Mother In Law

Deb: Very few monikers have conjured up more derogatory jokes. The mere mention of mother-in-law has, through the ages, struck fear into the hearts of both men and women. Not me. I love my Mother-in-Law. Have since day one. I loved my Father-in-Law from the get-go as well. Very sadly we lost him a few years back and we all still miss him so much. My mother and father in law were such a beautiful team, very much in love and very much in sync. It breaks my heart to see her on her own, but she is a strong woman surrounded by great friends and family.

I was just in Vancouver where she lives for the CBC and decided to go out a day early to spend time with her. We had dinner together with my sister-in-law and then I invited Mum to join us for the festivities the next day at the CBC 75th Anniversary/Culture Days. It was a chilly day, but down she came to stand outside and be a part of the event. She says she was there for me, but it turns out that she was really there to see Johnny Reid who was opening the day's events. He was charming and fantastic. She loves him. Partly because he’s talented and partly because he’s Glaswegian.

Sheila McCarthy from Little Mosque on the Prairie, Ron James from The Ron James Show,
and Deb's lovely Mum-in-law

My wrangler had her stand in a strategic spot to be sure not to miss him. He came by and said hello, and she told him she was from Glasgow too. Her reward was a wee chat and a kiss. As a result, I do not have to give her a birthday gift for the rest of her life!

It was so nice, having her there. She just fit in seamlessly. Some people would feel awkward from both ends of the spectrum, but I loved it and so did she. She is charming and easy with people and it was fun for her to get a peek inside this wild world of live TV. Everyone was so kind and friendly to her. Her only disappointment was not meeting George Stroumboulopoulos. I promised her, but every time he was free I was busy. So maybe I do owe her more gifts after all.

A friend recently told me that she finds it so funny that I call my in-laws Mum and Dad. I don’t know, maybe it’s old fashioned now, not done. It’s not for everyone, I know that. My husband worked with my Dad and knew him as a peer before we got together so I get that it was awkward for him to change and I never expected it of him. He adores my parents and that’s enough for me. But this was something that was important for me. The second we said our “I do’s” I went up to them and planted a Mum and Dad on them! I think they were secretly very pleased.

When I was growing up, both of my parents referred to their respective spouse’s parents as “Mum and Dad”, although technically my paternal Grandma was referred to by all as “Ma”. I always hoped that when I married someone, I would find in-laws that I loved enough to honour them with that title.  And I did. Lucky me.

Barbara: It’s funny the whole parent-in-law stereotype—the one where we don’t get along with each other. I guess it comes from that old saying: “You don’t pick your family.” And maybe you don’t get along because there’s so much “political” stuff in families and maybe it’s because you’re just not a good fit with each other.

I am lucky enough, like you, Deb, to have a mother-in-law that I love (and, too, a father-in-law when he was still alive). But I think we love each other for the same reasons as you: there is a will to work on a good rapport, a genuine mutual respect, and a healthy dose of lovely get-togethers like the one you describe here.

You are an amazing daughter-in-law, Deb. I know your “Mum” appreciates that beyond words. 

Deb and Barb Have A Four-Way (really handsome men might be involved)

Deb and Barb Have a 4-Way With Their Husbands

Colin: When I was approached by Deb and Barb about starting a four-way––and after the original misconception was dealt with––my mind reeled with what I should write about. It is easy to go the “aren’t men and women different” route, or the “why do women always...” tack, or even the “ isn’t that cute, she said whiffy instead of Wi-Fi”, but here’s where I want to go.

Phil, you and I have been extremely lucky with the women that we have pledged our lives to. Women who love and accept us for who we are and have eyes only for us (I’m not counting the time Deb accidentally grabbed your penis, Phil. Have to say, Barb has yet to reciprocate. In fact, she actually slammed her fingers in the car door to stop herself.) (…yup, for full story, click here and scroll down to Barbara's response...)

