Blog Posts by Andrea Frazer, Good Housekeeping

In writing a marriage and sex column, I'm constantly finding the balance between relating to my audience in a public way and keeping parts of my life private. (Emphasis on the "private" and "parts".) If I say too much, people comment that I have no shame. If I don't say enough, I'm lambasted for being fake, elitist or stuffy.

After almost 3 years of syndication at Shine, I've found a balance I'm genuinely happy with. If someone doesn't like my Good Housekeeping column, they don't have to read it. If they enjoy it, and many of you do, I am honored that you keep coming back for more, as well as your positive and honest responses. (I especially love hearing from you via email. Please write me at Andrea@Goodhousekeeping.com)

As evidenced in this last post, some of you never learned the art of graciousness. I did, indeed, make a few typos, and you'd have thought the world was coming to an end.

It didn't bother me that some of you didn't like my story. (Newsflash: I didn't

Twelve years ago my biggest concerns were turning 30, whether or not I could smuggle a kitten into my fifties walk-up apartment, and what show I would move onto next.

There was never any concern living paycheck to paycheck. Even if I should have had some anxiety, who had the time, what with my busy schedule running from hair salon to lunch dates, dancing occasionally at night or spending half a paycheck on a couch I knew I would live with forever? (One thing is true today - I still own that damn green couch!)

I wasn't exactly a shallow 20-something. I went to church. I volunteered my time at the local dog shelter. I paid my taxes. But fear and doubt were simply not in my vocabulary. I would write for a living. I would meet a husband. And I'd have a stylish wardrobe while doing so!

One night my sister called me. "Do you want to go out with a friend of mine from work's husband?" she asked. (That's a quote.)

"Is he gay?" was my first response. The facts are, I was

Keeping in mind my quest of "These kids will not take me down this summer," I arranged for some friends to watch my children for five blessed hours yesterday. They live about 20 minutes from us, but no bother. That's 20 minutes closer to the Norton Simon Museum.

With a fresh reminder to Rex that I did, indeed, spend my Big Bear vacation bagging over 100 Hefty bags of brush, it was his turn to accompany me on a "field trip" of sorts.

Lucky for him, the Norton Simon boasts an incredible sculpture Garden. (And guess what? It's tended by someone else! Hooray!) "I'd love a pond like this," he mused, squatting at the shore full of Monet inspired lotus flowers. "Why don't you put one in the yard?" I offered. "Time," he shot back. "There's never enough time."

Ain't that the truth? This marriage and kids thing is a constant balance: Do the laundry/play a board game with the kids. Get the dishes done/go for a family walk. Cook some healthy meals/Go out for icecream.

The

Before I start this post, I will state for the record that I am still madly attracted to my spouse. I wouldn't change the many blessings we've had heaped upon us when so many have so little. This goes from our home to our children to our jobs to our health.

That all said, I'm human like anyone else. Here's my list of the 10 Libido Busters in my marriage. Because I am such a generous person (well, guilty is more like it... I come from strong Catholic and Jewish stock... double the whammy) I am going to list how you can go from moaning about your sex life in a bad way to moaning about it in a good one.

1. Kids: (This is, without a doubt, the BIGGEST BUST that keeps my spouse from enjoying the other big bust in this household.) Perhaps you know what I mean. Children are dorable and sweet but time sucking demons. They can turn your once spicy union into a business operation. "I've had them all day, you get them now, GO!!!!!!" The Solution - Come up with a plan to get those

I thought I'd never get that spark back. You know, the kind when you first started doing it... Long, languid days of melting into one another... Planning your days around it... Thinking about it when you should be focused on work, the kids, or driving...Loving of every second of it, but the moment it's over, focused with laser beam attention on when you can wrap your hands around it again.

Yup, I'm back on my reading kick.

One such book I finished was Josie Brown's Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives. Already touted as the perfect summer beach read, this character driven (sometimes steamy) book can best be described as the offspring of an affair between Desperate Housewives and a Jennifer Weiner novel.

Brown's book centers around the elite community of Paradise Heights. The main character, Lyssa, is stuck in a rut with her husband, Ted. Soon enough, though, she befriends the new D.I.L.F. on the block. (Translation: Dad I'd Like To...) The jinked DILF is Harry who has been

As Rex and I cut down layer upon layer of old Juniper, Aspen and Pine needles, we find little surprises within the foliage. We laugh out loud at each "treasure" we pull from the dirt. "Baby bottle!" one of us will scream, before sending it to its final resting place in the Hefty bag.

The further we dig, the more dated our items are. Included, but not limited to our long list, we have uncovered:

* Three bottles of Bud Lite

* A rusted can of TAB (If you don't know what a TAB is, you're younger than I am.)

* A glass ashtray advertising some trucking company in the Redlands

* 8 golf balls

* 2 tennis balls

* One animal carcuss complete with teeth

* A plastic Carebear (It's "Wishbear" I was informed by my all-knowing children. And yes, it now lives with us.)

* One package of Twizzlers

* A Bob Marley and the Whalers casette tape

Besides the obvious question of, "Is it that difficult so throw your refuge in the garbage can?" I'm left to think

I'm on "vacation" with my husband in our little love shack in woods. This naturally means we are sleeping in, going out for romantic meals, and taking long walks long the lake, right?

Except our two children are with us.

And for some reason each of us, 6'4 and 6'1, are attempting to slumber in a full size bed with no headboard or footboard, resulting in Rex snoring like a bullhorn and me padding my way to the extra long sleeper in the family room.

The good news? I have a big furry dude named Ralphie for company.

The bad news? He's a stuffed deer hanging on our fireplace.

If anyone from P.E.T.A. is reading this, please know that Bambi's brother came with the place. We did not hunt him down and kill him. I can't get my kids' class photos framed and hung, let alone mount a gigantic furball. (And no, with my husband being the Italian Stallion that he is, I'm not mounting that gigantic furball either. Not after what he's put me through during my waking hours.)

Saturday night was some of the crazier sex we've had in a very, very long time.

We weren't drunk.

We weren't on drugs.

Nor were we with other partners.

Just boring old us... but WOW.

As lame as this is going to sound, I'm going to blame it on the books I've been reading. Instead of obsessing over my boring old kitchen, I have been transformed into the Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives, by Josie Brown.

Rather than worrying about if my own union was exciting enough to be thrilling or boring enough to be stable, I found myself involved in Anne Tyler's An Amateur Marriage and rooting for the main couple - a straight laced Baltimore boy and a fiery Protestant girl from the next town over. (No, no resemblance to Rex and me at all. Ahem.)

Plus, with all the packing for our next trip up the mountain (yes, this time we called the rental agency) I have remained relatively calm thanks to the encouragement from this well thought out book, In Praise of Slowness.