I have often wondered, what is it with husbands? What is their main malfunction, anyway? I mean, trying to get mine to stop at Starbucks to get me a coffee is harder than physics, and that's even when I'm in the car with him. If I call from home and ask him to bring me one? Forget about it. (I wonder if he forgets occasionally who his sex partner is...) 

Anyway, one of the hardest things to get my husband to do is take my damn picture. You'd think I asked him to fold the laundry or something but no, just please take my picture so I can, you know, put it on my blog. 

Sometimes he complies. Most of the time he doesn't. But when he does?

Well, let me just show you what results...

"hey hubs...will you take a picture of me and my friend?"

"hey hubs, can you get a picture of me overlooking the caribbean ocean at night?"

"hey hubs, could you maybe not take a picture of me in my bath towel?"

"hey hubs, will you take a cute picture of me with my margarita?"

"lemme see. that was horrible! Can you please try again?"

"hey hubs, can you please take some pictures of me out on the dance floor? You know, those candid pics I love so much."



no.



no.



no.

"hey hubs, can you take a picture of my friend and I since we are in Vegas and I want cute pics from the trip?"

"can you please try to get my face in the next one?"

"For crying out loud! Get my face in the picture this time!"

"hey hubs, since this is our last night and I'm dressed all sorts of fancy, can you take my picture?"

he was trying to get a shot from underneath my dress

"For the love! What do I have to do to get you to take a good picture? Can you at least aim the camera in my general direction?"

That's it. No sex for you. 

Oh. And when he actually tries and gets a semi-decent shot?

IT'S ALWAYS BLURRY!!

And then there's the self portraits. Of him and I.

Even then, I can't get a straight face.




But the best part?

The best part is the pictures he takes himself. Totally unprovoked, unprompted.

When he takes it upon himself to photograph me without my asking.

Like the time I went in for surgery...



or the time I fell asleep in the car...



or yeah, that time...

What an ass.

Him, not mine.

As I was rummaging through facebook last night (you can find me here) I came upon a status update from "Gun Owners of The United States." (A different post for a different day.) Below is what it said:

I drive a truck. I work with my hands. I drink beer and whiskey. I take my coffee black. My 5 o'clock shadow is 4 days old. I got a rough exterior but a heart of gold. I live by a set of traditional American values. I'd take a weekend in the mountains over a weekend in the city any day. I shoot guns and love my country. My dog is my best friend and everything else is a distant second to my family. I am a dying breed. I am the American man. 

THAT, is my husband to a T. That is the kind of man I actively aspired to marry. That is the kind of man I want my boys to grow up and be like. That is the kind of man I respect and that is the kind of man I love.

And it's funny. Because a lot of the time, I think women today don't appreciate a real man. The "women's movement," whose goal is to empower and help women, have told their own kind that men aren't really needed. That men are irrelevant, replaceable, and God forbid "don't ever let a man tell you what to do" or they are brutes, barbarians, and are trying to diminish your existence as a female human.

I don't know about you, but let me tell you about my personal experience...

When I first met my husband, he pursued me. I rejected him at first - a few times - for various reasons (and it wasn't because he had an awesome ass), but he never gave up. After asking me out in person, a few slips of his business card and one brightly colored rose left on my car windshield, I finally agreed to go out with him. On that first date? He paid for everything. Had he not paid for everything? I would have never agreed to see him again. Was that because I was a money hungry gold digging honey?

Quite the opposite. I knew my worth and I also understood how men worked. If he wanted the honor of taking me out on a date, he was going to pay for it, pun absolutely intended. People value more what they have to work for. I can't even tell you what I would do if a guy asked me out on a date and insisted on going dutch. I would probably pay my share and walk out without saying a word, and then warn all my girlfriends what a douche he was and to stay far away. The extreme feminists, who are supposed to have your best interests at heart, will have you believe that a man who insists you pay your own way is "beneficial" to your well being, to your place in this world as a woman.

