.it's not all bad.

In reading over the past posts, in trying to be truthful and finding out who I really am, I have to be honest about everything.  If I'm not, then I will never discover who I am.

My husband, my marriage.  The past posts make them both sound bad.  They're not horrible.  They could just both be better.

29 years of marriage brings it's own challenges.  Having gotten married young; only being with one man.  It sometimes makes me wonder what I missed.  What's out there that I don't know about.  And when I read "50 Shades of Grey" that's part of what opened my eyes.  I never realized what a sheltered life I had.  I digress.  For the most part, the past 29 years have been good; happy.  We have 2 beautiful children; a nice home; good jobs.  We've always taken fun family vacations; lots of good memories.  Though our daughter was diagnosed with diabetes at age 7 and we've lost many close family members over the years, there have been no major disasters in our life.  Our children grew up to be law abiding, well adjusted, adults.  Our daughter married a good man and now they have their first child.  Our son graduated college in 2009 and started his own business.  The first of this year he bought his own home and is enjoying the life that all 23 year old men should.  I'm so proud of both of them.  

So life goes on, 29 years pass and as a couple so many other things come in between.  Work, the children, the bills, life.  Then one day you find yourself with only each other.  At this point in our lives everything else is pretty much settled into a place that it takes care of itself.  Now comes the time when we're supposed to take care of each other.  But then I look across the room at him and wonder "Who is this man that I married?  The man that I'll be spending the next 30 years with?"

Our interests have changed; our beliefs have changed.  We seem to have nothing in common any more.  But he's a good man.  He's kind and caring.  He loves his children and his granddaughter.  He helps take care of my elderly mother.  If I ever need to him to something for me, he does.  

Yet I feel so empty and alone when I'm with him.  I remember the years of passion.  The years when we would spend the whole weekend in bed.  We would go out to the movies; weekend dates away; dinners; dancing.  Fun times.  Love and laughter.  Then it was as if someone just blew the flame out.  There is still love.  But it's a love based on a past; not a future.

In January 2012 we went away for a week for our anniversary.  It was the first time we had ever gone away, alone, for an entire week.  I was so excited.  The weather was beautiful.  Warm and sunny.  I envisioned a week of wild love making.   We could do whatever we wanted; whenever we wanted; wherever we wanted.  In 8 days we made love twice.  To say I was disappointed is an understatement.  As far as the trip, it was wonderful.  We had fun; we laughed; we enjoyed doing things together.  But for all intents and purposes, I may as well have been with my brother.  

Is it me?  Do I just not turn him on anymore?  I've tried everything from being the sweet, naive girl that he met to becoming Anastasia from "50 Shades" and every combination in between.  How can I get him to understand that I need love and passion in my life?  I need him to spend time with me; I need him to come to bed at night and hold me and talk to me; I need him to sweep me off my feet and make my heart beat faster again.  I want him to make me laugh and I want us to have fun.

But so much as fallen between us.  So many words.  So many hurts.  So much that can't be undone.  I wish I knew if we will ever be able to get back to that place that we were 29 years ago.  I wish I knew if we will ever be able to get to a place where we are both happy, passionate and in love again.

 "Unless it’s mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. There are too many mediocre things in life; Love shouldn’t be one of them.”

.it was just a dream.

It's 3:30 in the morning.  I just woke up from one of those dreams.  The kind that is so real and vivid that you never want to wake up from it.

Tonight I went to bed in one of his shirts.  It's almost like having his arms wrapped around me.  It's almost like his skin is touching mine.  But it's not.  It's just a shirt.

I moved my pillows to the middle of our king size bed.  I thought then when he came to bed and saw me there, asleep, in his shirt, close to his spot.......   Midnight came; 1:00 then 2:00.  I don't remember falling asleep but I remember the dream.

We were in a new church; sitting next to each other.  We had been in the flux that we're in now.  But his hand accidentally rubbed against mine.  It was like electricity.  My heart started pounding; I couldn't catch my breath.  I looked up and his eyes met mine and I knew in that instant he was feeling the exact same thing.  We didn't care if people stared.  We made a hasty retreat.  On the walk to the car his hand guided the small of my back.  I thought I was going to pass out just from that touch.  When we got to the car he came around to my side and opened  the door.  For what seemed like an eternity we stood there just staring into each others eyes.  Not a word was said; no contact was made.  But the look spoke everything we couldn't.

