Tag: marriage

New Year; New Tradition?

On By JenniferOzgurIn Love, Relationships, UncategorizedLeave a comment

I woke up with this idea for my New Year’s Day post…

My grandparents are 89 and 97.  After than many years on Earth, you amass a lot of great stories.  One of my favorites is what I like to call “The Bean Bowl.”

archaeology.JPGMy grandparents are pretty amazing people.  Grandpop was an organic research chemist and Grammy met him when she was a lab assistant.  They both got into archeology and amassed quite a collection.  As a result, their basement was practically a museum.  Seriously.  When they went into a nursing home a few years ago, they donated about 80% of their collection to the Pennsylvania state museum in Harrisburg.

Among the arrowheads, pottery and other artifacts was this one glass fishbowl.  It contained about two inches’ worth of pink spotted beans in the bottom.  When I was a kid, I asked him what it was all about.  “I’ll tell you when you are older,” he said.

Once I had made him a great-grandfather, I asked him again about the bowl of beans.  I guess he figured I could handle the story he was about to tell:

When I married your grandmother, a bunch of my scientist buddies at the lab had a bachelor party for me.  Towards the end of the night, they gave me a present.  When I opened it up, it was this fish bowl and a bag of dried beans.

They explained to me that I should put it on my night stand and after your grandmother and I got married, I was to put a bean in the bowl every time we had marital ‘relations’ until the end of our honeymoon phase (two years).

For the rest of our marriage, I was to then take a bean OUT of the bowl for the same reason.

My colleagues warned me that for the rest of my life, I would never be able to empty the bowl… And that’s how they prepared me for matrimony!

We both laughed.

I then went to my grandmother and asked her if she knew the significance of the Bean Bowl.  She shook her head.  I asked my grandpop if I could tell her and he said okay.  I retold the story (mainly to make sure I got it right) and at the punch line, she just laughed and pinched him on the arm.

It’s one of the more special memories I have with them.  Partly because it was just the three of us, partly because it’s such a clever gift and partly because it was a rite of passage that I could be in that circle.

Why am I telling “The Bean Bowl” story on New Year’s Day?  Because as off-color as the anecdote may be, it’s really about keeping tabs on a situation- a physical representation of the status of things.

Kidney Beans, Beans, Dry, Legumes, Pulses, Bowl

 

So I’m thinking of stealing the Bean Bowl and adapting it to our family.  We can put a bean into the bowl for every good thing our children do- chores; being sweet to each other; helping others.  And we’d take a bean out for the infractions- forgetting to do homework; stretching the truth; a messy room…

I’m inviting you to make the Bean Bowl a part of your 153Promise in your household.  It can serve as a light-hearted reminder to make good choices as a family.  You might even put a line on the side as a goal and a reward is enjoyed by all once your family gets enough beans.

It’s certainly more versatile than a swear jar, and it’s a lot easier to keep track of than a fancy chart.  Plus, there’s the added benefit of it being one communal bowl.

And imagine the look on their faces when you explain to them the origin of “The Bean Bowl” when they are old enough.

Just remember that the originators are Benny and Doris.

-Kisses!  XxXx

Congratulations, All New Fiances… Now What???

On By JenniferOzgurIn Love, RelationshipsLeave a comment

A colleague of mine came into school yesterday with some new bling.  She and her boyfriend have been dating for seven years and they’ve been discussing marriage; even to the point of looking at houses.  So she knew “The Day” was coming… just not when.

As it turns out, he was being stealthy, planning something before the holidays.  Nice.  She was truly surprised and she showed me the great photos- complete with rose petals and the backdrop of Central Park.

I told her that she would be the inspiration for my post today, since I figure that a lot of proposals would be happening this holiday week.

I know it’s tempting to rush out and get wedding planning books, bride magazines, and begin calling around to find just the right venue.  However, I am going to strongly suggest the FIRST item you buy is this great book:

Cover art

There’s also a workbook that comes along with it you can buy.  It’s well written — intelligent but digestible — and if you like his stuff, he’s got many more books about marriage, parenting, and emotional intelligence.

Because while the trappings of a wedding can be very seductive, once all the cake has been eaten and people finally take your “Save the Date” postcard magnet off the fridge, you’re left with this person you married.

The topic of how to raise children may not be the first thing couples talk about when deciding whether or not to tie the knot, but it’s important to keep in mind why your are making this commitment… presumably to have a family and create a stable environment for your children.

So to all those people who’ve popped or been popped to… Congratulations!

Now make the 153Promise to each other and your future family by digging a solid foundation to the life you are seeking to build.

