Jeff and his better half

In a short while, I will have been married exactly half of my life. Both numbers–my age and my marriage–are pretty big: 50 and 25. To make me feel REALLY old, that’s a half-century of life and a quarter-century of marriage.

Does that make me an expert on life and marriage? Yes. Of course it does. Why not? There are people on FOX and CNN every day claiming to be experts who are clearly clueless. Why not me?

It’s important for me to begin with a disclaimer: these thoughts are from my uniquely male perspective. My wife may see things differently. (If you’re paying attention, you have just learned something about my secret to marital bliss. I never attempt to speak for my wife. In fact, it’s good advice to avoid speaking for yourself, too, but I’m going out on a limb here for the sake of helping others. I will undoubtedly regret it.)

That said, I think it’s important to understand marriage as a series of stages, rather than go down the typical “tips and tricks” route you might find in a dog training article. There are five stages of every long-lasting marriage. This was scientifically proven in a scientific marriage laboratory. At least, I think it was marriage they studied. Anyway, it’s important to know which stage you are currently in so you know what to do and what to expect in the future. Kind of like the way Lance Armstrong can keep pushing through his intense physical pain while climbing mountains because he know the mountain stage will end soon and he can move on to the intense physical pain of a different stage.

Stage One: Denial
Technically, this is the pre-marriage stage. I’ve seen commercials on TV in which a young woman announces to her friends that she is engaged, and they all scream, giggle and cry. Men just cry. Guy friends don’t take engagement news as good news. As they see it, they’re losing a buddy. That’s why we generally don’t tell our friends we’ve popped the question, and deny it when accused. Women, beginning minutes after they are born, dream in great detail of their perfect wedding day and the white-picket-fenced bliss to follow. With men, it’s more like just a haunting feeling we’ll end up painting a damned fence someday.

Women do not experience this stage. Contrary to denying, the average woman will announce her engagement to everyone she knows and several people she does not know, sometimes before telling her future husband. This stage has a definitive ending: the wedding day. I have no advice for men in this stage. Just survive it.

Stage Two: Anger
This is an excellent stage, despite the negative sounding name. She gets angry at him for his lack of passion about such important details as choosing linens and silverware. He gets angry at her for expecting him to read her mind. Then they both realize how silly they are being and then the excellent part of this stage happens. I can’t describe that because this is a family magazine. This is definitely the most passionate, exciting stage, and typically takes place in the first few years of the marriage, or in some cases, several decades. My advice: don’t fight it…enjoy it. The most important thing to know, however, is that you must have a short memory. No grudges…making up needs to be truly making up, and marks the absolute end of the anger. Period.

Stage Three: Bargaining
Marriage gets complicated when kids show up and you have to deal with house and car payments and distractions of that nature. Successful couples are successful bargainers. “I’ll wash the car if you’ll do the laundry” is not a good bargain. “I’ll do the laundry and wash the car, you go relax” is a great bargain. You should never strive for balance, because when the bargain is fair, both sides feel shorted. Better that each person feel smugly “ahead” of the other.

Of equal importance is to feel and express appreciation for the other person fulfilling their end of every bargain. A word of caution, though: if you get too good at this and begin to experience something like total bliss, you risk losing the spark from Stage Two, which can be running concurrently with any stage. You never want to get TOO good at getting along.

Stage Four: Depression
I wish I could tell you there will never be a sad day in your marriage. (Fortunately for me, I’ve never had a sad day or any reason to be depressed during my own marriage, but I’ve heard it is quite common to experience low times.) I think the important thing is to commit yourselves to be depressed together. As you face the fact that “6-pack” now describes your diet more than your abs, you realize how lucky you are to have a spouse who loves you despite the fact that you are no longer appealing to anyone, including them. My advice for this stage is to begin a new diet and exercise plan based on an unrealistic expectation of regaining your youthful beauty. That won’t help, but it will keep you busy until you move on to the final stage of marriage.

