, I have diagnosed Lance with a diease that I have named.  The “Give A Mouse A Cookie Chronic Disorder”.  If you aren’t familiar with the children’s story “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”, it kind of goes like, If you give a mouse a cookie, then he will want a glass to go with it.  Then the milk will make him remember how he likes cow’s so he’ll want to draw a picture of a cow.  Then he will needs crayons because he wants to draw a picture. And so on……Basically, it’s a story about an easily distracted, hyperactive mouse.

Some examples of this include when I ask him to help me clean.  Last night, for example. he had a list of things he was doing while I was cooking dinner.  These were things that needed to be done before our company came.  While he was cleaning he remembered that he needed some pants.  He looked in the dryer to look for a certain pair of pants and they weren’t in there.  But then he noticed that there were other clothes that needed to be run.  So he decides to run the dryer and fold the laundry.  Before you know it, 20 minutes later he still has no pants and is standing in boxers folding clothes.  He probably doesn’t remember that he needs pants.  Then he goes to put them up and realizes that the drawers are disorganized and so he needs to straighten them.  Getting a pair of pants or, in this example, we will call the pants “getting a cookie”  has completely thrown all ships off course because cookies or “pants” always leads to something else.  It’s a very serious and disruptive condition.

4- “I see dead people…”  Do you remember in that movie where the little boy and his mom are in the kitchen and she turns around and all of the cabinets and drawers are open?  Well, either my house is haunted or Lance likes to leave everything as it was the moment he touched it.  When he leaves the kitchen, the chair is pulled out and the cabinet door to the cereal shelf is open.  The toaster is always out in the middle of the counter.  It’s really neat.  It’s like someone is there…only they aren’t.  It’s like a fossil left behind that tells you a story of what onced happened in your kitchen.  Fascinating!

5- The Halloween Effect.  Lance went to work one day for a Halloween party in 2007.  He came back and was never the same.  His group at the office was assigned to dress-up as characters from the Andy Griffith Show.  Lance went as Andy.  In order to capture Andy’s style, he had to part his hair on the side.  To keep it to the side I guess he had to keep taking his hands and swooping it back into the position.  I kid you not, everyday since Lance went dressed as Andy Griffith, he swoops his hair to the side with his hand ALL DAY LONG.  I find myself speechless as to how this happened and became an instant and permanent habit for him.  He doesn’t cook dinner and do a burger flipping motion with his hands forevermore.  It’s really weird.  He does it all the time like a nervous tick…relax…swoop….relax..swoop.

To conclude, I could wrap this up by saying, “But I really do love this guy…”  While that’s true, that’s just not how the story goes when you and your spouse are ridin’ the nerve train. Sometimes you just get on each other’s nerves until you want to do something crazy like write it all out and put it on the web.  I hope I never get to that point.

Midnight Crazies

There are 2 main differences between Lance and I.

The first difference accounts for almost all other differences.

Lance is ADHD. I am OCD.

This is an explosive mixture.  He forgets. I remember.  I never let the details slip. He can’t listen long enough to realize that there are details.  He always has to be fiddling with something in his hands.  I do not feel compelled to play with gum wrappers in my fingers for a whole car ride.  I think about slipping Aderol in his food.  He doesn’t know about this….yet another difference.

Now for the 2nd main difference….I am a very light sleeper.  I wake up with almost any sound or movement.  Lance has a sleep disorder.  Lance falls asleep instantly and is just as active in the night as he is in the day.  He is not necessarily hard to wake but it is hard to wake him and get him quickly to a logical state.  Exhibit A:  One time we were staying at my in-laws and I heard my step-dad up in the middle of night. I thought he was having a heart attack because he was sounding like he was in pain and it sounded like he was stumbling.  I woke-up Lance and I said, “LANCE, I THINK YOUR DAD IS HAVING A HEART ATTACK!” He said, “I just can’t worry about that right now.”  Lance is the one you want around in the middle of the night when something goes wrong.  If someone ever breaks in our house, I am totally alone.  He’d probably just say something to the robber about basketball and try to shake his hand.

I never knew this about him until we got married.  It started on the honeymoon.  He woke me up one night by whispering really frantically and scared, telling me to look at the ceiling.  It terrified me and I felt like I couldn’t move.  I was having flashbacks from haunted editions of Unsolved Mysteries.

He said, “Rebecca, look! Rebecca, look!”