Here’s the thing: I love being married. Now, being married to Deb probably has a lot to do with it, but still. Since I was a young man, I have always wanted to get married and have a family. You might be surprised to learn that this was not an attractive trait in the dating world in the late 70ʼs early 80ʼs. I kept it suppressed, but it was always there. The only smart thing I did as a young man dating was to follow my instincts in this arena. I trusted that my DNA knew what I wanted. I had been in relationships with women I loved deeply, with women I kinda liked, and with women who apparently had day passes. Yet, no matter the depth of my feeling, I was never close to proposing or even entertaining the thought.

One week with Deb and I knew she was the one. It didn’t hit me like a thunderclap, I didn’t have a Eureka moment, I just knew. Like you know you are breathing. It felt right then and it certainly does now, 22 years later. Marriage was the making of me. I matured. I learned how to pull my weight in a relationship. I learned to cook and to clean (okay, how to “boy” clean. “Girl” clean involves making things sparkle … I mean, come on). I learned about the true meaning of husband and wife. It’s not intense passion every minute of every day, emotional turmoil, suffocating jealousy, wild sex everywhere (though I’m still willing to test that last part). It’s doing the crappy, mundane things in life without question because it helps out your partner or because it just has to be done. It’s sitting together watching So You Think You Can Dance and crying, not just because of the artistry, but also because you understand the passion and dedication needed to make something beautiful. It’s watching a little being you created grow into a person you admire and want to be with because of the right choices you made and in spite of the mistakes. It’s dealing with the tragedies and triumphs of life as a unit, not always saying the right things but always trying. It’s learning about being unselfish, or, at the very least, learning the right time to be selfish.

Sometimes it’s work and sometimes it’s nothing but play. It’s the little moments that surprise you like doing spring cleaning, dirty and sore, glancing at your mate in old clothes, sweating and swearing, and feeling your heart pound so hard you can’t think straight. Marriage never stifled me, or had me feeling trapped, or limited what I could do…. You know, those misconceptions that clueless singles throw out as truths. It freed me.

So thank you, Ms McGrath, for making “I do” the richest, most satisfying sentence I ever uttered. Dinner will be waiting for you when you get home.

Phil: You broke the bro code! Colin, I thought it was implicitly outlined in the code that we must never reveal our true feelings about married life under threat of having our man-cards suspended, or worse, revoked! What have you done, my friend?! What chaos will follow?... An admission that cuddling while watching The Devil Wears Prada for the umpteenth time has its merits? That his and hers mani-pedis are moments to be cherished? That spending hours perfecting a French manicure on your lady is challenging yet strangely enjoyable? That having the place to yourself isn't all that it's cracked up to be if she's not around?

All right, this could get us in deep trouble with the brotherhood, but here goes.

From the earliest age, I always wanted to have a girlfriend. Even before being ruled by raging teenage hormones, I liked the idea of a female in my life for the camaraderie, different insights, and maturity ... my own personal girl if you like. So unlike you, when I met Barbara, I didn't dawdle for a week figuring out that she was the one, I took a well-measured fifteen minutes to decide! Yup, a quarter of an hour is all it took to go from saying, “We should take it slow, keep it casual,” to declaring that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. While quite young at the time, I can assure you that it wasn't related to any kind of "premature" incident that one might succumb to at 18. It was a genuine and deeply committed, damn-the-consequences statement with no taking it back. Good thing she has felt the same way since.

I admit that it took me another 9 years to propose, but it wasn’t due to any sense of apprehension, but rather a belief that we would just progress naturally to marriage with nary a discussion, proposal, or planning; Barb set me straight on that pretty quickly and I stepped up. Luckily she said yes and I am the richer for it.

There are so many qualities I admire about Barbara from her beauty to her amazing empathy for strangers, but it's her knack for making lists that has made me who I am. She's a planner and an organizer and I'm not. She knows how to make lists and stick to an agenda. Her ability to bring things to the forefront and discuss important life issues has given us a beautiful home, two amazing daughters who can speak two languages, swim, dance, paint, ski and play instruments. Without her, my kids would be illiterate, talentless couch potatoes living in an overpriced rental condo.... Actually, without her there would be no kids and all those fine traits would apply to me!

