“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

While the details surrounding this short sentence and Hemingway’s actual authorship are sketchy, the words themselves offer a compelling  story.  Sometimes, less is more.

I like to amuse myself by coming up with my own six word strings.

There are days when my six words might be “For sale: six children, no refunds.“  Other times I think of my darlings and it’s more like “Battle scars worn proudly for life.”

(Yes, stretch marks are battle scars.)

There have been pain-filled times when the six words could easily have been “What is the point? Goodbye world.”

And then during wonderful times “No words needed in this moment.”

“Remembering promises, doing hard things anyways.”

“Breath on breath. Dancing in dark.”

“Sticky chubby hand curled in sleep.”

“Apology lingers over a fierce embrace.”

“Love sucks. I still need it.“

(Not really. Sometimes. No, just kidding. Sorta.)

“Jesus is my all in all!”

“It’s not about me. Or you.”

Try it.  It’s fun.

If you only had six words, what would you say?

p.s. To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) is collecting six word memoirs on pain and hope.

Interesting question.  I wonder if you use that same line of thinking when the roles are reversed.

Let’s say he’s not into whatever it is that makes you feel loved and cherished.  So he never says “I love you”.  Or never helps you around the house.  Because it’s just not his thing.

You should just understand that, right?

And, sweetheart?  It’s not about what’s easy or what you are or not into.

Trying to justify your lack of respect and/or consideration using those means is pretty lame.  You’re basically saying that you, your needs, your preferences, your whims, are more important than his.  That’s just not how marriage works.  At least, not a good one.

(If I was talking to him, I’d say that, yes, he would need to be more sympathetic and understanding of you.  But I’m not talking to him, I’m talking to you.  And he likely has great reason to complain about you, too.)

Look, we each have to give and take within our marital relationships.  There are some things that I just have to concede on, and the same is true for my husband.  Stuff like what you each like (or hate) for meals, or what the ideal sleeping temperature  is, or sometimes home decor.  Even, perhaps whether the toilet paper roll faces the front or back.

Sex is no different.  So there’s no “right” answer when it comes to amount of sex.  The point is that you are each supposed to consider the needs of the other above your own.  Instead, you sound as if you’ve given up.  Just decided that your liking takes preference over his.

Worse still, you then throw in the little “if he loved me” line which is basically questioning his commitment to you.  You, the one who is so clearly stating that you are not really committed to him.

I think you are severely underestimating the hurt you cause him each time you turn him down.  Habitual rejection has a devastating effect on marriage.

And, not that it matters, but it’s not always easy for me.  I could remind you that we’ve been married 17 years, have had six children, own businesses, etc.  So I am no stranger to the ebb and flow of sexual drive. But here’s what I’ve learned..

I cannot base my actions solely upon my feelings at any given time.  Love also consists of purposeful acts and conscious decisions, made consistently and regularly.

Sex, as an act of love, falls under that umbrella.  It’s interesting to note that feelings often follow acts, and this is true of sex as well.  Willingness soon leads to enjoyment.

When I have experienced down times, I examined what the underlying issue was, and attempted to address it.  Bad diet, lack of certain nutrients, hormone levels, emotional reasons, hidden resentment, or depression can cause low sex drive, or even sexual aversion.  Being inclined to address the issue and then doing what it takes to heal goes a long way in restoring a healthy sex life with your husband.

There is the first group that listens/reads something and either thinks “that’s kinda dumb” and moves on, or “that’s kinda cool” and looks into it more.

If someone decides something differently than what they themselves have chosen, it’s not a big deal.  They don’t seem to mind whether tons of people agree with them, or if just a handful understand.

This group is the minority.

The second group tends to react very differently when they are confronted with information.  They immediately internalize it, and take everything very, very personally.  If they happen to agree, they are the biggest fan.  If they disagree, they automatically feel as though they must vehemently say so, along with all the various reasons why.

If someone chooses something that they themselves did not, they immediately feel defensive.  It’s as if they assume the other person must think they, too, should be doing that. They discuss everything with the assumption that all people feel the same pressure to agree.

