The Anatomy of a Same Sex Family

We live in a four bedroom house with a wrought iron fence and a small green lawn. We have a pool and a deck with a gazebo in our back yard, where our beagle plays with our two kids. There is a shiny convertible Ford Mustang parked in the driveway and right behind that is a hardworking Dodge pickup truck. Our house looks like a typical suburban home.

My children get good grades at their Christian School. They’re happy, intelligent, and responsible. At the end of their long day being typical teenaged girls, our children care about the community, their friends, their pets and their family. For the last ten years, the four of us agree that our favorite time of the week is Sunday mornings. My bed is our church. We pile in and snuggle and laugh and catch up on our week; the twelve year old, the thirteen year old and the moms.

We met in 1989, while we were in the eighth grade. Neither one of us can remember exactly how we became friends. We were from two completely different sides of the tracks. I was a loud mouthed bruiser. My mom was an addict who had me when she was fifteen and I’d never met my father. We were always on welfare and never had food in the fridge. Her parents were older and still married and their family lived in a big house. They ate dinner around the table every evening. In spite of all that, we were drawn together with an unexplainable strength.

We didn’t always have romantic feelings for each other, although at a very young age, we were committed to taking care of each other. I offered her protection from bullies. Once we were friends, whoever picked on her got their asses kicked. Every day that she packed her lunch, she’d make sure that there was enough for both of us. Sometimes, the lunch that she’d pack for me would be the only thing I’d eat that day.

Taking advantage of my mother’s addictions, I was very promiscuous and by the time I was fifteen, I had slept with over twenty guys. I straightened up as I got older and ended up getting married and having a daughter. She was a virgin until she was eighteen, but had countless crushes on guys at school. She’s never been married, but was in a serious relationship with a man that yielded a daughter. Neither one of us had ever been interested in girls at all, especially not each other.

Our romantic disinterest changed dramatically on Cinco de Mayo in 1998. We had gone to a party at a local Mexican food restaurant and had been drinking. We were out on the restaurant’s patio enjoying the live mariachi music and the gorgeous weather of the evening. There was only enough room for people to stand and we were all standing very close. She and I were face to face, eye to eye, and when she laughed I felt her breath on my cheek. For a split second, I thought “I could totally kiss her right now”.

While there are too many good times over the last eleven years to logically expand upon in this forum, they did take place. If there is one thing the pair of us would like people to know about our relationship, it would be that we transcend the nametags placed on people based on who they have sex with. Our relationship goes past “straight” or “lesbian”. It is true and deep and loving on a spiritual level. Of all the things I love about my partner, the fact that she is female ranks lowest on the list.

Our family is stronger and more “normal” than many traditional families. We face many of the same challenges that any family with teen girls might face. Our girls are boy crazy and don’t understand why they can’t date until they’re sixteen. They like going to the mall and having sleepovers. Some challenges are unique to our situation. There is an element of privacy that verges on secrecy with regards to explaining to teachers why the four of us have lived together for so long. That conversation will likely get a little stickier over time, because it looks like none of us have any plans on changing our perfect little family.

First Impressions: Meeting the In-Laws

The first belief that an individual makes, we’re told, forms in the twinkling of an eye, and it requires nothing short of an herculean effort to change that perception when it’s set. We have all been there. As we are leaving, we nonchalantly reach for the doorknob and gracefully open the door with a flourish, our eyes fixed on the person whom we want to impress. We wink as we casually but confidently saunter through the door, only to find ourselves in the hall cupboard.

There are dozens or maybe hundreds of times in all our lives when the first impression that we make on someone is a significant one. I can think of many examples from my life, right off the bat. The first day of school every year was a time when I’d attempt to set the tone so that the teacher would know I was none of those trouble makers. The initial impressions of potential hiring managers and police officers who pulled me over for speeding (incidentally, I was just given warnings both times, so the initial impressions must have been positive) have been important as well. Naturally, another first impression that could have a significant effect is the assembly of one’s future spouse.

One clear first impression not mentioned yet is that the belief that an individual makes on his future in-laws.

For reasons of privacy I won’t use my wife’s maiden name here, but let us suppose it’s Barnum, and let us call my wife Marie.

I was dating Marie for many months and I totally knew that she had been the one for me; Marie, likewise, knew that I was her knight in shining armor.

Ever since Marie was a young child, her family would spend their summers vacationing near South Haven, Michigan, in a cabin that her grandparents had bought back from the 1940’s. The cottage was located on a hill overlooking a scenic lake, and it was a favourite place to fish, swim, and escape from the summer heat of Chicago, where many of Marie’s relatives lived.

Marie’s mother had several sisters, each with kids, so Marie had a very long list of aunts, uncles, and cousins who also came around Michigan every summer. She would tell me stories about her sisters and brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, but of course not having met them, I could not readily remember all those names.

It came to pass that the summer of 1985 came, and with it Marie was planning her yearly trek to Michigan to spend some time with her loved ones. She was going to spend two weeks in the cabin, and she encouraged me to join her during the middle weekend of her stay.

I was excited about meeting her loved ones and in demonstrating my worthiness at maybe getting Marie’s husband. I’d already met Marie’s father and I really liked him, and I was excited to satisfy up with the rest of her immediate family.

The fateful day arrived. I had made the long drive and arrived in the cabin just after lunchtime.

As we reached the door of the cabin, a woman walked out.

“That is Abigail MacPhee,” said Marie.

In that split second before anyone said anything, I was attempting to ascertain if I was being appraised and/or if they had been waiting for me to say something witty, but that split second passed and my time was up — one chance gone.