But married life isn't always perfect and we all endure our share of disappointments. Which brings up another point. When Barb met me so long ago in my angst-ridden teens, I was quite the prolific songwriter having penned many tortured ballads about my many failed relationships. She's often asked me over the years for her own song and has been disappointed that none has been written. My answer has always been the same: those songs were unhappy tunes about healing or pleading to save a failed relationship. Since there is nothing broken or in need of healing in our lives the songs are unnecessary and would just ring hollow. Besides, I got the girl this time!

Yup, I like being married to Barb. And waking up everyday and seeing my own personal girl next to me never gets old. 

Okay, that's enough. The damage is done, Colin. The cease and desist orders will be coming shortly asking us to burn our man-cards. But when I see you around the ceremonial bonfire, we'll be in good company with the rest of the happily married real men.

Deb: First of all, I will say after reading both my husband and Phil’s contribution, that we are two lucky women, Barb. But I think the key to our happy marriages lays not only in their love for us or our love for them, but in our mutual love. I know this because I see this in both our marriages all the time. But more than love, I think it is respect that wins the day in a marriage. I will not speak for you, Barb, from this point as you will have your own individual lovely point of view.

But I will speak for Colin and myself and our love.

People often say that it is the little things that break up a marriage and I would tend to agree. But in our case it is the little things that make our marriage soar. I will not sing my own praises here regards our marriage, as this is my love letter to Colin.

My husband does for me. As he spends his day doing all the many things he does, there is never a time where he fails to ask what he can do for me. And I will tell you that he has saved many a stressful day for me in doing so. Besides the fact that he makes me laugh all day long, thus lengthening my already happy life, he constantly reminds me that I am essential, not only in his world, but my own.

Ultimately, it is his love for my Mom and Dad and his Mom and their needs that has made me know what a person of selfless quality he is. He loves my Mom and Dad and cares for them as if he shares their history. And he loves his Mom more and more as he grows older knowing and appreciating the things she has done and sacrificed for him.

That is true love for me. That and his love for the boy.

His love for the boy would take us into an arena that I would not have time for here. As they say ... that’s another story.  

All I know is that whenever he walks in the door, with groceries, with our dogs, home from a trip, or up in the morning, he rises from our bed with my heart in his hand, and I look at him and melt. And he looks at me as if he is seeing me for the first time. To be almost 57 and have your husband look at you like you are 21 and HOT is a feeling that frankly defies description. And the gorgeous part of it is that Cupid’s arrow strikes out of the blue for us, from the bad breath moments to the dressed to the nines. We still get that feeling. Mostly it can happen on any rainy Tuesday morning. And I feel it. With each passing year. More and more and more. God bless him, he loves me, and lordie do I love him.

Annie Lennox has said it for me many a night when I have danced alone in our living room missing him:

Cold is the color of crystal, the snow light

that falls from the heavenly skies.

Catch me and let me dive under

for I want to swim in the pools of your eyes.

I want to be with you

baby oh oh slip me inside of your heart.

And I do. And he does. But the two of us share a feeling and it comes from our mutual favourite film:

You are my lucky star

I saw you from afar

Two lovely eyes at me

They where gleaming

Beaming

I was starstruck

You are my lucky charm

I'm lucky in your arms

You've opened Heaven's portal

Here on earth for this poor mortal

You are my lucky star...

... as I read this to my husband tonight, he came to me and kissed me huge. And I said through piles of tears, “Is it too corny, too much? ... Oh fuck it, I don’t care.”

They say that there is nothing more irresistible than a person who loves you … oh baby.

Barbara: Dear readers, I hope this isn’t all too much for you! I swear, when we asked the guys to 4-way with us, we weren’t expecting THIS!! We thought we’d get something funny, glib, a little cheeky, even subversive. Instead, we’ve been handed a gift so huge, I want to ask every long-term couple to write one letter to each other—just one real love letter.

I get it. Love is the most fraught of our emotions: so easy to fall into, so painful to lose, so beautiful when appreciated, so lonely when unreciprocated, so complicated when you start adding personal disappointments, ambition, needs, illness, ego, ego, EGO!