Quickly I got in and he raced to the other side.  As he began to drive home I slid over as far as I could.  I slowly began kissing his neck.  Tasting him.  That deliciousness that is only him; that deliciousness that I had been denied for so long.  I slowly began undoing the buttons on his dress shirt.  Allowing my fingers the luxury of rubbing his chest; his neck; his nape.  I undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.  His arms have always turned me on; they had always made me feel safe.

He kept pushing me away.  I knew it wasn't because he didn't want me; it was because he wanted me too much.  He couldn't stand to have me so close and not be able to touch me as well.  He was in agony.  Rather than allow himself the pleasure I could give him while he was driving, he wanted to wait until we were home; in our bed.  Where we could be together as one.

Finally arriving home, without losing body contact, and somehow without tripping over everything in our path, we made our way to the bed.  To our bed.  Clothing was quickly removed and all the emotions of the past months met, there in the middle of that king size bed.  

I slowly felt reality sweeping over my body.  I lay there with my eyes closed, a smile on my face thinking of what had happened between him and I.  Remembering how good it felt.  I reached over to touch him; to hold him.  

And I found an empty space.  A cold pillow.  He had never even come to bed to sleep with me.  Instead, once again, choosing the couch.

Now I sit here more cold and lonely than I've been in months.   

 

.a real man.

I was laying in bed thinking about what I want my husband to be to me.  His short comings; how he lets me down; and what I wish he would be and what I wish he would do.  Please don't misunderstand.  I love my husband.  With a history as long as ours, I could never imagine not loving him.  But I don't like him very much and he's not the man I wish he was.  So I started thinking about who I do wish he was.  I don't want to change him for another man.  I don't want someone else.  I want him.  There are just things about him I wish would change.  Things that would make me happy; look at him different; with passion and respect.  Things that would make him appealing to me again.  Now, before you go getting all high and mighty on me, please don't think that I think I'm perfect.  I have NO DOUBT that he has a list of things he'd just love to change in me.  I'd love to read it.  I'd be happy to work on it.  Yet I'm realistic enough to know such a list will never appear.  So I'll list mine.  Who knows.....

I wish he would dress like the hot guy he is.  And yes, even at 50 I still find him hot. Jeans, t-shirts, boots.  Boxer briefs, not tighty whiteys.  No holes in his underwear or socks.  

I wish he would wear a suit more.  I read once that to a woman, a suit on a man is what to a man, lingerie is on a woman.

I wish he would wear cologne.  Every day. A nice, subtle scent that would linger on his pillow after he's left the bed.

I wish he would pull me close to him in bed; even when he's half asleep.  Just to say "I want to feel you close to me".

I wish he wouldn't come to bed in a shirt and his tighty whiteys.  Major turnoff!!  If you want to keep warm, sleep closer to me.

I wish he wouldn't fart in front of me.  Or pick his teeth with the corner of a paper plate.  He wouldn't do it in front of anyone else.  Why is it ok to do it in front of me?

I wish he would hold my head between his hands and kiss me.  Long and hard.  Just to kiss me.

I wish he would get up early on Saturday mornings once in a while and bring me breakfast in bed.

I wish he would run me a bubble bath, light candles and sit on the floor and talk to me while I relax.

I wish he would plan and execute dates.  Not come home with a  "Would you like to....."  I wish he would come home and take my black dress out of the closet and lay it on the bed, along with whatever he wants me to wear under it.  Lay a red rose across it and tell me "Get dressed.  I've made plans."

I wish he would turn off the tv and pull out the Backgammon game.

I wish he would go to the gym or get surgery so he would quit snoring.  

I wish he would cook us a meal.  Not say "You want something to eat?"

I wish he would defend me to our children.  They often disrespect me in word or deed; they often hurt my feelings and he allows it.   

I wish he would make me soup or toast and ginger ale when I'm sick.  Without me having to ask for it.

I wish he would take care of our home.  Get rid of the mildew in our bathroom; paint the outside of the house.  Get rid of the junk that fills the backyard.  Fix the toilets so I don't have to keep jiggling the handle.  Make it a home worthy of his wife.

I wish he would show up at my office to take me out to lunch.  Without calling and asking if it was ok.

I wish he would be the first to apologize once in a while.

