Nick Jonas: Deal With Your S#!t

I've had a bit of insomnia lately and spent hours not-sleeping in bed thinking about random things. Last night, I spent some time on Nick Jonas. His new song has been bothering me for awhile now. 

I don’t like the way he’s looking at you. I’m starting to think you want him, too. Am I crazy, have I lost ya? Even though I know you love me, can’t help it. I turn my chin music up and I’m puffing my chest. I’m getting red in the face, you can call me obsessed. It’s not your fault that they hover, I mean no disrespect. It’s my right to be hellish, I still get jealous. 'Cause you’re too sexy, beautiful, and everybody wants a taste. That’s why (that’s why) I still get jealous. I wish you didn’t have to post it all, I wish you’d save a little bit just for me. Protective or possessive, yeah, call it passive or aggressive.

This disturbs me on so many levels. I recommend Nick's girlfriend take this quiz. I admit my revulsion of this song strikes a personal chord. Recently, I was looking up signs of an abusive relationship for something work-related. I found a quiz (not that one, but similar): "Are you in an abusive relationship?" and realized I could have answered "yes" to over half the questions if I thought about my first marriage. 

I was never hit or even threatened with physical abuse. He didn't break things or throw things. He never forced me to have sex. I didn't cover up bruises or wonder where I could safely sleep. My ex-husband was smart, funny, talented and extremely jealous. I never did figure out why, but I thought at some point my love and commitment would be proof enough. I mean, we were married - that had to mean something, right? 

Nope. I couldn't talk about any men I worked with - married, gay or otherwise. He made comments on clothes I wore - too low cut, too short, what did I want people to think? He sulked when I spent any time away from him, even the movies with my mom. We didn't discuss any movie stars we thought were attractive - like there was any possibility that Ryan Gosling and I were going to hook up. There were friendships I let fizzle out because "asking" to go out with them didn't seem worth the repercussions. I remember going to a protest march with my father and a co-worker of my dad's. My phone ran out of batteries and I spent the remainder of the day knowing I'd have to deal with a cold-shouldered, brooding husband when I got home. Explaining how it didn't even occur to me to be interested in my dad's co-worker. I was marching with my dad! Choosing my words. Not making too much noise. Being extra nice. 

Looking back, I don't even recognize that person. When I've talked to Jared about it, he says, "I can't picture that. I feel like if I tried to tell you what to wear, not that I would of course (nervous giggle), you'd laugh or give me a death glare." I knew I didn't like the jealousy. I knew it was a shadow over me, but I never considered it abusive. It didn't occur to me the power that was being wielded. In fact, it wasn't until I read that quiz the intensity sunk in. 

Getting back to Nick Jonas, I work with 7th and 8th grade girls in my Girls' Coalition Group at work. I can picture them listening to his song. Bobbing their heads and thinking how it would feel to have a boyfriend getting all worked up over you. How pretty he must think you are to be so jealous. How much other guys would want to be with you, too, if one guy felt that way. And I would try to talk with them about how jealousy can be normal, but chest-puffing, red-in-the-face, obsessed, hellish, possessiveness is not. It is debilitating to the person and the partner. No matter how much laughing and enjoying music together and painting side-by-side and dancing in subways and traveling through Europe happens, it becomes the thing you see. It becomes the eggshells you walk on. 

My answer is, Nick Jonas, you can help it.  Deal with your own shit. Do not subject a person you care about to the full weight and responsibility of your low self-esteem. Don't blame her for your mental imbalance. Don't date someone because of their looks and then say she's "too sexy." Don't act like she's an ice cream flavor "everybody wants a taste" of. That's gross and objectifying. And the answer to your third line is yes, you are crazy and yes, you should lose her. Except she's probably grown up listening to crappy songs like yours so she might think it's okay. 

So Music Industry, quit releasing songs underplaying abusive relationships. Especially not as pop songs that make jealousy sound perky and rhythmic. You let Maroon 5 get away with Animal, an anthem to creepster stalking (there is hanging meat and blood in the video!!) and Chris Brown continue to be a star. What the hell? You say it's because the records sell. Well, if you offered something else - something with standards, something that promoted healthy relationships and positive body image - that would sell, too. Because you are media machine and you're already determining trends. Use your Spider Man values on that great power. 

In closing, Nick Jonas, you sir, are no Marky Mark. 

(I'm sure you're hoping my insomnia goes away soon.)

Living with Strangers

I can't believe I haven't blogged since October! I wrote the one about living with my parents in November, but somehow never hit "publish." Oh well, it's a new year.

So, now I live with mini-strangers. Sometimes my sons look so different to me, it feels like they're weird wax renditions of their former selves. Sullivan has molars, dances like Elaine (Seinfeld), and tells knock knock jokes (no, he isn't talking yet). Henry is outgrowing his pants, can't get enough stories about his (or the storyteller's) babyhood, and has started to read. My first-born son is READING! That's just insane to me.