“On the ceiling…there are two birds…Rebecca look!”

I wish you could’ve heard his tone of voice.  It would’ve scared you, too.

That was my introduction to living with a sleeping psycho.

He does this at least every other night.  Here are some examples of stuff he has done and continues to do in his sleep:

turned upside down in the bed and woken up with his pillow at the foot of the bed and his feet up by my head, he has taken clothes off, yelled peoples names, told me stories, tried to argue with me about adding on to the house, gasped, yelled in “pain”, laughed, gotten up and walked around, fiddled with things on the nightstand, tries to touch my buttocks on several occasions, snores, raised his arms and called off numbers, smacks his lips, nap jerks, peed off his parents balcony (an indoor balcony), sits-up really fast, huffs and puffs, whispers, tells me he loves me and that I’m beautiful, asks me where stuff is, gets up and stretches, mumbles and then really loudly says a few clear words, talks to other people, grabs a part of his body and acts like its hurting, talks smack like he’s playing sports, smiles…..

It’s like being present every night for a showing of a monologue where one person does all of the characters.

I wake-up every single time he moves or mumbles.  Today, I am very sleepy.  I did not get to sleep until 4 am and not because I wasn’t in bed.

Let’s recap last night.

Like every night we get in bed and he’s out right away.  At first he’s really quiet.  Next, his lips squeak as he sucks in air and then his lips seperate so that he can now begin a night of loud open-mouth breathing.  He breathes for a few minutes with his mouth hanging wide open until he starts snoring.  I nudge him with my foot and he stops.  Then he starts again and I nudge him and so on.  I say this happens 10 times per night.  Then, you never know what will happen next.  Last night he told me about a fax I need to make.  I already knew about this fax because he’s told me every night for the past 5 days.  A little later he tried to touch my fanny.  I said, “Lance get off of me.”  He started to cry.  It turns me off just typing that.  Then I said, “Stop crying, you don’t even know what you are doing.”  Immediately it stops.  About 3o seconds later he bolts out of bed and stands by the bedside table.  He checks the alarm clock and his phone.  He’s ready to go get ready for work!  Just like he always is every other week at 2 am.  “Lance, get back in bed.”

Sometimes when I tell him to get back in bed he argues with me like he’s right and I’m wrong.  He’ll get real smartallicy and say things like, “It’s 2 am! When did you want me to get up 2 pm?!”  “No, Lance I don’t want you to get-up at 2 pm.”  His sassy response, “Exactly!”  Then he says things trying to justify this point he just made to me about getting up a 2 am…

Here’s a real-life argument he’s given as to why he needs to get up to go to work at 2…

“If I have to be at Walmart by 7….Do you understand that?…mumbles….nuts……Tom James…..blarhs ldjshdfg….then I have to go get it then right?”  I start laughing.  I can’t stop.  He gets really mad and slams himself into the bed and tucks the covers in all around his face.  Next morning…he has no idea it even happened.

He doesn’t say anything he just lays back down.  Very rarely does he remember it.  Oh but I do…

This went on all last night as it normally does and then the alarm goes off at 6-ish and I have to listen to it’s beeping until I nudge him and he snoozes…it goes off, I nudge him…he snoozes….

It’s really a lot of fun.  I feel like I’m in a sitcom sometimes.  The scene is a dark room and the husband going to town on some sleep rant and the wife is lying awake staring at the ceiling with an, “Are you kidding me?” look on her face.  Canned laughter in the background.  Only in my case it’s not canned laughter.  It’s Lance laughing at his story he’s telling.

And another difference is, it’s not really funny.

Last week he started going oh oh oh oh  in pain and grabbing his knee.

“Lance what’s wrong?”

“My knee is getting dislocated.”

(sarcastically) “Oh really why is that?”

“Because of all this walking around.”

If you think this if funny, for a small fee I will let you sleep in my place.  I can guarantee you a good show . 5 dollars for one night will get you snoring and talking about faxes.  15 dollars and a 2 night stay will guarantee you a chance to watch him jump out of bed and get ready for work and an explanation as to why he’s doing so.  Crying, laughing, and peeing in the house will come at a much higher price as they are rarer in their showing.  This package is offered as a summer extended stay for 150 dollars and  I am willing to make my spot vacant at any time.

No refunds if he touches your butt.