Stage Five: Acceptance
All couples BELIEVE that they start with this stage. Almost immediately, they accept that they have made the right choice in a life partner and that they will live happily ever after. In fact, this stage comes much later. When you accept that you are not perfect and your life is not perfect, yet things are pretty darned good anyway, you have reached Stage Five. You accept her, she accepts you, and you each accept yourselves. Combining this stage with some of the better elements of the Anger stage is a great recipe for success.

Well, there you have it. Proof that 25 years is not nearly enough to make an expert of me. Chances are, you’ll forget all this (if you’re lucky, anyway) so let me just say one thing you really should remember: Whatever stage of marriage you’re in, keep going. It’s a journey that’s worth every step, including the painful ones. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Fight for it at all costs.

I’ve lived half a life married and half a life on my own, and while I have no complaints about the unmarried half, there’s no doubt in my mind that the married half has been my better half.

I remember a clock ticking loudly, too loudly, causing me squirm. I searched desperately for the chair’s sweet spot, trying not to call attention to myself, trying not to give myself a wedgie on national television.

Sitting across from me, mere inches from my nose, Nipsey Russell studied me with twinkling eyes.
“Stonehenge,” he said, then repeated it, louder than before, with a nod, with urgency.

I stared blankly, scanning his face for a clue that wasn’t there. The clock ticked louder. My mind raced. Stonehenge. Stonehenge. What did it mean? “Uh … the U.K., rocks, circles, religious ceremonies, wonders of the world …” I said, grasping.

Flustered, Nipsey abandoned me for 3 precious seconds, then nearly came unglued. “Women’s fashion,” he shrieked, shaking his hands ecstatically.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Things a man will never understand!” I shouted.

Chaos. A bell dinged repeatedly. The clock stopped. We jumped up and down. Dick Clark shook our hands vigorously as the “$25,000 Pyramid” theme song filled our ears. Calgon took us away to a commercial break.
Stupid dream. I won’t be sharing that one with my boss, just in case (in the unlikely event) there’s still a remote chance for promotion.
Not an hour later, overheard in the hallway: “Nice top.” This time it’s a woman-to-woman compliment. No confusion there. It’s literal. They gush about her shirt for a full 60 seconds.
The thought that no one says “nice bottom” crosses my mind. Funny. Such flattery would be less ambiguous than “nice pants” in my world.
I glance at the framed “Life is like a box of chocolates …” poster on my wall and feel the sarcasm bubbling up. With apologies to Forrest Gump and everything that is decent in this world, sometimes, life is like a box of grenades … especially when it comes to men’s fashion.

My daughter was complaining of a stomach ache and I had a funeral to go to in Williston. I left her with my sister knowing she would be well taken care of in my absence. As I was at the funeral my sister texted me and told me my daughter needed her appendix removed and they couldn’t start until I got home. The five hour drive seemed forever to me but even longer for my girl as she waited, scared and nervous and in pain, for surgery. Thank goodness for sisters!!! L.

My daughter fell playing soccer this fall and came home with a sprained arm. I iced it and gave her Tylenol. She complained the next day about it hurting so more Tylenol and wrapping, plus we put her arm in a sling made of a dish towel. Off she went to school. No doctor (my thought was people go to the doctor way too often. I’d had sprains before and they heal just fine.) She quit wearing the dishtowel because it was getting in her way. She never complained about her arm hurting except at night, so of course more Tylenol!
On day ten the swelling was down and, would you believe, her arm was crooked! So we got X-rays, of course, her arm was broken, not a sprain! They put on a temporary cast and instructed us to go to the ortho center for a regular cast within the next 3 days. Well, testing for green belts was the next day at karate and she desperately wanted to test after all of her practice, so we let her test with her temporary cast on. I got some raised eyebrows at Karate that day. Right after testing we drove to the ortho center and she got her regular cast. We were instructed that she could not use her arm at all for any sports for 2 months! I think the doctor knew she had already been to karate that day because she still had her uniform on! Apparently the crooked part in her arm will grow out (thank God!) She is very happy with her green belt. D.

Our son was 2 1/2 yrs. old. We were at the cabin in the summer and he would lean into the beer cooler and blow bubbles (with his mouth) into the water from the melted ice. The Monday after that weekend, I come around the corner and see him blowing bubbles into the toilet. I just about threw up on the spot. S.