Marie immediately went round the room, telling me their names. There was an older man whose name appeared like Fyodor Drodgekey, after which I met Mrs. Drodgekey. I couldn’t recall Marie’s mum’s maiden name, but I did not believe it was Drodgekey.

I did recall that both Marie’s mother’s family and Marie’s dad’s family used to vacation on this lake — which was how her parents met — so the idea occurred to me that perhaps Drodgekey was the maiden name of Marie’s father’s mother. I didn’t understand.

I met many other people — Albert Thistlewhite, Greta Morocco, Celia Applebomb, and a couple of other people, and I smiled and said a quick hello to everyone before being hauled back out by Marie.

“Let us go down to the lake,” suggested Marie. “There are more people to fulfill.”

We walked back up the mountain and Marie suggested I get my swimsuit on so we can go swimming. I did.

Now, gentle reader, now in the narrative you might be expecting how the events of the day unfolded. I, however, was totally oblivious to it all.

Still, I was perplexed. My mind was swimming with names I’d never before heard — none of those names seemed like the names of cousins and aunts and uncles that Marie had said to me during our relationship, and I had this sort of restless feeling in my gut. “Marie,” I inquired, “When am I going to fulfill your loved ones?”

“Oh I know I have met all of your cousins and aunts and uncles, but how about your mother and your sisters and brothers?”

I suddenly felt myself turning beat red.

And we have given you a title — Oswald Skedelsky.”

“I … met … your mother?” I asked.

I asked.

I was getting angry. I had wanted to create a great impression, and I had been so focused on fulfilling Marie’s immediate family that I just kind of said, “Howdy,” to all of the aunts and uncles and cousins with these odd names … and then it was that her mother and sisters were included in the mix!

“I am not going to guess,” I said. I was not quite pouting, but I sure was not in a fantastic mood.

“Abigail MacPhee is my mother.”

My mind raced back … Abigail was the first person I met upon arriving at the cabin.

I felt ashamed … I was humiliated and my pride was hurt. Marie made a remark about not having seen me be angry or upset before.

“I’m not mad,” I insisted.

“I’m NOT mad,” I repeated.

It did take me a while to get it over, I guess, or perhaps I never really quite got over it. I don’t understand. The thing I heard was it is irrelevant whether it’s the third cousin twice removed or the mother-in-law, we should always attempt to earn an excellent first impression.

Why create a fantastic first impression? We should not do it just because we want to be popular. That is the wrong motive.

Anyway, I did wind up marrying Marie and inheriting a amazing set of in-laws. Marie’s family has been great to me, and we are coming up on twenty-two decades of marriage.

Let us return to Michigan and complete this story.

For the remainder of the weekend, I had been trying my best to rectify any of the less than stellar first impressions I might have set. However …
There are times in a person’s life when he walks into a roomful of people and is thrilled to find all heads turn, all eyes look upward, and all ears attentive to what he’s going to say. There are other times, however, when he walks into a roomful of people, preferring to remain undetected and wishing for dear life that he could be invisible at the very moment.

The following day I had the chance to shout another word that people do not typically consider saying in this modern day and age, but if you thought about needing to say it you’d shudder. “Hey, I am stuck at the outhouse. Can somebody help me open the door?”

Reasons Why Some Married Women Become Unfaithful

When you are not in their shoes, you’d condemn married women having affairs and even leave your harsh judgment upon their indiscretion. But are you able to do so? They need to have reasons, whether valid or invalid, that had made them commit adultery.

The following could be reasons for all these affairs:

They wanted to take revenge for the infidelity of the husbands.

This is usually the most common reason why women become unfaithful. When their husbands betray their vows of marriage, they feel intense pain and sorrow. There’s a strong urge for revenge. They would like to get back in their spouses in the expectation of damaging them as they’ve been hurt. But of course this wouldn’t be the case.

The girls succumbing to adultery will cause a larger rift between associations and most frequently, an irreparable damage results to divorce.
They discover that the partnership is no more within their married life.

Both spouses should discuss when decisions should be made, especially important decisions. When a woman is left outside and feels she no longer things to the connection, she’ll seek that feeling of significance someplace else. She’s vulnerable to temptations from the opposite sex.
Asking the opinion of a spouse demonstrates respect for another.

Although they’re consulted with choices to be made, oftentimes they’re never given considerable attention. Husbands don’t notice anymore what their wives do.
The women’s flaws are highlighted, rather than the positive traits.

Romance no longer exists in the union.

There are no more sweet, precious minutes to cuddle and make love. They don’t want only physical closeness but also psychological and spiritual proximity. The majority of women want romance rather than sex alone.

When guys neglect this part of their unions, then girls are vulnerable to temptations. They might not have plans ahead but it might happen accidentally with other guys. They, at first, just wanted a sympathetic ear but before they know it, the connection has become a full blown affair due to their vulnerability.

This is common in marriages where true love doesn’t exist between husbands and wives.

Physical abuse.

Most often women turn to other men for security when their husbands are physically and verbally abusive. This will often lead to adultery because women find their protectors their personalities and before they know it, they’ve turned as their lovers also.

These are a few reason why married women have affairs. We shouldn’t render judgment since it’s a case to case basis wherein people do certain things for specific reasons which we aren’t conscious of.

Married women; however, must keep in mind that marriage is intended to last forever; and that marriage vows – “To love and to cherish, until death do us part” – ought to be considered sacred and a lasting bond for wives and husbands. Love ought to be nurtured like a plant for marriages to last; a little rain, some sunshine and a great deal of tender care will most surely prevent married girls from having affairs.

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