What the f*ck does that even mean? I am here to tell you that it absolutely does not belittle or cheapen your womanly virtues to have a man work for your attention. To have a man put forth extra effort to spend time with you. That it absolutely does not debase you as a woman to have a man provide for you and protect you. Yes I know you can open a door by yourself but isn't it nice when a sweet studly man does it for you? Yet so many women out there will tell you the opposite.

After my husband wooed me and we got married (he paid for the ring, the parts of the wedding my parent's didn't and oh yeah, no prenup), and when we decided to have children, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I said I would be staying home full-time to raise our children. In fact, he said it was what he expected. And right then and there I fell in love with him all over again, because I knew he realized and valued the importance of a stay-at-home mother. He has never, ever, made me feel less than for not working outside the home. And to have my husband's support in something that I feel so strongly makes me a fulfilled woman means the world to me.

But then again, since I do stay home full time, my husband also expects a tidy home and dinner every  night. But let me clarify: what he does not expect is a "spit-shined model home" nor dinner piping hot the minute he walks in the door. Almost always, whenever he walks in the house after a days work, the house is in chaos. Kids running ramped, toys strewn everywhere and there is usually piles of clean laundry on the living room couch. But every night after the kids go to bed, I take about twenty minutes and pick up the house, make it orderly and comfy. No he doesn't have dinner waiting for him the second he gets home but he does eventually get fed, and he doesn't complain when we are eating in front of the TV watching the 10 o'clock news.

He doesn't complain because he's a real man and he knows that staying home with kids is hard work. And I don't complain when he comes home and kicks his feet up to watch a little football because holy hell, he got up at 5 am and worked his body to the bone. And he gets up every day and works hard for me. For our kids. He makes so many sacrifices daily so I can have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. So we can have nice things, take vacations. And he does it every single day because he prides himself on taking care of his family.

And guess what. Sometimes my husband does tell me what to do. And sometimes I tell him what to do. And I do it, because he never tells me to do anything harmful or to do anything that devalues me as a person. It's called marriage and it's about give and take and respect and I think I'll go ahead and trust that my husband has my best interests at heart and not those "other people."

No, I'm not "lucky." I didn't blindly stick my hand into the pot and pull out a provider and protector. I chose wisely. Like I've said before: I told my husband on our second date, "I plan on one day being a stay-at-home mom so if that is something you don't believe in, thank you for dinner but let's go our separate ways because I will never budge when it comes to my stance on this subject."

Now here we are, ten years and two kids later. Yes, we have had our tough times. I've made no secret of the fact that we have our counselor on speed dial as she is crucial to our success as a married couple. We fight, bad sometimes. But at the end of the day, we have a mutual respect for each other. I love being mother hen, I love being a homemaker and I love making our home a "home" for my husband. And I love that my husband supports my decisions and respects the sacrifices I make for our family.

And if that isn't female empowerment, then I don't know what is.

Men are simple.

As this post is going to be.

I am my husband's girlfriend. Not just his old hag wife of 9+ years. And I have concluded that in almost twelve years of being together, there are three key ingredients to a successful relationship.

1. Feed him.
Make him a damn sandwich, and don't make him ask twice.

2. Have sex with him.
Often and don't use it as a tool.

3. Don't bitch.
Ever.

So what did we learn today?

Feed him, f*#k him and shut up.

You're welcome.

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So, one of my all time blog favorites Becky held a link-up a few days ago and I knew right away I had to participate. Basically, the assignment was to ask a loved one to write a little post of 10-20 "facts about you."

Naturally I asked the person who knows me the best, the good ol' husband.

So I sat the computer down on his lap, gave him his assignment and let him be. I had no idea he thought so...well...that way about me.

Below are his "facts about me" in his own words, completely unedited. And of course I had to throw in my two cents, written in pink.

***************

1. Raven suffers from Princess Syndrome. According to Dr. Phil. Ok, first of all, princess syndrome? How incredibly rude and condescending. On the other hand, it's totally true. It is. I am a princess. Dr. Phil knows what's up.