 

It’s Never Too Late! Part One

On By JenniferOzgurIn Health, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized, Validation1 Comment

This is the companion post to “It’s Never Too Early.”

Yesterday, I had posted about making the commitment to love your child even before your child is born; you can begin to prepare to start the journey of “One Million Kisses” way before the birth of your child.  But what if that ship has said long ago and you already have a child- be it a toddler, teen or adult?  Today, I am focusing on how to start the “Kissing Kounter” TODAY and make the 153Promise to that person before you go to sleep tonight!

I’m not planning to use this site as a space to vent about my own personal issues, but this is a time where I think it’s important to use my life as an example: I grew up in dysfunction.  Granted, it wasn’t all bad- we had food and shelter.  We went to church on Sunday and out for dinner after.  My parents gave me music lessons and went to all of my concerts.  But I was not thriving.  I was not getting the kind of love I needed.  (I posted what my definition of love a few days ago… scroll down if you need.)

Here’s my childhood in a nutshell-

Mom and Dad constantly fought.  My dad was very demonstrative, and my mother was extremely submissive.  I’d witness him saying horrible things to her to the point where she’d cry.  When you are a little girl, your mother is your world.  You are an extension of her.  So if SHE’s crying, it’s like the universe is ending.

Once I got older, I became part of his wrath.  He’d work at his job (he never really told me what he did there), come home and go on a war path.  I remember hearing the gravel on the driveway pop underneath his tires and my mother saying to me, “Quick- your father’s home,” which basically meant “Don’t give your father a reason to yell.”  This meant scrambling to clean up the house in 30 seconds before he came though the door.  I have memories of my hair being yanked right out of my scalp as he led me around the house, rubbing my head in any items that were not put away.  Like a dog.  One image remains burned in my mind.  It was a wash cloth at the bottom of the shower.  I hadn’t wringed it up to dry.  I don’t know which was worse: my father bellowing my name as he shamed me, or my mother’s judgment when she said, “You think you’d learn by now.”

There’s many more instances I could site, but I think that’s enough to give you an idea of our home climate… And then I’d go to school…

Let’s just say that I was not one of the cool kids.  While my dad called me a jerk and a candy @$$ at home, my peers would bastardize my name so it had an unfortunate crude word in it.  My dad never bought me the cool clothes (a necessity in the yuppie 80s) and my mother used to cut my hair on the steps in the basement.  (Note to self- insert pictures of my awkward class pictures here.)  As a result of all of these social epic fails, I was at the bottom of the popularity food chain.  I was called “Freak.”  In fact, the greatest regret I have at that time period was the ONE time on the bus I was not the subject of teasing, I joined in on it.  So to the blonde-haired boy on the bus with me going to Fogelsville Elementary School in Orefield PA, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.

My self esteem was on the floor.  All of this led to me being withdrawn.  It was a good day when I didn’t get noticed.  As a result, my grades began to suffer, despite me being in the “gifted/high potential” classes.  I was at the bottom of the top intellectually… It was a very weird experience.  I find myself wanting to chronicle all my pain, but I have to remember where all of this is going…

Cut to my senior year, right around this time- a few weeks before Christmas.  I had applied to college with no hopes of getting in.  (My father was a master at instilling fear.)  My 8 year old brother was also in the process of being diagnosed with leukemia- something I didn’t fully comprehend at the time.  At a result, I had a meltdown.  I had what can possibly be described as a temporary psychotic break.  I like to call it my “Freak of the Week.”  All my pent up anxiety came loose at once.  It’ll make for a great post one day!

A few months later, I was so depressed, I really didn’t care about living anymore.  I was in so much pain and I was so frustrated with my failed relationship with my parents, I just wanted to make some sort of statement to them.  I was angry, but I couldn’t possibly say anything because I had no voice at this point, so it had to be drastic.  I thought the best idea would be to kill myself so my suffering would be over, yet in a grand, poetic, ironic twist, their suffering would just begin.  My dad was a hunter, so he had guns.  I knew a shotgun would be clunky, so I went for the hand gun.  But before I actually went to do it, call it the Grace of God or just morbid curiosity, I went to the bathroom mirror just to see what my final moment of life would look like.

I realized that I looked REALLY stupid.  And then I realized that if I died, THEY would win.  I’d be dead, and they would survive.  So I made the decision that day to never give up on myself, even when the world certainly seemed to have given up on me.

Why am I telling you this?  Because despite ALL of that — plus more dramatic, dysfunctional crap I’ve had to deal with in my life — I have made peace with my father and we are okay.  We may not be super close, but we’re cool with each other.  Why?  Because it’s never too late.

*Next Post: How to start Day One of the 153Promise.