Blog Posts by Andrea Frazer, Good Housekeeping

My ten year anniversary has come and gone, along with the opportunity to get a professional portrait done.

I've had photos on the brain lately, largely due to cleaning out my "memories" closet. (Anybody with a good eye for decorating, please leave me a comment and help me out with this.)

Like those boxes of photographs, movie tickets and random childhood trinkets, I'm being flooded with reminders of past events that will never be again. There's the photo of my prom date and me, each in emerald green, standing under a ridiculous balloon gazebo.

There's the shots of my first dog, my grade school principal and my mom and dad's living room walls. (Oh yeah, nothing says "hip" like plaid wallpaper covering 15 foot ceilings.) But there are no professional portraits of Rex and me.

You might be saying, "Who gives a turd? You have tons of digital photos. That's enough."

And I'd agree with you.

Except that some of my favorite pictures in my home were taken by a

...Okay, not with my period, but with all things entertainment related.

I didn't watch The Sopranos until the whole season was out on DVD. Same thing with Six Feet Under. Harry Potter? Still winding my way through Book 5. The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle? Fantastic book. Really helps focus on living in the moment. Of course, God forbid I read it the moment it comes out, rather than seven years later. Glee? I hear that's a good show. Anyone heard of it?

My most recent example of late-to-the-party-but-too-drunk-to-leave involves the book Julie and Julia (Note to self: Return to library today. You don't need one more example of something being late.)

I feel very mixed about this book. On one hand, I think the concept of cooking one's way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking is absolutely brilliant. It was inspirational, and at times quite humorous, to watch Julie reinvent her life as she recreated decades old recipes.

The author, Julie Powell,

I'm forever saying it's the things I love about Rex, not what I don't, that make me the happiest in my marriage.

I can't say I'm always in a perfect state of bliss. Far from it! But more often than not, my irritations stem from focusing on the things I can't change, rather than appreciating the items I wouldn't want to change. (And let's not forget that I'm far from an easy creature to live with myself. Unless, of course, buckets of thrift sale treasures, mis-matched coffee cups, stock piles of Yuban and decorating for Halloween in September is your thing.)

With Rex gone on business last week, I was reminded only too well how much he brings to this family. I'd have missed him anyway, but last week was particularly hairy.

First there was the beginning of school angst to deal with. (Not for my kids... they're happy as clams in high tide. The upheaval was all me! My babies are growing! They don't need me! And I do mean, they don't need me as they informed me from the

In my last post I brought up flirting. What is it, is it okay, and why do it?

I admitted that I do enjoy chatting with different male friends. If a clerk at a store is having a fun conversation with me, I relish the banter. I love getting a guy's perspective other than just Rex's. Isn't that what makes life fun and interesting?

But then the comments came rolling in. "Would you like your husband flirting with someone else?" Cue buzzer: I certainly would not.

To be fair to myself, talking with men in a public setting is far different than actively teasing and playing the coy vixen to a guy. It's not like I'm dressing provocatively, talking trash, or carrying on over intimate phone calls or sordid texts.

In fact, actively communicating with a man who isn't my husband? That would never happen.

Unless you email me about this column. And then I'll write you back. Because I love getting mail! But I'm never going to ever have sex with you. Not even YOU... the

At our Friday night whine and wine this eve, the gals and I got on the subject of flirting. Is it okay or is it not? The overall consensus was that we might be married, but we're not dead. "Harmless flirtations bring out something I didn't even know I had," one friend said. She added, "It's not like I'm ever going to cheat on my spouse because of it."

I can't lie: I fall into the flirting category a bit. I'm not one to throw myself at men, but I'll talk up a dad at school.

I'll crack a funny pun with the cute bagger at Trader Joe's who asks for my I.D.. (Believe me, he doesn't need to ask for my I.D., so unless I've suddenly lost twp decades by some miraculous Yuban guzzling anti-age miracle' I'm pretty sure he's flirting, too.)

If I'm sitting alone in a restaurant and some nice waiter enjoys our conversation, I'm not going to tell him, "Oh, no, you don't need to bring me a free sundae. Just you staring at the two scoops on my chest was enough." (Okay, I wouldn't

It's all over the internet, and boy am I grateful, because I don't know how I'd live without seeing Twittered photos of Demi Moore and Lisa Rinna in their string bikinis.

These shots are evidence that 47 year-old moms really can look great in a bathing suit! The self-portraits also reveal startling evidence that just because you're beautiful does not mean you can't mult-task. Standing there looking hot while also taking a picture? That's pretty ambitious.

Some of you might think I'm jealous of these women. After all, at 40, my body certainly doesn't look as toned as theirs. But seriously, people, I'm not envious. Like the clever little contest between Demi and Rina - where one posts a photo of themselves and the other quickly follows suit - Rex and I are instilling a similar tradition.

Since it's a "Ladies first" kind of household, I've posted the first self-portrait today. Oh yeah, I'm proud of my sexy post-two children bod that walks my kids to school every day,

It's a cold and dreary Tuesday morning - a sure sign that Fall is upon us. The kids go back to school tomorrow, Rex is back at work and a few new projects loom on the horizon for me.

I feel a mixture of both elation ("Wooot! Free time!") and sorrow ("My babies are growing up beyond my clutches!")

Maybe because I'm simply adjusting to life in its characteristic ebbs and flows, or perhaps being officially too tired for the drama of holding on to what I want vs. what is, I'm letting go.

"Letting go" to the uninformed spirit might sound like an excuse to do nothing. But in truth, doing nothing is often the hardest thing a driven, laser-focused American woman like I can do.

In a culture where the media tells us that the secret to success is eighty dollar jeans - clinging to our lap band bodies while we jog to our expensive coffee shops after purchasing our hundred dollar wrinkle reducers - I'm letting go.

In a world which pushes us to work until the wee hours of the

Things have been wonderful lately. It's as if this marital calm has descended over the Frazer household. Fights are nipped in the bud before they even start. Rex brings me surprise flowers. I slip unexpected chocolate bars into the freezer for his nightly sweet tooth. We're hardly living a romance novel, but we're working as a team.

I have said it before and I'll say it again: My biggest tip for happiness is loving what you have, not what you don't. It really works - at least for me. (And I'd love to hear your tips.)

A song that really captures this for me is Kenny Chesney's "The Good Stuff." It revolves around a guy who races down to a bar after a blow out with his wife. The bartender asks, "What it'll be," and he says, "The Good Stuff."

The song continues:

He didn't reach around for the whiskey.

He didn't pour me a beer...

His blue eyes kind of went misty...

He said, 'You can't find that here.'

'Cause it's the first long kiss on a second date