2. Raven puts herself first, then the boys, then her mom, dad, sisters, aunts, uncles, bloggers, friends, etc. etc. etc., random people at the pub, etc. etc. etc. and then good ol' Rob. Random people at the pub? Really? I think you're being a little extreme. Only if random people implies those who can get me a free drink, which in that case, is a bonus to me and you. And by you, I mean your wallet.

3. Raven hates laundry, cooking, cleaning, dishwashing and all other SAHM responsibilities. Ok. Who doesn't hate laundry and doing the dishes?

4. Raven loves playing on her iPhone, computer and iPad all at the same time while watching something on TV that she knows I can't stand. In my defense, I try and spice things up while watching tv, throw in a little variety, which is why I give Rob the option of watching The Real Housewives of: Orange County, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, New Jersey, Miami or New York. How many more choices does he need?! Picky bastard...

5. Raven absolutely loves taking pictures (of herself) more then any person I've ever met, especially the boys, and of course herself in the mirror. I have nothing here.

6. She loves to play pictionary, it would be nice if someday she were on the winning team. We pray. HA! Ha. ha. Rob once drew the word "chin." His partner couldn't guess it. How bad do you have to be to not get your pictionary partner to guess chin?!

7. She also loves to gossip, but I've been told that it's just a girl thing so quit worrying about it, ROB. I take offense to the capitalization of "ROB" assuming I say your name in a way that makes me sound like a ditzy teenage valley girl. ROB.

8. Raven doesn't mind being unorganized, guess that works...for her. Guess so.

9. Raven has an appetite, guess that works...for me. Ok, when I first read this statement, I suddenly and violently attacked Rob with "what are you saying?! That I like to eat food? That I am such a glutton who salivates over cheesy fries and chocolate cake? Are you calling me fat? Are you? ARE YOU?!?!?" And then Rob looked at me and calmly said, "no Raven, I was talking about an appetite for sex."

oh.

10. Raven has very strong opinions, guess that works...for her. Not so much for US sometimes. Like the old saying goes...I would agree with you, but then we would both be wrong.

11. Raven is a good mother to our two boys, she would do damn near anything for them. Except some of the things listed above. Yes, because my boys never have any clean clothes, food to eat, non-moldy beds to sleep in and basically they look like they live in a swamp.

12. And last but not least, she loves her duckfarts. Don't EVER interfere with her and her straight shots. TRUTH.

Most of you probably already knew most of these things, but if not, there you go.

***************

And...there you go.

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from our wedding in 2004

I've made no secret of the fact that Rob and I do not have the perfect marriage. We try hard to regularly see our counselor, whom, by the way, has made a world of difference in our relationship. To anyone who scoffs at seeing a third party to help a marriage, well, let's just say it works, from personal experience.

There are a lot of things about Rob that really chap my ass. And as much as I want to rattle them off to you now, bullet point style, I hear the words our counselor always says echoing in my ears. See, there have been many times where we started a session raging mad, and as soon as we sat down, I would start right in on "well this is why I hate him today and he did this and this and I am just so mad right now so please just let me vent" and every time, she would cut me off and make me tell her three things I love about Rob. Three things that made me want to marry him. Three things that make him a valuable partner. Three reasons he is a fabulous father. 

And it pisses. me. off. I want to tell her all the bad things he did that week. I want to tell her how horrible he is because of x y and z. But she doesn't let me just sit there and bitch about my husband. Her job is to help us come together, help us create a better relationship, and she knows that by me spewing negativity, it helps nothing. By me criticizing his every move, it doesn't rectify any situation. So as much as I want to tell you all what angers me about Rob (like the fact that he can be totally inappropriate in public at times, or how he wakes me up in the middle of night just because he can't sleep, or that he never comments on my appearance i.e. when I leave home with black hair and come back with it blonde, he doesn't say a word, I mean, really?) I will hold my tongue and keep it to myself. (He also deletes my shows from the DVR without asking me first. Makes me livid. K I'm done now.)