Here’s the thing surveys on marriages don’t tell you: if you’ve been through the wringer with someone––the good, the bad, the tragic, the ugly, the sublime––and come out of it on the other side, the depth of that love––as each of these stories illustrates so well––is positively epic. It’s not just the chemical connection, the romantic loveliness, the sex (wild or otherwise, Colin), the dinner mate, it’s something deep, relaxed, essential. It takes a loooong, circuitous journey to get to this point. And not everyone is up for it. And not everyone is into it. And certainly both of you have to want it; one can’t want it for both of you.

And after much consideration, I can honestly say that if I had to choose to live with a partner just for the sake of having someone there with whom to weather any and all storms, honestly, I’d rather go it alone. Alone is how I discovered who I really am, is how I found who I was meant to be, is how I learned to grow and bloom and think with clarity. If my partner was just a role-filler living here to get me through tough times or help me raise my kids, then he might as well be a leech sucking up my light and energy.

I’m not with Phil because he props my life up. No. I choose him. I choose him every day. And he chooses me every day. And he knows it, and I know it, and we both love that both of us knows it. Day after day after day.

Phil isn’t just my helpful partner (which he is in spades), he isn’t just my ear, my shoulder, my rock, my love … he lets me be who I need to be. He’s given me room to grow and explore and expand to fill my rightful space. Without all of that, I would certainly be half the woman I am today. With him, am I twice the woman I would otherwise be? Of course not. But I’m eternally grateful that I don’t have to test that theory.

Oh, and his story about telling me within fifteen minutes that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me? I was so smitten, so intoxicated with love, I never heard it. It wasn’t until our teenage daughter bugged him not that long ago for stories of our early relationship that he repeated it out loud. I was floored. Not only was I still waiting for that love song, but those romantic little stories from our past had gone MIA too. He’s not exactly the strong, silent type, but he definitely prefers to show his love for me through gesture, action, and physical affection. And that’s just the way I like it. But, as a lover of words, I’m also taking this blog-post and filing it under: Break Open in Case of Emergency. 

Gestures Of Love

Barbara: It feels like a natural segue for me to leapfrog from Happy Anniversary! to another favourite topic of mine: different expressions of love.

Many years ago, a friend lent me a non-fiction book she thought was really fascinating. I can’t for the life of me remember what the book was called, but I still very much remember the subject matter. It explored the relationship between how we express love to others and how we want love expressed to us. The authors pinpointed some classic expressions of love. If I remember correctly, they were: offering a helping hand or acts of kindness, giving gifts or love-tokens, uttering words of love and encouragement, and (apparently favourite expression for the average male) sex.

My friend, Charlotte––as well as being very loving with words and encouragement––is queen of the gifts or tokens. Something I’ve never been very good at myself. It doesn’t matter how small the event, Charlotte will find some sweet gift to acknowledge it. You had a good meeting with a producer? She’ll leave a card in the mailbox, patting you on the back. You feel a bit under-the-weather? A bouquet of flowers will land on the doorstep. In all our years of friendship, I don’t think I’ve ever even thought of making these kinds of gestures (beyond the obvious birthdays and hospital stays), although I am repeatedly touched and amazed that she does. Deb, while great with gifts too, is the fiercest encourager of anything you do, might do, think about doing, or have done (as you can see by her many welcome pats on the back here). My husband … well, you can just guess which gift he keeps on giving.

We know them all, right? The person who cooks a freezer-full of food when someone is in need; the strong silent type who putters around the house doing chores; the cheerleader who supports everything people do; the kisser and nuzzler; the leaver of little treasures on the bedside table and little notes of endearment in lunch boxes. What complicates the premise––according to the book––is that most of us offer our love in the exact way we most want to receive it, but often our love-gestures––surprise, surprise––don’t necessarily match up with our beloved’s ideals of love.

In all the years since I read this book, I still find myself thinking about this core idea. Is it true? Do we express outwardly what we most desire ourselves? Do we know the essence of love so well (the feeling of it, the missing it when it’s not there), but then not understand what actually makes it tick? Because it ticks on a slightly different metronome for each of us? And, maybe most importantly, do we sometimes not know it’s love because it’s offered up in a way we don’t “recognize”? I mean, let’s say someone’s ideal expression of love is sex, and this person and his beloved are in a tough situation, and this someone reaches out for sex to express love and be comforted by love, but his partner wants words, needs to talk it through, is repelled and offended by the thought of sex at this of all times, wonders how he can be so selfish right now, and he is left reeling, wondering how words can possibly ever soothe this pain or bring the two of them closer together. And they both find themselves hurt and disoriented because they each want to express love and, sadly, feel rejected by their lover’s gesture because … they don’t recognize it for what it is. I mean, does this sound familiar? Truth be told, it does to me … uh, I mean, to my friend * whistles nonchalantly *.

