You guys,
There’s nothing like having family photos taken when you’re in the middle of a huge, unresolved argument with your husband.
Fifteen minutes before the session I said to Sam, “We need to get back on the same page before a photographer walks into our home.” It wasn’t said with kindness. I was pissed. I put the blame on Sam. I was the reasonable, rational one. Sam was the one who had to get his shit together. Fast.
Shockingly, we did not resolve our conflict before there was a knock on our door. Sam quickly recovered, and when the photographer told Sam to “look lovingly into my eyes,” Sam did. But I could barely make eye contact.
After the photographer left and we put the kids to bed, Sam and I sat in the living room and slowly aired our grievances, worked through the argument, and finally resolved it.
I’m sure the photos will be awesome. But we know the truth behind those shiny Instagram images. We’re always going to remember that we were really mad at each other during the whole process and it was not a fun experience.
That’s okay. That’s life. Sam and I have not yet figured out how to fight in a healthy way all the time. It’s something we’re cognizant of and continually working on. Sometimes we nail it. A lot of times we don’t.
I wish we weren’t angry with each other during our family photos. But when I look back at the pictures I’m not going to be disappointed. I’m going to say, “Oh god, remember when George was 2 and Layla was 8 months old and we got in a million stupid fights? Remember when we had such bad tempers? Remember when we sucked at arguing?”
Look at us now. Look how far we’ve come.
And then I’ll look lovingly into Sam’s eyes and give him a big ‘ol kiss.
Drunken Idiots
We had friends over one night after the kids went to bed.
We poured wine and mixed margaritas and Sam and I drunkenly announced our desire to drink less or *gasp* not at all.
We talked about the pros and cons of drinking, the social pressure, and what life would look like without alcohol.
That night, I slept like crap. I woke up thirsty and hungover. I spent most of the day miserable and thought about how great I would feel if I hadn’t drunk the night before.
Every time I drink I not only become more aware of the feeling I get from drinking, I also recognize the anticipation of the feeling I hope to get from drinking. That excitement spikes my adrenaline when I hear Sam crack open a Dogfish Head Punkin’ beer.
But the promise of what drinking will bring never lives up to the expectation. The good, happy feelings from sipping an approachable Tempranillo are so fleeting and so temporary, while the bad effects are much longer-lasting and detrimental.
I’m not ready to give up alcohol yet, but I like where I’m headed.
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Until next week,
Charlie