But the thing is, I'm sure there are a lot of things about me that piss Rob off. I can sometimes have a princess complex and expect him to bow at my feet no matter what I do, and as Dr. Phil once said, "if there is one thing in this world you do not want to do, it is to marry a 'princess'. They will f*ck you up."

Ok, so maybe he didn't say that last part but Rob sure did.

I know sometimes on here it can seem like Rob and I have the perfect marriage. We vacation together, hang out on secluded beaches during the summer together, have fun parenting our children together, but would it surprise you if I said I have actually went and paid for divorce papers? I'm not sure if I was authentically going to follow through or if I was trying to make a point (did you know it costs over $100 to get divorce papers from the courthouse? Egads!) but whatever the reason, something made me drive down there and request the papers. I can say without any hesitation today that I am so happy to be married to my husband, we did work through that particular situation and I can't forsee any circumstances in the future that would make me want to fork over the cash for those papers ever again. And lucky for me, my husband would say the same.

Besides, it would be much cheaper for him to keep me around than to boot me out, wink face.

But we fight. There have been dishes thrown across the room and holes in the wall. I've packed up my kids and driven to my moms house at 9 at night. There have been many things we've said that we wish we could take back. Our marriage is not perfect and I challenge you to find one that is.

What I'm really trying to say is what I think we all know: Marriage is hard. But if you work through the hard, and if you put your spouse first, and if you duck under those dishes being flown at your head, you may see yourself celebrating fifty years of holy matrimony.

However, I swear to God, if Rob ever deletes another episode of the Real Housewives of Wherever without my permission, I'll be all, "what golf clubs??"

Wasn't me.

Kauai circa March of this year. See you again in three weeks baby.

If the age old question can you really have it all ever applied, I would say never more so than when it comes to marriage and babies. The inspiration behind this post comes from Jenni's blog, where she wrote about exactly this topic. And it got me thinking. Marriage and babies, babies and marriage. Yes, I have both, but the good Lord up in heaven knows I have no idea when it comes to managing both well.

So I'm not here to tell you how to "have it all." Because I fail at that every single day. I'm here to tell you my experience, my journey, and my struggles. I'm also pretty sure this post will go off on many different tangents, so stay with me if you can.

I've been married for eight point five years. I always said I would wait two years before having babies. Two years seemed perfect to me: enough time to have sexy alone time with the hubs, get to know each other more, live in newlywed bliss before adding the granted stress of tiny human beings to care for. Two years somehow turned into four years, and on March 1st, 2008 (only three hours short of being a leap year baby) Gunner James Smith came into our lives. Trust me, no matter what they say, adding a baby to the mix changes things. Drastically. 

Exactly two years and two weeks later, Colt Daniel Le Smith arrived. Two boys. Our family of four was complete. We can dance into oblivion. Unicorns! Rainbows! Except not exactly. Don't get me wrong, when it comes to my kids? I am in love. I am over the moon to be a full-time mom to them. I think it's one of the most important jobs in the world (post on this to come later this week) but when it comes to juggling a husband and kids? Successfully? I still have yet to figure that one out. 

But let me start with something I think is supremely important when it comes to this subject. And that is priority. Not only is it biblical, but every good therapist around will tell you that your spouse comes before your kids. Our counselor in particular said it was absolutely crucial for Rob and I to put each other first, and our kids second. And this? I have had a very hard time with. In my little mind, I tend to think that the kids come first, always. But with this thinking? Puts my husband on the back burner. When it was him to begin with that made our family happen. Because the truth is, by putting my husband first, I am setting an example for our kids, and showing them what a loving relationship looks like. Kids need to see their parents loving each other. Kids need to feel the security of their parents being there for them, and therefore, being a solid unit. I asked our marriage counselor one time if it damaged our children to see us fighting in front of them. Her answer surprised me, when she said "no. They need to see you guys have conflict and then see you resolve that conflict in a loving way, so they can learn how real relationships work." 