If I Told You U Had a Beautiful Zoo Would You Make My Wildest Dreams Come True


On the eve of my birthday, and by eve I mean 11:00 am, I awoke to an envelope going scratchy scratch scratch on my noggin.  It was clue number one folks. I went on a scavenger hunt around our apartment.  The best part of this scavenger hunt, other than the sweetness and curiousity, was that as I was flipping the clues over I noticed letters on the back corners of the envelopes.  Lance wrote all the answers to the clues on the back of the envelopes so he wouldn’t forget and forgot to mark them out.  Lucky the answers he wrote were in chicken scratch abbreviations and I couldn’t read them (not that I wanted to ruin the hunt).  Guys are funny though.

Then, the last clue ended up in the trunk of his car and it was a huge poster board that he made into a card.  It said “Happy Birthday Mrs. Parrott” and he colored all in markers and drew a parrot on the front.  Okay, an eagle with different colors but really good.  He meant for it to be a parrot but what a freakin’ eagle!  On the inside he had a sweet note and a few rules for the last clue.  On the inside of the card was the last clue in a taped envelope that said “FOR MY WIFE”.

Let me precede this by saying that I do all the budgeting in our house so there is no way that money can come and go without me seeing it which poses a problem for birthday surprises.  Let me also add that we don’t have lots of extra spending cash so……

In the last clue was a little over 100 dollars that Lance had been saving since June anytime he had extra cash.  He even sold an old amp of his to a music store to have money for me.  He told me in the card that I had until midnight to spend all the money on whatever I wanted to do. =0)

So at this point I wish I didn’t sleep until 11, but we got dressed and went out to lunch, then to Hobby Lobby and he bought me a bunch of these frames, had glass cut, and mattes cut for these family photos of the kids I’ve been wanting to hang.  Then he took me to get all my pictures edited and fit for the frames.  AND THEN….what does beckycat love?  What is her favorite thing?  ANIMALS!  So on to the zoo where the magic happened!

We were having the best time (with the exceptional Becca to animal conversation where I say, “Awww, I’m sorry you live at the zoo.”) Other than that though, we went into this place and started chatting with a nice zoo keeper man and he said, “I’m just really excited for your enthusiam for animals…do you have a minute?”

He spent an hour, to an hour and a half taking just Lance and me to his animal cages and he’d get out whatever I wanted.  Then he took me to the raptare (how do you spell that), it’s the bird rehab and let me see all of the rescued and recovering birds.  I saw the fastest animal in the world which is the Peregrine Falcon and I felt as if I had met a celebrity because I’ve watched TV shows about this bird more than once and there he was wanting to peck, peck my toes. Sweet jubilee! I took his picture too and he was mad so does that make me like the Popparazzi if he’s a celebrity?

It was great!  I would say…”Why, what a nice baby screech owl that is, may I see it?” And he would say, “Why yes you may…”  Then he’d open it up and all the zoo-goers would see me on the inside of the exhibit and I’d say, “Hey its me!  Beckycat!  Wildest Dreams Come True!” 

And yes I did tell the zoo keeper 2-3 times, “This is my wildest dream come true.”  Sometimes just dream come true but if I just saw something fantastic….wildest.

I took pictures with all the animals that you will never see because I exposed the film on the way home which was full blown devastation.  (Debbie Downer moment)  But it was still rockadocious!  I didn’t see lions, tigers, and bears oh my….because no one can do that.   But I had fun with my little critters and he said if I wanted to, I could volunteer with him 4 hours a week and handle boo-koos of animals!  SCORE!

Later on that night we had a PF Changs picnic and I loved my husband more than the animals because he’s the best man  Happy Birthday to me!

Part 2: Love & Mairwage


March 2006

Marriage is a funny thing. My dad always told me before I got married that “When it’s good, it’s great and when it’s bad, it’s the worst.” Simple yet super, super true. Exactly what it feels like at least. Somedays you have no idea why it ended up the way it did: so good or so bad. Ultimately, or I suppose always, it’s a choice because loving someone always is a choice, so underneath it all that’s the true reason as to how you get your good or bad days. Even though they seem to just happen at times.

Today was just one of those days…the good ones. For no reason really. I missed him all day.

When he came home we had a delightful cuisine of fine tacos and watched our nightly episode of Season 2 of The Office on Dvd.