Our daughter was about 1 and our back door opened up right to the basement stairwell. I had gone out to the garage and closed the door behind me. Not knowing she was standing there, I opened the door to come back in and sent her down the whole flight of wooden stairs to the concrete basement. My husband said he heard me screaming, “expletive, expletive, expletive……” and a thumping sound with it (our daughter). Thank God she was okay. Everything was in place, she settled down fairly quickly, so we went to 9:30 mass and really thanked God. S.

Potty trained 3 year old still learning how to wipe right. I am helping him get into his pajamas one night, and I notice the skid marks. So I say, “We need to work on wiping.” He says: “No, I know how, Mommy.” and I say, “but look at your underpants, that shows that you aren’t getting it all.” He looks down, then looks up at me with this horror struck look on his face: “Oh GROSS! Who pooped in mine pants?!?!?!” M.

My BIGGEST “mommy guilt” moment was when I was doing some work in the evening on the computer & my youngest son climbed up on my lap & asked me if I love the computer more than I love him. VERY eye opening moment for me! N.

My 2 year old son and I went to the afterhours clinic and he threw up all over himself and me in the waiting room – yep pretty gross! Poor kid he had to wear mommy’s jacket out of the Dr. Office! Good thing he is too little to remember! H.

I was in the kitchen when an urgent declaration from my two-year-old drew me upstairs. As I neared the top, I saw him standing on the landing, wearing a huge smile and holding a plastic cup overflowing with Number 2. The rest was spread, like only a toddler can do, throughout our upper level. That pretty much ended early potty training efforts with our youngest child. J.

It was my first mother’s day. We had decided to meet my husband’s family at a local restaurant, about 12 people total. Before we left the house that morning my son spit up a little. He was about a year old so we didn’t think anything about it and left for the restaurant.
While sitting at our table waiting to order, my son turned his head and threw up all over the wall! I was embarrassed! The restaurant was very nice about it as was the in-laws.
On the way home my son was in my lap in the back seat of the car cuz he threw up again in the parking lot! Then he threw up again — on me down the front of my shirt.
I just sat there trying NOT to do the same and telling my hubby to just drive faster! Then he did it 2 more times on the short drive home, ALL DOWN THE FRONT OF MY SHIRT!
By that evening he was fine and we were all laughing about it. My son, who is now 8 years old, loves to tell that story. C.

Okay, how many moms have driven around town with the most mysterious awful smell in their car only to find a sippy cup of milk curdling under the seat! J.

We were outside playing when my kids were about 4, 2 and maybe 10 months. The baby was on the grass, and I was pushing the other kids on the swingset I think, or playing ball. Anyway, I wasn’t right next to the baby – he was maybe 15 feet from me. I kept glancing over at him to make sure he was OK. All was well until he got his hand on a dried dog poop I hadn’t seen and I saw him holding it in one hand and trying to spit out a chunk from his mouth. I swooped him up and ran inside to the nearest sink faster than Florence Griffith Joyner. That was NASTY in all caps!!!! No lasting side effects though. He was fine. J.

My boy was going to the bathroom and when he got a couple drops on his finger he wiped it on the WALL!!! Found that out and explained why we have toilet paper. G.

When we had the stomach flu at our home my 8 year old son, asked me, “Mommy, when am I gonna run out of puke?!” S.

One day, while putting clean sheets on our daughter’s bed, I discovered her stash of boogers plastered to the wall. How long had they been there? Eeewwwww. D.

One fine evening, I was changing my daughter’s very messy diaper. So messy, that it filled up two diapers right before my eyes. Just when I thought I had it all cleaned up, I looked down and discovered that my 17 month old son got a hold of the diapers, and proceeded to make some carpet art on our off-white carpet. If that wasn’t enough, our hyper brittany spaniel dove into the madness simultaneously. It was horrifying! A.

I put together a photo album for both of our girls of when they were babies. Of course, the oldest daughter’s album is totally full of photos, the album of our youngest – not quite so full. I thought it would take years for them to notice, but one day when our youngest was three, they were looking at them together. She didn’t say anything, but proceeded to go draw some pictures and cut them to fit the empty spots in her photo album so it would be just like her sister’s! J.