And here's this: Rob comes home from working all day and immediately turns his attention on me. He will walk in the door and walk straight past the kids, go to me and hug, kiss, touch, etc. I would (and sometimes still do) get so mad him, and be all, "really? You walk past your own kids and don't even say anything to them? Don't even acknowledge them? What is wrong with you?" when what he is doing is exactly what it takes to have a successful marriage with kids. He is putting me first. Rob has always said to me that I come first, his kids come second. And my jerk reaction is to get angry, and go right into asking him stupid idiotic questions like "if Gunner and I were both dangling over a cliff and you could only save one of us, who would it be? Huh? Huh? Would you save him or me? You better say him!" (For the record, he would save our son.)

But here's the thing. Rob may come in the house after work and bypass the kids to head straight to me, but after that? His immediate second move is to pick up his boys, hug and kiss them and tell them both how much he missed them. And then to play with them for the next few hours before bedtime. I have never, not once, witnessed a time where his kids needed and or wanted him and he wasn't there. Rob is a sucker for his boys. Rob lives and breathes for his boys. He would die in a heartbeat for his boys. 

But he would also die in a heartbeat for me. And this is where I can admit I can be a total bitch at times. With complete honesty, I can say I have neglected Rob. He puts me first yet I put the kids first. Rob constantly wants to be touching me (earmuffs mom and dad!), he constantly wants to be around me, messing with me, grabbing my butt and other parts (ahem!) and I get SO ANNOYED and tell him to just back off but gosh damn, I should be thankful that after almost eleven years and twenty pounds gained, my husband still wants me fierce! I've talked to enough people to realize that what I have in a husband is pretty rare. Because if he can love his kids half as much as he loves me? Well then. His kids are pretty damn lucky.

Don't get me wrong. My husband isn't perfect. He can piss me off with the best of them. Like when he criticizes the way I cut up onions, or when he says I'm being lazy for not getting up and working out (ok that one may be true) or when he uses my expensive hair conditioner as body soap (insert super angry face here!) but when you look at it as a whole, and consider the "war versus battle" thing, I'm pretty sure I'm coming out ahead. 

Because my husband puts me first. And in turn, my kids benefit tremendously. And it has taken me a while (and a few hundred dollars worth of counseling sessions) to figure this one out. 

Now if we want to talk about what babies do to a sex life?

That is a completely different post for another day.

A few of ya'll have asked me about my love story, i.e., how we met, fell in love, and all the romantical, enchanting fairy-tale like things that happened along the way. 

And at that point, I usually turn around to see who is standing behind me that they are talking to. 

Because mushy gooshy frosting on top sweetness? So not me. I only get mushy when recalling that one winter I spent snowboarding my college education away and many a good times was had, the best one involving a shower floor, a pair of scissors, trimming a little from the nether region (not mine!) and one unsuspecting roommate. 

God those were good times. 

Anyway.

Basically, our love story goes something like this:

After him asking over and over to take me out, I finally said "geez, alright already!" and we met at a local restaurant. I brought my girlfriend with me for moral support (because that's what you do on first dates, I presume) and the three of us proceeded to get pretty tippled on red wine and tequila shots (something else I am sure you do on a first date). Somehow, we all made it back to his house (by way of a cab, simmer down folks) .

It was the first time I had ever been at his house, obviously. The three of us were just sitting in the living room, chatting away, when I said I had to use the bathroom. While I was away doing my bizz, my best girlfriend jumped at her chance and started telling my now husband that she was a much better match for him, and that she had liked him for some time now and he would be much more suited to ride off into the sunset with her. 

Hooker.

Anyway, some time had passed since I went to use the lavatory, so Rob went looking for me. 

You'll never guess where he found me.

Without being too graphic, let's just say that it involves passing out face down, a few clothing items misplaced, a bed, a white down comforter, and a lot of red wine regurgitated. 

And then we lived happily ever after.

Then end.