Let’s use Miss A as an example of the first group.  (It’s just the first letter of the alphabet.  That’s all.  Let it go.)

Someone tells Miss A that they recently read blondes are less likely to eat tomatoes.  She smiles and asks where they read it.  They discuss the article for a while longer before moving on to another subject.

Later, the article (and the person who told her) might come to mind when she removes the under-ripe tomato from her burger.  She’ll probably laugh at the nugget of truth in it.  Perhaps it’ll spur her to try yellow pear tomatoes, or even fried green ones, just because it’s interesting to her.

Now let’s move on to the second group, using Miss B as our example.  (Just going on to the second letter of the alphabet.  That’s all. Relax.)

When someone tells Miss B of the article, she launches into a lengthy rebuttal, describing the countless blondes she personally knows who prove that article dead wrong, because they eat tomatoes. All. Day. Long.  She may go on to question the validity of whoever wrote and published the article, since they probably don’t know squat about tomatoes anyway.  Or blondes.

Or she’ll attack the person telling her about the article, because they’re too small-minded to grasp the full scope of hair color and garden fruits and they probably don’t have very many blonde friends, if they have any friends at all.

And why do they hate tomatoes so much anyway?

By the way, I’m blonde and I like tomatoes, just not by themselves.

(That was just useless information.  No one should take my personal preference to mean I think they need to stop eating tomatoes like apples.)

(Especially if they’re blonde.)

So many girls are there because they basically found themselves there, long before they had the ability to really make their own choices.

Some of them jump at the chance to get out of that lifestyle. Others stay in.  But all of them are real. While the details of their experiences differ, a thread of similarity interweaves them together.

Many of them were romanced by a young man promising the world, quickly becoming too entangled to leave, even if they wanted to.  Most of them don’t know if they want to leave.  They’ve been mistreated and abused for as long as they can remember; By their dads, brothers, friends… They don’t know any differently.

I am angry.

Not so much at the pimps and johns who abuse and exploit these women and girls.  Not even so much at the idiots who hire them.  Not at the cops who arrest them, forgetting these underage girls are victims as much as they are criminals.  Not at the hospital workers who treat and release them with no questions asked.

No, I am angry at myself.  I am angry at you.

I asked this question recently, and I ask it again; How are we, in our safe and supposedly disconnected lives, contributing to this problem by perpetuating a mindset of flippancy and selfishness when it comes to women and sex?

Oh, we may think we are free to do what we want.  But our choices have greater significance than what goes on in our little, sterile world.   Our worldviews become our course of action, and those collective actions build up and become a general mindset for a group.

Our decisions have huge impact, because they become culture.

How we dress, who we sleep with, how many we sleep with, what pictures we post of ourselves on Facebook, what our MySpace page looks like, what our email address is, what we think is funny, what we wink at, what we choose to ignore, what we place importance on, what we joke about, what we take offense at, how we treat people of the opposite sex, how we treat our spouse, what clothing we buy for our young daughters, how we allow ourselves to be treated, how we fail to protect the weak…

…it matters.

I hear outrage expressed sometimes, about female genital mutilation, child prostitution, sex trafficking, and on and on… But that happens right here.  Not in just some dirty country halfway around the world, but in our neighborhoods.  And yet we have songs that joke about being in love with a stripper?  We yuk it up about being a pimp?

These girls, these little girls, are connected to your choices.

Here’s my opinion about the hypocrisy and ridiculousness of people who scream about their “rights” or “freedom” or even “equality” while making fun of those who understand the importance of self-control and the value of sexual boundaries…

Don’t you dare to talk to me about human rights and social justice when you turn right around and contribute to a tradition of sexual promiscuity.

I am not impressed with labels that try to make irresponsibility into something cool.   It’s not even about religious morals.  I don’t care if you’re agnostic, Christian, atheist, or Buddhist.

If you have an underlying disrespect and disregard for your body, the bodies of others, and for sex, you are providing the groundwork for the abuse of girls and women.

I’m sure they thank you for your contribution.

You’d think that after having six children (not to mention working in a daycare before I was married) I’d be really affluent in the little people’s language.  I’m not.

