Blog Posts by Andrea Frazer, Good Housekeeping

With all this talk about "submitting" one's egos in favor of their spouse's opinion (this goes for women to men and men to women) I'd like to talk about stuff that happens once you're married that you never expected.

I'll put myself on the firing line first by stating that I did, indeed, know that Rex was a bit rigid in some areas. He knew that I was a live wire who went from writing job to writing job.

I was fully aware that we would never be the couple that financed our home to go to Europe for a year or start a new business. He went into marriage with the complete knowledge that his wife wore faux fur, cat eye glasses and owned a collection of lunch boxes that would rival a preschooler on crack. (I suppose I should have questioned his mental health, but I was too busy thrifting for vintage knee highs.)

On paper, we knew each others' flaws. But of course we didn't know that those "flaws" were really just "quirks" compared to how invested we both were in our egos...

A frequent commenter, Emmy, brought up a good point in my last post about what it means to surrender in a healthy marriage. She wrote:

"Early in our marriage, I would ask him for help with folding laundry, and then tell him how I wanted it done. After a while, he got frustrated and stomped away. Who could blame him? I was being a petty tyrant! Who cares how the towels are folded, as long as it gets done? I've applied that example to many other situations in our 6.5 year marriage, and by not keeping a strangle-hold over the "how" (surrendering to his way of doing things, in other words), I have more time to work on other things. And I know that at the end of the day, he's going to do his best because he wants me to be happy, and I know that it's getting done. Win-win situation."

This is a great example of what I meant by surrender . I'm not suggesting one cater to their spouse's every need like a mindless robot, but I am suggesting compromise and a healthy look at what

In my last post I spoke about what I meant by "submitting" to my husband. A radio listener heard me talking live on this subject last week and wrote in with a very interesting question.

I'd love to see your take on it, and then I'll give mine. (I know, it's a shock I have an opinion.)

As for now, I'm off to chat with Rex. As irony would have it, shortly after I blabbed about how we budget our money, I went ahead and bounced a check. (Hey, I never said I was perfect at financing. I said I was done fighting about it. Let's see if I can keep that same composure tonight.)

Here's the letter. I'd love your feedback! (And so would Penny.)

"Hi Andrea,

I heard the insight that you and Mrs. Passmore had to offer on Santita's show this morning. I was moved by something that you said that I have been desperately wrestling with, submission to my hubby, but you called it by another term, surrender.

It's very, VERY difficult for me to submit to him, although I really,

I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Santita Jackson of Chicago's WVON radio show on Thursday. (Link to come when the podcast is available.)

I was brought on to talk about budgets (this article in particular) but the conversation quickly morphed from surface level finance problems to deep rooted emotional issues.

When Ms. Jackson asked how Rex and I finally ended our ongoing battles over spending, I told her the truth. "I agreed to try his way for a month," I said. "I surrendered."

In a half-joke, half aghast tone, she quipped back, "Andrea Frazer, you submitted????"

This isn't an exact quote, but in a nutshell, I explained my position. "I absolutely submitted," I said, "But not in the way one might think."

I was stumped for a brief second as I started getingt flustered. This was national radio! How could I not sound like a fifties housewife but still get my point across? I opted for the truth. Better to be hated for who I was than loved for who I

...while I sleep downstairs. (Got ya, didn't I?)

I pray that this isn't the start of our empty nesting years: The period when the kids slowly move out and one of us moves into the spare bedroom.

With our bi-focals.

And our subscription to Readers Digest Extra Large Print American Classic Summaries.

And let's not forget the cat.

Which we don't even own yet.

But since my life has become fairly predictable, I might just pick up a scratch tree at the thrift store for my future bedside companion. (On a predictable note, I will also add the expected joke that at least one of us will be stroking a "cat" in the afterhours. Badda boom. Movin' on.)

For now I can justify my sleeping on the couch as my once-a-month "I need an undisturbed covers-all-to-myself" excursion.

But I'm not naive. For many, the occasional comfort of camping alone can find them transforming the office into a guest room. Will that happen to Rex and me? Will our remodeled haven for

We just arrived home from a family get together. It included a bbq, cousins we don't often see, yapping dogs and a kidney-shaped swimming pool. (Hello, classic California summer.) There were hot dogs. There was laughter. There was birthday cake. And there was chest hair.

To be clear, the chest hair was not in the birthday cake, but it was all over my husband. (And likely in the pool filter now. Have fun with that, Uncle Al!)

I always notice my dear husband's upper body carpet when he's in a bathing suit. Something about how it matches his black swim trunks that catches my eye. Chuck it up to one of the few times Rex is truly color coordinated.

My spouse is Italian, so chest hair is gonna happen. It's nothing like the back fuzz you see in this photo, but there's enough of a cushion that when my newborn used to fall asleep on his Papa's bare torso, I'd worry about suffocation.

"He's fine," Rex would cluck, gently cooing our newborn to sleep.

"He's going to

Just in case you missed this Good Housekeeping post (where I had received more comments on Shine than this sex toy post... go figure) I have to say for the record that this is the longest run-on sentence in the history of time.

No, not that.

I want to say that I come by my grammatical errors honestly. You see, my very darling hubby has been known to miss the boat in the spelling arena also.

Oh, sure, there's spell check for his overworked computer brain. But that Microsoft Office trick doesn't catch words that are spelled correctly but simply not used in the right context.

Prime example: When I found a card on the windshield of my Saturn before we were married. The front of it showed his favorite animated character. On the inside it read, in his endearing chicken scratch writing, "Hi, Sweaty, I'll miss you this weekend."

"Sweaty?" I hadn't been jogging. I don't remember lounging in a sauna. And we certainly hadn't had hot and heavy sex yet. I could only presume

I get a lot of inquiries from P.R. people these days. While I'm never going to review their products here (sorry, it's a blog about marriage and sex, not a forum to sell lubricants, vibes and the best ways to trim your nether region on the cheap) I am always interested in hearing about educational material or books.

Sadly, today's in-box letter didn't make the cut. Like many people out there, the letter was wrapped in the guise of "We really want to help relationships" but it was really just another ploy to sell alcohol. Translation: "If you can't find your soulmate from these top five tips, get drunk and screw. It helps our business; it makes you feel better about your dumb choices."

What I love about my husband is that, unlike these "trying to snow me" "media alerts" that wrap up their product in a fake-authenticity shiney red bow, Rex says it like it is. It might hurt to hear sometimes. (His packaging? A Fry's Electronic's box... covered in brown paper if I'm lucky)