With my babies no longer babies, the holidays seem more and more significant. The closer the holidays came, the grumpier I got. Work has been challenging, but the grumps felt more connected to these weighted days coming up. It's been awhile since I looked forward to my birthday. After a couple years of wildfires breaking loose on my birthday, I think it soured me. But Christmas, I always looked forward to that. Growing up, I spent Christmas eve eve baking with my gram. I learned Special K, popcorn balls, fudge, pies, and rocky road. On Christmas eve, my mom's side of the family got together - the whole mess of us, the one time a year we were all in the same room. We attempted to catch up, but mostly just passed sarcasm around and told stories of my uncles pushing each other in tires down the steep hill from the back of Gram's house. When my grandfather was alive, he'd pretend to be crotchedy and whenever a grandchild would ask when we got to open presents, he'd shout out "Two more songs." After the turkey and sarcasm, we'd sing. I'd made booklets with red and green construction paper and printed lyrics. There were maybe 25 songs and we'd jump around the book, adding addendums like after the "en excelsis deo" adding a "Day, we say day, we say day, we say da-a-a-oh. Daylight come and me wanna go home." Then there was the frenzy of presents, as fast as they could be handed out, crumpled paper and bows. After presents, we ate the baked goods and Gram made plates for everyone to take home.

Christmas morning was for my mom, dad, brother and me. We exchanged our presents and laughed about the night before. Then we put on some recently opened article of clothing and headed to my dad's sister's to meet his whole side of the family. Everyone brought some piece of the meal and we'd serve up mimosas (when I was older, of course) and snacks. With my dad's side, we started with presents. And we took our time. There were years we just gave to the kids (years I was a kid) and years we did a gift exchange. All of those years, we went one by one, handed out by my grandfather. After, we made a huge meal and all ate too much. Grandma's gooey rolls, scrambled eggs and bacon, a breakfast casserole, We spent hours visiting, usually played a game or two, and sometimes several of us would go to the movies. This was before the grandkids started having kids.

Both sides had a thing going. A fun thing. Tradition. I haven't quite figured out our traditions here, yet. And considering both of my kids have molars (I'm not sure why this seems like a big deal to me, but it does) and one is reading, it's about time I figured those out and stopped being grumpy about the holidays. My in-laws came over for Christmas eve dinner this year and I made Special K (the favorite of the baked goods). For the second year in a row, I've gotten the boys matching pajamas that they get to open on Christmas eve. I'm not a fan of matching stuff usually, but it makes the Christmas morning pictures so darn cute. On New Year's day, we started a measuring wall in Dad's office. Both the boys have since tried to find that Sharpie again and draw on walls. We also took a New Year's day hike through Wolf's Neck State Park, but Sullivan nearly lost his fingers in the cold.

But it feels like we need more. I miss the singing. I miss the gooey rolls. I miss my grandparents. Typing that, I realized my sons don't miss their grandparents at all. They get them all the time. And we do a fair amount of singing on our own everyday. Maybe my little strangers would like some more traditions or maybe they'd just like a less grumpy-around-the-holidays mother.

"I live with my parents."

When I got the job at Hardy Girls, we weren't sure whether I was going to be working more in Portland or Waterville (75 miles away from each other). We had to move out of the dorm and it made sense to move in with my parents until my work plans became clearer. Four adults and two small ones lived in a converted camp for nine months. There were pros and cons.
Beautiful scenery...Sullivan's crib in our room.
15 minute commute for my mom... 45 minute commute for Jared.
Remote and private... no city snow plowing or close grocery store.
Extra help with kids... sharing a wall with my parents.
Lake-side living... tiny camp kitchen and non-insulated camp walls.
Over the summer, the adults sat down and talked about our options. We talked about everyone's responsibilities, the challenges of all being under the same roof with kids and how we could do better at communicating. We decided to continue living together.
People find this weird.
Generally women find this more "acceptable" than men. They laugh and commiserate over needing extra hands with kids. Often, I'll hear, "In other countries, that's really popular. Good for you guys." But they still think it's weird. Jared gets lots of sympathy for being forced to be around his in-laws. People assume he's held captive with no say. He generally shakes it off and sympathizes back with a, "Sorry your in-laws suck, I like mine."
Despite this, we found a house with two master bedrooms and the McCannells have taken over the upstairs. Everyone has carved out their own space. We actually have our things out of storage so it's nice to sit on our couch again and use our silverware. Jared reigns over the kitchen, enjoying cooking for more people and especially my mom who has more adventurous tastes than my dad and me.
Are there issues? Of course. There are always issues when you have roommates, even ones you love. Maybe especially ones you love. I'm sure my parents wish they could sleep in without hearing tiny feet running over their heads or into their room. I'm sure my mom wishes there were more clear countertops and less Legos to step on in the middle of the floor. I'm sure Jared & I wish the TVs didn't have to be so loud. I'm sure my dad wishes he wasn't ganged up on about a pellet stove mishap. I'm sure Jared wishes sometimes he wasn't around his in-laws. These things are bound to happen. And sometimes they feel bigger than others. Sometimes we talk about them and sometimes we shove them down and go to our respective rooms to read by ourselves.
But, as much as I generally like our arrangement, I still feel funny telling people. In my mind, there's a big difference between, "I live with my parents." and "My parents and I live together." I find myself saying "inter-generational household" like a big word people throw into conversations to show you they read. A preemptive argument for its value. And then I think, "It's none of their business." But that's usually something we say when we worry about someone's response or it's something we're a little embarrassed about. Which I'm not. I don't think. Although I am writing a blog post about it so...