Blog Posts by Andrea Frazer, Good Housekeeping

As I mentioned in this post, Rex went all lovey dovey on me beginning last Sunday. For a man I refer to as reserved (and to the untrained eye might be perceived as cold) he has undoubtedly warmed up on all fronts. From cards and phone calls, "I miss you soooo much," and little surprises strewn all over the house, the ice has definitely melted. One might even refer to it as a flood of little nothings that have left me drenched with gratitude.

It's hardly shocking that his one week absence has left me missing him more than usual. And while I ached for my hubby to come back to me Friday afternoon, it was with great irony that Thursday evening he emailed to tell me that, due to a VOLCANO in Iceland, he would not be home for another week.

I guess I'll have to burn solo. Man, that's cold.

* Photo from Allposters.com. If things in the air don't improve soon, Rex will take a train, then a ferry to another country, then hitch an airplane ride home. "I'll take a ship back to

I do believe my husband is smoking the doobage.

Sunday, on his way to catch the shuttle for a one week trip to Germany, he handed me an envelope. While the kids were hanging on his knee caps and the driver gave him the stink eye, I opened up a card featuring a bug-eyed hound dog wearing dentures. The preprinted message read, "You really know how to put a smile on someone's face."

I don't know about grinning, but it certainly surprised me. You have to understand my husband. This is a man whose idea of an anniversary present is car cover ass warmers from Pep Boys. Practical, logical and loyal he is. Spontaneous and card giving? Hardly.

One of the last times he sprung a love note on me "just because" was when we first started dating. He left a Dilbert on the hood of my dusty Saturn. His writing resembled a drunk third grader. He began the note, "Dear Sweaty." (Rex is a brilliant computer god. A spelling bee prize winner? Not so much.)

I hugged him, peeled the kids

A longtime commenter recently stated that dirty talk doesn't do it for her. In fact, she really despises it, despite having incredible sex with her mate. She simply can't bring herself to use "those" words in the bedroom. (Or the garage. Or the patio. This married gal keeps the sparks alive, and good for her!)

As a writer, I feel a bit differently. I don't mind a little sassy talk. What is going to happen, sometimes more than what actually happens, feels thrilling. Words seduce me. They make me drunk. A six pack of abs? Pshaww. But an adjective used cleverly with a noun that rhymes with hick but describes a male body part? I'm gone.

Part of the reason I adore country singer Brad Paisely is because of his words. He just makes me laugh. Take this song :

"Every time you take a sip

In this smokey atmosphere

You press that bottle to your lips

And I wish I was your beer

And in the small there of your back

Your jeans are playing peek-a-boo

I'd like

Some of you have been writing in, telling me you're not having enough sex. On that note, this month will be dedicated to asking some tough questions. (Or, in the case of this column, some "hard" questions.)

First one? How often are you having sex? For Rex and me, though we hit our dry spells, we average 2 - 3 times. Like a healthy exercise routine, it's kind of a staple for us. If we forget, after a while, we feel tired, listless, and just plain irritated with each other.

Maybe if our home had a spa, like my gym, we'd "work out" together even more. Sadly, we only own a 1950s glazed tub with cracked enamel. I can barely fit in it myself. If Rex joined me, we might possibly kill ourselves. And while dying for love sounds romantic, death by naked suffocation in a jack n' jill bathroom is just plain wrong.

This article says that most married couples have sex 1.8 times/week. If the "1" stands for actual intercourse, I can only assume that the .8 stands for foreplay of

After three years of writing for some pretty high exposure blog platforms, stuff doesn't tend to bug me. You think I'm ugly? Rex doesn't, so who cares. You think I'm stupid? My college degree says otherwise. You think I'm annoying? Well I have to agree with you there! (You try living inside my brain for day. I can go from,"Tacos or burgers for dinner?" to "Rollerblades vs. skates?" to "What the hell was Kate Gosselin thinking with that bad wig on DWTS last night?" in zero to three seconds.

Occasionally I do get freaked out, however, and a comment from this post did it for me. Entitled "Five Ways to Fight Fair in Marriage," one person remarked that her husband wouldn't add her to his Facebook page.

While that sends out some obvious red flags, the real bomb went off for me with her reaction to it. She wrote, "As of the last half an hour, I have decided I will no longer talk to him about this but I am going to starve myself to death till he gives me my right to have a glimpse

On my way into Trader Jo's today I walked past a beauty supply store. All the makeup I own sits in a ratty cosmetic bag at the bottom of my purse, so no one was more surprised than I was when I halted at the window. A poster with the words "Brazilian Blowout" screamed out in big bold letters. A woman, with locks shiny enough to make Rapunzel jealous, smiled in ecstasy from her perch overlooking the strip mall parking lot. (I hope she wasn't looking at my car or she'd also be holding her nose and carrying a shop vac the size of Dora the Explorer's head.)

Given I write a sex column, you can imagine what my first reaction to the words "blow out" were. Upon further inspection, I read the description of this beauty product. It was a salon technique that guaranteed smoothe, flat hair for up to twelve weeks.

Audrey Slater, the fashion director for Redbook, just wrote a post about it. She swears by the results. "Yesterday morning, my hair was fried, frizzy, and hideously

Getty ImagesIt's Day 4 of Spring Break. While the beach, the science museum and a house that resembles a train station of six-year-olds tracking mud and juice boxes all over the hard wood is lovely, I'm starting to hit breaking point.

Sadly for a few friends of mine, their marriages have also hit breaking point. Unlike Rex and my average spat, it has little to do with a few toys strewn (my responsibility) over the freshly mowed lawn (his pride and joy.) Their problems, like the sunflowers my kids and I are growing, have deep roots. They were not tended. They were not treated with warmth and flowing rivers of love. They are now mangled weeds forming a big garden of Divorce.

How to Make Lust Last in Your Marriage

Everyone fights. But I'm realizing, more than ever, how important it is to do it nicely. It doesn't mean we all have to agree. In my mind, Rex will forever be too tight with the budget. In his mind, I will forever run late and never have enough Cheerios in the house. But rather

This morning I sat my daughter up on the kitchen counter, scissors in hand. I'd had enough of her bangs swinging in her face and wasn't about to ruin a moment of Spring Break with a trip to Super Cuts. "Sit still. It will only take a second." And, just like that, I transformed my daughter's overgrown front locks into the worst chop job in the history of time.

Lucky for her she's darn cute. A little water... some gel - she looks less bowl cut and more Betty Paige. Plus, she likes herself. What's a few hairs out of place? Weird quickly becomes eccentric with her sass and confidence.

I am seeing this theme over and over in my life. I'm currently finishing up a book, Art and Courage: Stories to Inspire the Artist-Warrior Within. The author, John Paul Thornton, profiles some of the world's most creative minds. He writes not only about their art, but about how they pushed past their fear to bring their exquisite projects to life.

Thornton emphasizes that great works don't only