I wish he would be the Christian leader that he thinks he is.  Lead us in devotions; wake up to pray with me before the day begins; come and pray with me as the day ends.  The Bible calls the husband to be the spiritual leader of the home. Through our daughter's entire pregnancy and while she was in labor and in surgery he never once took my hand and said "Let's pray for her safety and for this grandchild of ours".  If he wants to be a minister, he needs to learn how to minister.  It's not just about hearing yourself talk from a pulpit.  Even Satan can do that.

I wish he would demand respect from his employer.  He is a door mat to them.  He works for little to no pay and is never paid on time.  I wish he would stand up to them or find a job where he is both respected and compensated for his hard work.  They take advantage of him and he continues to allow it.

As I said, I'm not so full of my self to think that he doesn't have a list as well.  I'm far from perfect.  But I can't change what I don't know about.


 

.i miss passion.

You know the kind I'm talking about.  The kind where you just look across the room and your eyes meet.  Your heart starts beating just a little faster; your palms get sweaty; your knees get weak.  The kind where his eyes look at you and you know it means that when he gets you alone he's going to take you.  Hard and fast.  No sweet words of love; no beating around the bush.  Just pushing you up against the wall, ripping off your panties and fucking your brains out.  But because you know he loves you; because you know he's yours.....you don't care.  There is plenty of time for roses and chocolates and sweet words.  Some days you just need sex!

We had that passion when we were young.  We had it 3 months ago.  But now it seems so far gone.  It feels like it will never come back.

Is it my fault?  I don't know.  I'm certain I bear some of the responsibility.  I suppose I've not been to him what he needs; just as he's not been to me what I need.  The problem arises though when needs change.  What I needed in my husband last year, isn't what I need in my husband this year.  Perhaps I haven't been the type of wife he needs. I know he feels I don't support him; don't have faith in him; don't believe in him.  But I have to wonder if he ever asks himself why.  

And if he does, will I be brave enough to tell him?

.he lied.

He always asked me to tell him what I wanted in the bedroom.  Yet I had the hardest time doing that.  Though as my blog continues it may be hard to believe, I'm really incredibly shy.  Even with my husband of 29 years.  I always have been.  Especially when it comes to sex.

I was a "surprise" baby to my elderly parents.  At almost 50 I still haven't been told about my period or where babies come from!  Those things just were not discussed at my house.  Affection was at a premium and usually saved for birthdays.  A hug, a kiss, an "I love you" was not a daily occurrence.  So I was never used to showing or sharing emotions.  So to be bold enough to tell my husband what I wanted him to do to me in the bedroom seemed impossible.  Wasn't he just supposed to know?  It was embarrassing to think that I would have to let him know what I wanted; what I liked.  And so our sex life was always just about average.

We had our moments.  Some good times; some wild places.  Things I never would have imagined doing.  But overall, I would have to say our sex life was just that.  Average.

Welcome to my world Christan Grey!

WOW!  Did my eyes get open and did my panties get wet!  Did people really do things like this??  I was shocked; surprised and incredibly aroused.  Is this what I've been missing out on all these years?

My husband, along with the rest of the world, had heard all the hype that surrounded "50 Shades of Grey" and he would laugh and tease me as I was reading it.  I would share parts with him and get a little "hmmmmm......" from him.  Finally one afternoon found us both in a playful mood in the bedroom and I laid my cards on the table.  I told him about things I had read in "50" and that it really turned me on.  That those were the kinds of things I wanted to do and have done to me.  I brought things into our bedroom to make it possible.  We had an incredible, wild afternoon of pure, unadulterated sex!!  It was everything I had ever hoped for.  And then it was gone.

That was over 6 weeks ago.  Since that day my husband hasn't approached me for sex.  Not once.  He hasn't mentioned it.  Hello cold slap in the face!!!!

I feel mortified!  For years he had asked and asked me to tell him what I wanted.  Now that I had, it appears it turned him off.  Though it sure didn't seem to that afternoon!  But now..... now, he doesn't touch me.  And as a result, I have put up a wall.  I feel humiliated.  I think back to the things I said and did that day.  Things I allowed him to do to me that I enjoyed.  What was he thinking?  What did he think of me?  I feel dirty and trashy.  I feel unappealing and unwanted.  I feel like a whore who has been kicked to the curb.

The scariest part is I don't know that I can ever get back the self respect and passion that I had before.  He crushed a part of me; a very important part of me and made me feel used and cheap. 