Can we really blame me though?

Let’s face it.  Toddlers don’t enunciate and they completely leave out entire letters of the word altogether.  Ppfftt.

It’s as if my little guy thinks, “The letters r and t are useless.  I rule the world.  I’ll just skip using those.”

So he walks up to me and says a word.  “Seweeal.”

I look at him bewilderingly.  He says it louder, adding the word “Go!”

So now I know I’m supposed to be going somewhere to get something.  Okaaaay.

He is not impressed with my list of twenty things I offer that sound somewhat similar to what he’s saying.

“Cereal?  You want to eat?  Cereal?  This?  Cheese?  Cheerios?  No?  Milk?  Movie?  Uh… Lawn mower?”

He apparently thinks that sticking his fingers in his mouth help with his ability to pronounce his word.  I helpfully remove his fist from his throat.

“Seriously, dude.  You have to enunciate.  You sound like you a gremlin.  A gremlin with a mouthful of marbles.  Ee-NUN-ci-ate.”

Okay, ready to concentrate on each syllable… Now he’s laying on the floor, shrieking the word, as if volume will help aid my comprehension.

“SEWEEEAL!  GO!  NOOoooo!  SeWEEEaaaal!  Goooo!”

Geesh, really?!  Oh, that’s helpful.

If you’re going to go from a sweet, smiling darling to a snarling, kicking monster over one little word, you’re going to have to do better than that, little guy.

*sigh*

He can be such a child sometimes.

This time around, it’s involving the P90X.  The claim is that it’s an at-home 90-day fitness workout series.

Whatev.

It’s closer to the truth to call it WTH90X.  I hurt myself just watching one of the videos.

The website says “The secret behind the P90X system is an advanced training technique called Muscle Confusion”  Yeah, that sounds enjoyable.  My muscles are going to be confused?  And one pays money for that sensation?

There’s no getting out of it, either.  Because the “conversations”

*moving my hands in air quotes because I never actually answered*

go from him saying, “What do you think about doing the P90X together?”  to  “I’d really like you to do this with me.”  and then to  “You said you really want to do this.”

And then a day later he says, “I sure hope you’re as serious about this as you say you are, because I bought a bunch of stuff for it.”

See how that happened?  Oh, he’s good.  Real good.

I guess we’re starting Sunday.  If I don’t die, I think I’m going to wish I had.

Pray for me.

A whole lot.

But with only one woman.

Part 1 was Strength.  Part 2, Works.  Part 3, Speech.  Part 4, Loves.

A real man understands that life is much bigger than himself, his needs and wants, or his video game score.

A real man makes love to his wife unselfishly.  He seeks to learn what pleases her.  He practices self-control.  He never stops wooing his wife.

A real man understands that washing dishes or vacuuming can be foreplay.

A real man is patient and tender with his children.  He isn’t afraid to get down on their level.  He challenges and stretches them while acknowledging their limitations and weaknesses.

A real man is honest and sincere.  He doesn’t always have to be right.  He is quick to apologize.  He doesn’t mind listening.

A real man rarely, if ever, raises his voice.  He doesn’t belittle waitstaff.  He doesn’t resort to cussing over every little thing.  He doesn’t call you names.  He isn’t the guy who always has a dirty joke to tell.

A real man knows how to hold a conversation with an eight-year-old and an eighty-year-old.

A real man speaks respectfully and lovingly to his wife or girlfriend.

A real man doesn’t need to drop the f-bomb to make his point.

A real man doesn’t think he has to get loud to demand respect, because he’s already earned it.

A real man speaks life into his wife and children.  He praises, encourages, and expresses his care for them.

A real man isn’t afraid to talk about Jesus.

A real man knows that it’s up to him to get off his arse.

He is willing to put his time, skills, and strength to use.  He understands that it is primarily his responsibility to provide for his loved ones, and will do so even when it sucks.

A real man knows his real job isn’t done when he “clocks out”.  He is well aware that his most important roles are that of husband and father, and seeks to serve them even when he doesn’t feel like it.

A real man doesn’t hesitate to help wherever he is needed.  He does not think he is above any task.