Anyway, I’ve thought about my own love expressions-slash-needs and, while I can see myself in the wordsmith and the cheerleader, these gestures don’t necessarily capture my personal idyll. I’ve actually come to realize that the love-gift that I offer most wholeheartedly, most lovingly and however imperfectly, is my gift of listening. When I realized this, I had to consider the idea for a while and ponder how it reflected back to me as a need. And then it hit me: it’s because it’s so important to me to be heard.

That, my friends, was a moment of truth. What’s yours?

Deb: And today I will call upon my dear Barb to give me the gift of not expecting me to respond in a coherent way to this. I love this post and I have so much to say in the face of it. But I have been suffering a migraine since noon and it is not giving way to words, I am afraid. So I will take a win on the fact that I could read this and comprehend this and be motivated to express myself around it. But given the givens, I will ask for Barb’s gift. Let me leave it at this. Inspired but unable to express. I am a bee-stung head looking for relief.

Barbara: I hear you, Deb!! Poor thing. (Maybe you can weigh in on the comments-section when you feel better.) In light of Deb’s migraine, I’d still love to hear your thoughts.

Happy Anniversary!

Deb: As I am writing this today, Friday, September 10th, Barbara and her husband, Phil, are celebrating their 22nd wedding anniversary. So I thought this might be a good time to give props to that oft-maligned institution––marriage.

Having witnessed Barb and Phil’s marriage up close, I can tell you this. They are very much in love. And love is grand as we all know. They love one another and they are in love, which is a necessary combination if a good marriage is going to age well with time.

But, as experts and marrieds alike will tell you, love is not enough. Not nearly enough. Marriage––and I don’t think anyone who has been married or divorced will find this shocking––is hard work. It takes teamwork, which requires a solid, loving, respectful, silly, giving, and attentive team.

Barb and Phil are just such a team. Their marriage works because they function as a team in every way. Yes, they also thrive as individuals with varied interests but always as cheerleaders for the other’s pursuits. I have seen them celebrate––champagne corks to the rafters––when they are winning, and I’ve seen them rally with support and understanding when they are in a slump.

This bride and groom understood from the very beginning the value of romance. I do not claim to be privy to this firsthand of course, but if you refer back to the last blog-post, you will see just who discovered the lump in the breast. But canoodling aside, they date. Often.

Heaven knows, you can never recreate that first kiss that poets wax on about. But you can find in that millionth kiss an unexpected thrill. A thrill that combines sexual chemistry long since honed with the easy touch of security and stability. It is the kiss that replaces longing with satisfaction and hope with gratitude, and it cannot be underestimated.

I understand this because I am happy to say that I have just such a marriage.

But this post is about Barbara and Phil’s 22-year marriage. May they continue to grow in love until they look into each other’s ancient eyes, still a team for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

Happy Anniversary!

Barbara: Thank you, Deb! This is as beautiful an anniversary card as I’ve ever received. And I’m so glad you wrote about this because I do think successful long-term relationships bear celebrating––and also examining.

Not only have Phil and I been married for 22 years, but we’ve been together since I was 16 and he 18, making a grand total of 31 years. Deb and Colin might not have been together as long, but they’ve been married as long. So between us, we have some ideas on how and why a strong relationship works.

To echo Deb’s beautiful and heartfelt words, I definitely think the most important element by far is a sense of partnership. For which you obviously need two equally committed partners. If you think Phil and I or Deb and Colin have sailed on Aladdin’s magic carpet into the sunset for all these years, hate to break the movie ending, but there is no “happily ever after” in the real world. There is, as Deb reminded, hard work as you face your own demons, your partner’s demons, your children’s, relatives’, and close friends’ demons, never mind those of the world itself.

