Giving Him a Break

After yesterday’s post, which picked on my husband and his gross habit, I feel it’s only appropriate to give him a bit of a break today.  He’s wonderful, you know, just human like the rest of us.  And what a good sport…I did have his permission for that post before publishing it.  One of my blogging buddies (see Arms Wide Open on the blogroll), sent me this YouTube video that really explains a lot and let’s me know I’m not alone in my struggle. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovSXMoeVWHY

And now, putting that behind us, I want to make very clear that I am an extremely happy married woman who is still madly in love 19 years after meeting Steve and 15 years after marrying him.  Better or worse, richer or poorer (poorer right now), sickness and health (we’ve been there) — all that stuff is really true.  I named this blog Dying Arts as a tribute to many of the finest arts in everyday life that are in danger of extinction if we don’t fight for them.  Quality customer service; real patient-focused caring nurses; the gift of hospitality; creative, hands-on parenting; open, honest, and vulnerable communication; and, perhaps most importantly, the art, institution, and gift of marriage. 

Steve has been my best friend almost since the day I met him.  I believe God picked him out just for me.  And he and I are both committed to the absolute, never-ending, difficult, and daily work of sustaining a marriage.  We believe in communicating, in compromising, in stretching, and in working to make love last – not just waiting for it to “happen.”  Moments like that rarely “just happen”, and if they do, they are fleeting.  The real magic comes from working to keep a marriage and create those moments of magic.  Participating in them instead of just being present for them is an art.  Marriage is not a spectator sport and there’s no room on the bench.  Every spouse is an essential player – for the duration.  Marriage, along with parenting, are the hardest and yet most rewarding jobs out there. 

And so now, perhaps you should know some of the great things about my Steve.  We talk – all the time about anything and everything.  He’s my biggest fan, and I his.  He knows when to be my cheerleader and when to hit me with some constructive feedback.  We’re silly – most of the time and can make each other laugh like no other humans on this planet.  We keep our childhood playfulness about us and don’t really have to grow up in that regard.  Our apologies are sincere and sometimes creative (see My Favorite Apology).  We make efforts to fight fair.  God is the head of our household and our lives.  We have been very fortunate to receive many blessings from him and we promised to God and ourselves to keep him in this marriage.  We are currently broke, but also promised never to let money come between us (at least not for the long term – everybody has spats).  Our loyalty and allegiance as a family is to this family – and while we love the families from which we came, we had to leave them and make this one our top priority.

That’s a bit of rambling about our philosophy on the relationship of husband and wife.  This is how the wonderfulness of it plays out on a daily basis:

I came home from working nightshift this morning to find a little note taped to the door.  It basically said that we were alone in the house and that I had the “spa treatment” awaiting me.  He had taken Brady to pre-school early and the other 3 were already off to school.  I’ve had lots of lower back and hip pain since the kiddos and have had physical therapy, seen the chiropracter, still do exercises, and in general, am just prone to a lot of achy muscles and joints.  A massage is a real treat for me – or sometimes if I’m in real pain, not so much a treat, but needed agony to relieve some of those knots.  Knowing we don’t have the funds for such a treat right now, Steve’s creative caring improvised.  My bed had fresh sheets, there was warmed lotion, and the room darkened.  And although never trained at it, after all these years, Steve is pretty darn good at working those pains out.  It was such a treat after a night at work.  And, for those of you who automatically assumed this was a sex story, think again.  It was truly non-selfish on his part.  He made it clear it was all about me.  Absolutely no hanky-panky required, requested, or attempted.  I fell asleep during my massage and he covered me up and let me sleep until kindergarten pick-up, at which time he took me and my number two man (Harper) out for an affordable little lunch on our budget.  There may be plenty of folks whose husbands buy them diamonds, or take them on expensive vacations and the like, but I truly had to ask myself today:  Does it get any better than this?  I am very, very rich in the things that matter and a very lucky woman. 

In my post “Truth Hurts” I talked about a friend’s tragedy.  That event caused Steve to think about marriage and life and how fragile they both could be.  He was reflecting on all the folks we know who haven’t made it and on how marriage is, to many, a dying art.  On that day, my husband, who really does write beautiful love letters, sent this to me: 

k,

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

this day especially when those dear to us take matters into their own hands.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

despite those who take their wedding vows lightly.

you need to know this day how much you’r loved.

while some look for ways to hurt each other purposefully.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

though some would rather make a withdrawal than a deposit.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved,

some deciding to simply throw in the towel.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved,

when it’s easier to just simply think of yourself.

 

thank you for hearing me, thank you for listening to me, thank you for supporting me, thank you for encouraging me,  thank you for reminding me to smell the roses along the way of our great journey together.

 

we are told that children are blessings from God.  they are not ours, but His, entrusted in our care.  likewise, you are my wife picked personally by God to be my best friend, my confidant, my soul mate.  to quote my pal, jack nicholson, “you make me want to be a better man.”

 

and for that, k, all i can say this day and for all the days to come is how much you’re loved.

 

s

So, yes, marriage is one of the finest arts and greatest gifts that I highly recommend, as long as you don’t mind hard work and the rewards that come with it. 

Close the Door When Taking a Dump

There are really no words needed aside from the title. Sometimes, you just assume things to be common courtesies. And then you grow up, get married, and enter the real world. And the man you are overwhelmingly in love with has a habit so disgusting he (and you) need to be on Jerry Springer.

