Tag Archives: matrimommy

The Matrimommy: Sometimes A Little Lie Doesn’t Hurt…

When you’re single, there’s not much need for secrets. You live on your own, pay your own bills and make your own decisions because you don’t have to answer to anyone but yourself. If you want that pair of $250 jeans but have no money, who says you can’t charge them? It’s you and only you that will suffer the consequences, so who the heck cares? Marriage, in many ways, means the end of this autonomy. That $250 pair of jeans? Someone else will likely see that you spent that much on them or recognize their presence, if not the Neiman Marcus bag they came in. And, odds are, he or she won’t be too pleased.

Before I got married, I engaged in all sorts of behaviors that I knew were dumb, but I chose to do anyway because I was my own boss. I knew my habitual enjoyment of Marlboro Ultra Lights and shopping extravaganzas completely incongruous with my paychecks were idiotic (The aforementioned jeans story? That was me. Every week.), but I didn’t care enough to stop. Once R. and I got hitched however, I realized I had to. We were living together now – sharing everything, and I knew I couldn’t be self-centered Chelsea anymore. Keep reading »

The Matrimommy: Not Lovin’ McLovin’

My two and a half year old son has taken to calling himself “McLovin’”. Needless to say, that is not his name.

This new moniker originated courtesy of my husband, R. who, clearly in a moment of amazing judgment, decided to watch a portion of Superbad with our toddler son. As if exposing a toddler to this generation’s Porky’s wasn’t moronic enough, neglecting to remember that he recently has been parrot-like in his repeating of everything he hears just adds insult to the cinematic injury. Keep reading »

The Matrimommy: Remote Control Rumble

I never dreamed that I’d find a guy who would want to join me for weekly manicures and pedicures; that was a chick ritual best kept for me and my friend Michelle. No husbands allowed – or desired, for that matter. I always assumed, however, that the man I’d choose to spend the rest of my life with would be interested in spending cozy weeknights curled up with me on the sofa. We’d fire up the Tivo, going rock-paper-scissors over which program we’d watch first: How I Met Your Mother or Project Runway. Keep reading »

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