Worst of all, he's made me feel alone.  In our large, king sized bed, I am alone.  I am sad.  I am horny.  And though he is there on his side of the bed, I am alone.

.i hate christmas.

Boy does it feel good to say that out loud!!  It's almost as bad as saying one hates America.  (which I don't; just making a point).

I can't ever remember enjoying Christmas.  I feel certain that I must have as a child; I fondly have several good memories of Christmas when our children were little.  Their excitement in believing that Santa had indeed come down the chimney; seeing them try to figure out what was wrapped under the tree; the amazement at the Santa gifts that had arrived while they were sleeping.  

And I truly appreciate the "reason for the season".  I'm a Christian and believe that it is indeed the time to stop and reflect on the birth of Jesus Christ; I enjoy the hymns we sing at church; the smell of the evergreen and the thought that amidst major chaos in the world at the time, a Savior chose to humble Himself and enter this world as a baby in a manger.

That's where it ends.  All the craziness that goes with it, pretty much wants to make me punch someone in the face.  Mention the fact that each year it starts earlier and earlier simply adds to the misery.  Christmas sales in October?  Poor Thanksgiving!!  Very few people truly take the time to enjoy and be thankful any more.  They're too busy thinking about "Black Friday".  

Then the people who have acted like a bitch all year long suddenly become sweet and kind.  They bake fudge and cookies for the office; they smile when they pass you in the hall.  Someone will let you go ahead of them in line at the grocery store and put a dollar or two in the red kettle in front of the store.  They tear up watching a movie about a Grinch; a little girl who believes in a miracle in New York and a child who only wants to buy his mom a pair of shoes to wear when she goes to heaven. 

Then comes December 26th.  All the warmth and kindness of the past month is tossed to the curb along with the wasted Christmas wrap and the left over turkey.  Trying to go to the store to exchange gifts involves wearing full body armor.  You'll be pushed; shoved; stepped on and cussed out.  The girl at the office who only last week was smiling and baking cookies, will now tell you to "Fuck Off!!" because you accidentally bumped into her coming around the corner.  Those sweet people who were ringing bells for the month of December, will now cut you off without a thought to get that prime parking space.  

Oh I'm not cynic enough to think that everyone is that way.  I believe there truly are good people who have the love of Christmas and all that comes with it in their heart.  I believe that they "live" Christmas year round and December 25th is the climax to all they have hoped for.

I am not one of those people.  I find Christmas sad and depressing.  I always find my mind wandering to those in my family who died and are no longer with us.  I see so much wasted Christmas wrapping; people going deeper and deeper into debt to buy their 10 year old an iPod; their husband a 50 inch tv or 2 carat diamond earring for their wife.  Things that aren't needed but that we must buy in order to keep up with the neighbors.  The Christmas music is almost always depressing and always over played.  And entirely too many gifts are bought for people without the least bit of consideration as to whether it's something the receiver would truly want. I have never, one time, received a gift that I've said I wanted during the year.  See I remember things.  I hear what my husband and my children say during the year.  "Oh look, I love that."  "Wow, I wish I had that in my house".  I file it away.  Then when it's time to shop, I reach into the back of my mind and all that comes flooding back. Most Christmas mornings it has always been apparent that my gift was "Oh shit, we've got to get something for her, too."  Music that I would never listen to; jewelry that I would never wear; clothes that are neither my style or not even close to fitting.  A gift simply to buy a gift.  

And that hurts.  I would rather have nothing than to be an obligation.

So as the season is over and people are still sitting back looking at their glowing Christmas lights; the now empty boxes piled under the tree and beginning the thoughts of doing it all again in 364 days......I say "Get the hell out of my house Christmas.  And take your cookies and fudge with you!"

 

.i am bailee graves.

I have found it's very easy to know my name.  It's not quite as easy to know who I am.  That's quite a complicated endeavor.  

I am more than a wife.

I am more than a mother.

I am more than a daughter; a sister; an aunt.

I am more than an employee; more than a Christian; more than a friend.

Those are all roles that I play.  Day in and day out I am one of those things to everybody.  

But who am I to me?  Who am I in my soul?

If I were me, all alone, who would I be? 

As I near 50 I am learning how very important it is that I find out who I am.  That I know who Bailee Graves truly is and how to make her happy.

This is the beginning of my journey.  Every day will bring me closer.  Some with tears; some with laughs.  But before it's over I will not only know WHO Bailee Graves is; I will BE Bailee Graves.