I think there’s also a part of us that expects our partners to follow some kind of life-script that we have in our heads, and when they don’t say their lines as they should, or if they play another scene entirely, we stumble around disoriented instead of improvising until we’re back on track. Or, conversely, one partner is fully committed to taking on any and all challenges only to find themselves the solitary cheerleader while their significant other stumbles around, not hearing (or caring enough to notice) that some lovable one is urging them back from the edge.

From the outside, I have seen Colin and Deb adapt and join forces at every major roadblock. From the inside, I can say Phil and I have done the same. Are we lucky? I think we certainly share the same amount of obstacles and heart-rending torments as any other couple. But we have also found ourselves––luckily––in relationships where the choice to adapt together is equally important to both partners.

And I think to make a partnership truly successful, you need to SPEAK TRULY and TRULY LISTEN.

I think you need to find a fruitful life outside your relationship, outside your home, and build your own happiness, then offer it up to your mate as the delicacy it is. And when offered a glimpse of your partner’s happiness, you should always celebrate it and never grimace, no matter how not to your taste it might be (um, provided it’s lawful and all).

I think you need to commit to waking up each day and looking at your beloved and realizing you do still love this person, would rather be snuggling with him or her than any other, and therefore will forgive transgressions, accept foibles, overlook annoyances, see beauty, celebrate strengths, and decide irrefutably: today, I choose again to choose you.

Happy anniversary, my love. As you well know, my choice is clear.

In Sickness Or in Health

Barbara: After some 30-odd years under my belt with the same man (see About Us. I know, I know, we’re an enigma, an anomaly, but it somehow works … even when we want to kill each other), I’m still shocked at the clichés we manifest on a daily basis. He’s the car guy, home-fixer, disciplinarian; I’m the closet-cleaner, appointment-maker, nurturer. 

I mean, we’re a thoroughly modern couple—always have been. We share the household and parental duties equally. But I’m so the girl and he’s so the boy. I defer to his money sense and he defers to my sense of fashion. He wants my opinion on everything and I want to give it to him. He likes to tell jokes and I like to laugh at them. He likes a good steak and I’m partial to poultry (but only if it’s organic free-range). 

So why is it that I am always surprised when he gets sick … and suddenly becomes a feeble patient on his deathbed barely able to utter his last words (which are plaintive mewlings begging for tender mercy and comfort)?? My Tarzan/Jane fantasy image is one of him pounding his chest in the face of the Common Cold, brazenly daring it to defeat him while he goes about his business. But the reality always reflects one of the most common clichés in the male/female dynamic—he is the dying swan and I am (read: should be) his besotted nursemaid. Oh well—I guess that’s the difference between fantasy and cliché! 


Deb: Unlike Barb, my relationship is hard to define because actually over the last year or so it has evolved yet again. Mostly my husband takes care of money, but I have recently stepped up in that arena. I am the spender; he is the saver. We share the household duties, but according to my friends, MY husband is a saint for one simple reason ... he cooks ... ALL the meals. Wonderful meals, thoughtful meals, nutritious meals. At one point when our son was in grade three, he had to write a paragraph on what his parents did at home and he said, “My Dad buys the groceries and cooks the dinner and my Mom lights the candles and pours the wine”. Out of the mouths of babes. 

While that observation contains truth, I always get defensive because it is tough to define what I do around the house. I do the stuff that goes unnoticed, unappreciated––yes, my husband cleans up, but it is “boy clean” … and I am “girl clean”. I do the ironing and my share of the laundry and I (deep breath here) pick up dirty clothes from the floor, wipe down counters and cupboards again and again, fluff pillows, tidy rooms, water and care for plants, book and oversee all appointments, medical and home repair, organize all social events (do I sound defensive yet?), tidy constantly, shut open closet doors, turn out lights, turn out lights again, control house temperature, fireplaces (man, do I sound defensive), tend garden, plant garden, decorate, polish, and scrub. 