I did 2 exhilarating loads of laundry while he cleaned up dinner in the kitchen and we were just kind of slap happy laughing. He made some comment (jokingly) about “Man I have to do it all around here.” I said, “Alright. You’ll pay for that.” So he kept talking and I went into the bedroom and put on some PJs that he thinks are mighty attractive but not trashy so don’t feel weird. I opened them in front of his parents last Christmas just to prove my point.

Anyways, so I come back out and he sees the glorious jammies only to see that I’ve topped them off with humungous sweater socks that have a good 4 inch leapord print fake fur cuff that extends quite far up my ankle and onto my calf. The ultimate in attracting a mate. I was already laughing wildly under my breath waiting for him to notice so it’s not like he took me seriously at this point but still funny. As an added note you should know that my outfit got progressively more attractive with more sensational looks throughout the night. Lots of fun.

Now he’s making cookies all by himself. Kind of. He asks a million questions when he cooks and goes into a mild panic if anything fluctuates a hair from the recipe but that’s my husband. He measures water to boil for spaghetti even though it’s not an ingredient and goes into mild shock if toast browns being absolutely positive that it’s burnt. He’s the guy that unintentionally orders his food at restaurants in the accent of the food he’s ordering. Mainly Mexican. Because we all know if you can’t speak English, you can always understand an American using English a with a Spanish accent. He comes by it honestly though because I’ve been out to eat with his dad. I would never tell his dad that though for fear of waking-up with a dead horse head in the bed next to me….if you’ve met him…you already know.

He hates it when I leave half-eaten cereal bowls in the kitchen, which I’m pretty sure I’m destined to do at least until we get another garbage disposal. He raps around the house and he sounds like the color of his skin when he does it but he swears he could make beats “for real”.

He talks in his sleep religiously. He’s forgiving. He’s compassionate. He always pees on my toilet seat. He says things like, “Since when is it YOUR toilet seat.” Not liking when I use the word ‘my’. I always say, “When you started peeing all over it, when it started making me mad, and when I had to clean it up.”

He’s sweet. He’s creative. He’s totally human. As am I.  He tells the same stories to me many, many times but not because he loves them…because he really believes it’s the first time.  We’ll watch shows we’ve seen before and he’ll laugh like he’s never seen it….because he thinks….he never has.   He loves my family dearly and my family deeply loves him.  He always leaves his phone on silent and  answers sporatically and won’t ever leave a voicemail when calling you.  He’s the best doctor when you’re sick and always has taken perfect care of me.

He’s my husband.

I love him.  The real him. 

A few weeks ago he was driving me bonkers.  A few days before that, another great day. That’s just marriage. It’s the everyday normalcy of life with someone else. Before you’re married you have bad days and good days, hard times in life and great times in life. Adding another person makes it more challenging but the flilp side is that it is all the more rewarding.

You know people always say marriage is work. It is in the respect that it’s not fanstasy and that it’s real and it’s something you are proactive about; putting constant effort in. But it’s been hard for me to say that it’s work based upon the fact that it’s enjoyable even when it’s not. I can say that somewhat confusing statement because I’m looking at the overall experience and what joy and growth comes from the whole process. So the hard times become worthwhile and thus, enjoyable, because they can be looked at like this: You know when you watch Oprah and you see something like that man who had to cut off his legs  to get out from underneath a rock to save his life? Now because of how his life has changed so drastically from that experience (he’s kinder, helped others, closer to his family, etc.). He says, “Losing my legs was the best thing that ever happened to me.” That’s kind of like marriage during hard times/moments. When you are having a bad day(s) it’s not like you are saying, “Man I really like this sawing off of my legs!” But, overall, in the end, it’s for the better & for a purpose.   I really wanted to use an example that was easy to universally apply to everyone’s life.

Tomorrow, next week, next month, next year I might make him crazy. There may be a time I prefer he throw me under a rock so I can cut my own legs off. Most likely it won’t come to that but if I could get on Oprah…..

More than likely tonight what will happen is that he’ll wake me up in the middle of the night for the millionth time talking in his sleep or gasping because he thinks he overslept again. What you may be missing by this point of the blog is that there is as much comfort as annoyance with those nightly unconscious conversations. He may be rambling on his sleep but he’s my night blabber. And he’s right there. Beside me. Where I want him.

This year will have its legless days I’m sure but when it’s walking season? Well child!  The walking gets you ready to to sit for a while and sitting gets you walking stronger when you’re ready to walk again.  Wonderful how God has it all working.