“My son and daughter were playing croquet at a friend’s party – in the dark. My son was, unfortunately, standing behind my daughter when it was her turn. When she swung, the mallet connected with his head. He bled and bled and bled. We took him inside where my friend cleaned him up. Someone must have taken his picture because my friend, who makes Christmas calendars, gave us one where one month featured my son with his bloody forehead. Yuck!” B.

I caught my son practicing a very special talent one night: seeing how far he can drop his spit and still suck it back up into his mouth! I wondered which sister he would practice on the next day! G.

“Would it kill you to go outside and move around a little bit?” asked every 1960s mother of cartoon-watching kids (like me). This was back when TV first began killing children in earnest, but it’s a proud tradition still carried out by today’s mothers of video-gamers. The answer, I have come to believe, is “yes, it might kill me.”

My fitness story is one of pain and injury. If “no pain, no gain” was true, I would be heading for Vancouver this winter to win all the Olympic events. I’ve had enough pain for that much gain.

My fitness experiences can be broken down into four distinct genres, each with its own hazards.

Good Old-Fashioned Hard Work
My first clear memory of feeling fit is back when my parents slaved me out to our family farm for summer work. There’s nothing quite as effective for turning 100 pounds of baby fat into lean muscle mass as picking 100 pound rocks from a field in 100 degree heat. I was doing the job of a front-end loader. About a week after returning home, when the swelling went down, it felt great to be in shape.

Sports
For me, competing in sports returned the most fun for my fitness investment. That’s why adults use sports so effectively to trick kids into fitness. Of course, today’s youngsters start working with a professional trainer at age two. I generally didn’t start training for a sport until the day practice started. Thus the term, “hell week.” My sporting years were, sadly, all too brief. I played football until I had a neck injury and concussion, I wrestled until I dislocated a disk and I ran track until it aggravated my back injury. Glory days!

Outdoorsman/womanship
The biggest enemy of fitness in adults is adulthood. When you become an adult, there are fewer sports to be involved in, and no coaches screaming at you to keep going. That’s when you become a “weekend warrior” in the great outdoors. I hunt, which is great exercise involving strenuous walking while carrying a heavy weapon and staying out of range of the Vice-President. I also enjoy cutting, stacking, splitting and burning firewood. This, too is great exercise, and the only hazards are chainsaws, axes and fire. But weekends are not enough, even for warriors. Without consistent exercise, you risk injury. For example, you might tear your ACL on a family ski trip simply because you remember how easily you could charge moguls when you were younger. I’m not saying it happened to me, but it could happen to anyone. Trust me on this.

Exercising
The least desirable way to get and stay fit is by exercising. I’m referring to exercise “As Seen on TV,” where you can look great for only five easy payments of $29.99. The greatest hazard of this form of fitness is that you may die of boredom. My advice on exercise equipment: buy the device that hold the most laundry. That’s what my Nordic Trak® is doing right now.

My point, if I have one, is that fitness hurts, but it’s worth it. I know, because I’ve tried that weekend warrior thing, and it just isn’t enough. I’ve gained weight, lost energy, don’t sleep well, and, yes, I have just as much pain not exercising as I had when I was in shape. Guess I’m just injury prone.

So now I have to get fit, and it won’t be easy. According to a height/weight chart my life insurance company sent me, I should be at least 6 inches taller. I guess I’ll hit the Nordic Trak® again…as soon as the sweaters are dry.

A few more words from Jeff: While my article about my painful experiences trying to stay fit over the years IS truthful (and I hope humorous) I would like to add that I was serious, at the end of the article, about getting back on the ol’ Nordic “rack” (after the laundry was dry of course.) Between the ski machine and REAL skiing, I have maintained a commitment to ski at least three times per week, and I’ve managed to lose back all the weight I gained over the holidays and then some.. I didn’t follow all that good advice about how to avoid holiday weight gain, obviously. More important than pounds, I feel better. My dislocated shoulder and post-surgical knee are stronger and less painful, and my clothes fit better. Snow ROCKS when it comes to workouts!