In effect, I do all the things that don’t elicit thanks or verbal appreciation. We don’t thank someone for picking up dirty underwear because they just disappear into the hamper. We don’t thank someone for cleaning a kitchen. It just appears as if by magic. Clean. But when a meal is prepared, we are all over it with the thanks! My man can walk by something 50 times that needs to be put away. I don’t think he ignores it as much as truly doesn’t see it! But me? I’m with the “girl clean” radar! Beep beep beep: dirty underwear ... beep beep beep: wilting plant ... beep beep beep: crumbs on coffee table.... 

Wow, did I digress! This is supposed to be about whiney men with colds, isn’t it? Umm, okay, I guess the reason I ranted on in the other direction is because when it comes to my whiney Cold Man, I stand rant-less. My man is stoic, a rock, a beacon of the “buck up”. Never complains. Right this minute, he has a raging cold and is limping off to the grocery store to get dinner groceries. Why limping, you ask? Well, because he is in agonizing pain in the face of knee surgery that he will have in a few weeks. Yet as he went out the door the last thing he said to me (smiling pleasantly, damn him) was, “Can I pick you up anything for your lunch?” I watched him go off, gently closing the closet door he left opened, and thought, “Light the damn candles and count your blessings, you whiney cow”. 

Barbara: Okay, I will avow that Deb’s husband has many saintly qualities, but after having worked with Deb for 5 years, I can also avow that she never stops futzing—EVER! It’s quite amazing, actually. I just sip my tea and marvel at her. 

Anyway, we found this great video we had to share with you—it is hysterical!––and exactly Barbara’s life in a comedic nutshell. 

Best Friends

Barbara: As this is a blog featuring two friends, I feel compelled to examine female friendship for a moment—and might as well start with the divine Ms. M, my blogger buddy.

Can I just say she is everything a girlfriend should be and I love her for it. Thanks to Deb and my other best friend, Charlotte, I have discovered the joys of what it’s like to have a truly great girlfriend, which as it turns out is someone who listens to you, supports you, celebrates you, and believes in you one hundred percent WHEN THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE TO (ie: like your parents or husband).

And they actually and truly MEAN IT (you can always tell when someone is faking their support, right? It’s that artificially high pitch in their voice. Or maybe they never inquire about your life at all…). The thing is, though, the presence of these super gal-pals in my life has also made me realize just how ignorant I used to be when it came to friendship with women.

I grew up very independent and self-sufficient (just ask my mom), and while I had female friends, I always kind of (and for this, of course, I blame myself) held them at arms’ length while I focused on my personal pursuits and romantic love. I never shared deep secrets with my girlfriends, never sought them out in times of trouble, and always tried to be the “strong one” when things were difficult.

As I got older and had kids and struggled with my own aspirations, I felt myself become fundamentally lonelier and lonelier despite having a loving husband and daughters. With no real girlfriends around with whom to commiserate, I had painted myself into an emotional corner. And I had let it happen for all the usual reasons: the women in my life had become on the one hand more like “progeny” I felt compelled to mother (who, in my mind, couldn’t possibly bear the weight of my own disappointments), or on the other hand, turned out to be the kind of women who “shocked me with their selfish behaviour”, or were “bitches” or “whiners”, or worse, threatened my world.

It took me to hit rock-bottom before I realized I had left myself without that precious life-preserver: a true girlfriend. That’s when I made the conscious decision to pull up my boot-straps––at the ripe old age of 37––and begin to unabashedly troll for a best friend, coyly “interviewing” potential (and unwitting) candidates. Yes, I even joined a coffee klatch! I knew I’d know her when I saw her, and I certainly wasn’t going to settle—and this time, I was going to invest: time, energy, unconditional love, reciprocal support, and no-holds-barred honesty. Well, my efforts paid off with not one but two of the best friends a woman could ask for.

Thank you, Deb and Charlotte. Thanks for raising the bar and revealing the magic.

I still encounter many women of the “other” ilk, but no matter, you have both opened my eyes to the many rewards of non-judgmental companionship and girly fun. And, as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve also brought with you an even wider circle of satisfying friendships as well as helping me become a better friend to the fascinating women already in my life. Through you, I have also learned to bring my “best friend” skills (listening and sharing) to my dear and wonderful sisters.

Now that I know what I was missing, I ask myself: how could I have gone so long without this???!