On days you wish never happened and all the ones you wish you could do again because they are so priceless. It isn’t always easy but nothing worthwhile is.

God is still God and who He says He is; giving us what we need and making us better for it and making it nothing shy of a miracle.

So with that in mind, tonight my friend and I will eat a few cookies. He’ll rub my sweater sock feet. He’ll pee on MY toilet seat and then me and my best friend and my half-cute pajamas will crawl into bed tonight and go to sleep. Thankful.





Love & Mairwage

In 1997, Lance and I had been dating a few months and were two crazy kids in love.  He took me home after a date and we were standing on the front porch.  He had a huge piece of corn on his lip that made the long journey home from the restaurant.  While we were standing there talking I kept thinking I should say something but I thought it was awkward and I didn’t want to embarrass him.  After a few minutes of chatting it was time for corn and Lance to leave but not before he gave me a kiss.  We all three kissed.  Then when he pulled back he gave me a weird look and said, “Ewww…you have corn on your lip!”  Fantastic.

I still didn’t tell him it was his corn child.  Who was I then anyways? 

Tonight in 2007 I went on another hot date with the same man.  Lance wore a shirt he had been saving since Christmas for our little date night. 

We gorged ourselves at Chili’s ending with a molten lava cake which is delicious in my belly.  Then we went to Dick’s Sporting Goods and walked around the mall.  Our next port of call was Old Navy. I had a great rumbling in my tummy and I said, “We have to go now.  I’m gonna poop my pants.”  So we ran to Sears and I found myself a pottying place.  The great thing about this is that it didn’t matter that I ran off in our date to have diarrhea cha cha cha.  It was just normal like I had said, “Hey, you like this shirt?”  How did we get from “I’m afraid to tell you that you have corn on your lip.” to “I have to poop my pants.”  I’m not exactly sure but the more I think about it, the more I enjoy dwelling on the fact that I love where I am.  I love total comfort with someone and knowing them completely and vice versa.. 

There are few people in our lives that we really, really know.  Maybe none as well as you’ll ever know your spouse.  But I really know him and he really knows me.  That takes A LOT of hard work to get to that place.  It takes a lot of “for better or for worse”.  I know literally every tone of voice, every subtle mannerism, every favorite or least favorite, all of his experiences, sleeping habits, pet peeves, and how to really set him off when he’s made me mad.  It is a best friend on an entirely different level of intimacy. You gain an almost telepathic sensitivity to being able to anticipate their next move. 

Ya know, thinking of learning a person all over again is exhausting. It’s a brilliant adventure but one I only want to do once.   

Because the truth is it takes a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get to the core of a human.  We are  complicated, prideful messes as people.  Knowing someone would be easy if we as humans were all roses but to know someone inside and out, you have to see them angry and hurting, you have to see their flaws, you have to work on them together, and live through being who we are when no ones looking. 

But when those times are through, I’m left with relishing the fact that I know a closed mouth for him means he’s really mad and that chewed-up gum on the side of a plate, for example, would be something that would make him extremely annoyed.  I know when he’s really broken-hearted that he’s hear a pin drop quite and that when his head hits the pillow I have 10 seconds and counting to get out any last words. 

To those of you who are thinking, “Awww, I really want to know a boy/girl that way.”  Or on the other side of a coin, someone who is dating someone and it’s going crappy and this blog is just annoying you…to be fair, you should know that I could just have easily written 40 blogs entitled, “I Almost Killed a Man Tonight.”  BUT wanting to kill him is how I learned to love him.  That is not always fun OR easy and thinking, “This will only help me learn to love him,” doesn’t send butterflies surging through my stomach on difficult days.  But on days when it’s un-enjoyable….it’s always worthwhile even if I’m not enjoying its worth.  And at the end of the day, for those of us who have fumbled through sticking it out, that’s what really matters.

Some things in life give us tangible pays offs like jobs that bless us with cars and homes.  And others give us the satisfaction of knowing that if he goes to the grocery he’ll call a million times about cheese and the right kind of green beans all to come home with something wrong or missing and 2 extra bags of chocolate chip cookies that slipped in.  It’s far from the movies, but it’s better than the tangible.  One day when we are old and gray, the comfort of just knowing him and being known will be enough for me.  No matter what it took to get there.

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