He poops with the door open, not to mention reads, does his best work, and talks on the phone. I need a study – he needs only a bathroom stall. Foolish me, I thought that when I pointed out the grotesque nature of this habit – he would stop. 15 years later, I’m still catching a smell in the air, following it, gagging, cursing, flipping him a bird, and closing the #$**&^!! Bathroom door.

A few weeks ago, I really laid him out about it. Boy, I let him have it good:

 Is it so hard for you to just have the common sense to close the door? I’m not taking away your precious pooping time and, YES, I do know you hide from all of us in here. I know you waste time and meditate and listen to your ipod and escape, but for God’s sake, just close the door. Your parents seem like great folks. I can’t imagine why you grew up thinking it was okay to leave the *!#!* door open, but now you are big boy who lives with 5 other people (4 that you fathered), a dog and a guinea pig who all deserve fresh air and a poop-free environment unless, of course, they are the ones doing the pooping. In fact, that’s the point. Aside from diaper changes, which I hope to be free of soon, the only poop we should be exposed to is our own. Yada, Yada.

He sure seemed like he got it. Or was he just trying to shut me up? He apologized – You’re right, you’re 100% right. I just forgot. I’m really going to try to kick this habit, I’m going to make a real effort honey. I was apparently too dumb to see then that he just wanted to insure his chances of getting lucky that day and it was all chatter.

So just a few days ago, I’m looking for my darling husband to read something for me and give me his opinion. I hear talking – he’s on the phone. Good, he had some calls to make. So, I go up to offer praise, yet a stifling smell takes over on the way up the stairs. I see a light, but it’s a bathroom light. Wait! It couldn’t be… – we had a deal… Ah, it’s true.

You think you can change a man, but not when it comes to taking a dump with the door open. For better or worse…

My Favorite Apology

It’s an absolute fact that healthy, stable married couples will fight from time to time.  As I understand, it’s part of the being healthy.  It means there’s enough care, concern, and love to have real issues that cause friction.  I am proud to say my marriage is very healthy, certainly by the fighting standards.   

Steve and I have different argumentation styles.  We practice different tactics and strategies to “hit the other where it hurts.”  We know all this because he’s a Speech Communication major and when he was finishing his degree, we agreed to have a real disagreement in an open forum for his whole class to analyze.  Wow, and did they.  I would have done anything to get him through school and and even more to get him an “A”.   In the end, however, it probably would have been easier if he’d ask me to sleep with one of his professors.  It’s very eye-opening and has quite a sting to hear a group pick apart every detail of what you said and then try to couple that with your underlying feelings and motives.  I learned that although Steve has the temper, I tend to use more “underhanded” techniques to try to come out on top.  Ouch!  Do I really do that?  Okay, I might…but after all, no temper – I ‘m not hot-headed.  Steve has shared with me over the years that those cutting one liners I throw in there are the ones that a.) really hurt him  b.)  send his temper through the roof.  Apparently, my technique in Speech Comm terms is called “hitting below the belt.”  It makes me sound like a Dragon Lady.   

In the end, the class’ little learning session did greatly increase our awareness and our sensitivity toward each other.  We make a real effort to avoid those things that hurt the most and try to keep everything on a fair, calm, level playing field – theoretically.  But then there’s those days that we’re tired and frustrated and just one child too many has yelled just one too many times at the wrong pitch and the trash still hasn’t been taken out and our nerves just can’t handle anymore.  That’s where the little learning session becomes dangerous – because now that we know what really gets the other, all we have to do is just reach down into our little tool belt and pull those really ugly, but really-effective-at–making-your-point techniques out and blast the other.  It’s like being a super hero and not using your powers until you need them urgently.  Except super heroes usually do good deeds.  I guess this is more like being the villain.  

On a typical week at our house, the simple schedule of getting everyone to the correct place and reasonably on time will wear any human down.  Add to this sleep-deprived, and we’ve already been primed to not play in the most sportsmanlike manner.  I woke up in the afternoon (night shifter) to find that NO progress had been made on the laundry, dishes, trash, and assorted other household chores.  I initiated a “discussion” about this with hubby and I hit a nerve.  I made an extremely conscious focused effort to not play dirty, and I could tell that he was as well.  It was a rather calm chat.  We always try to view the situation from the other’s perspective and I could tell we were each practicing this principle.  And then, as if it were just some automatic reflex, Steve’s temper showed it’s ugly face.  Later, I was told that it was the difference between me saying I felt like he wasn’t doing his part to me stating he wasn’t doing his part.  Perception versus fact.  When it seemed to him that I had made it a fact – he lost it!  It wasn’t meant to be slinging insults or hitting below the belt on my part, but it was pretty accurate.  He hadn’t done his part!  I’m sticking to my guns on that one.  And later, when it was all over, he had to share that he really agreed with me and that made him even more furious.  It was a “truth hurts” scenario.  So, he screamed at me a little and condescended to me about it was a shame everyone couldn’t be a superbitch like me and then showed me a finger that wasn’t his ring finger and put it much closer to my face than I liked and then had the nerve to storm off!  That walking off thing really grates me!  It’s as if you can just walk away from the problem and the life that continues to go on whether or not you hide.  I followed and then lost my cool as well.  I cry when I lose my cool, always.  Through big tears, I tell him to get out of my face and that I will play single parent the rest of the evening while he attempts to get his act together.  I throw in that I’ll play single parent forever if he keeps this up.  And then he retreats to our bedroom.   A moment of disclaimer:  we make a very concerted effort to not do this in front of the children and generally succeed at that.  We have also both agreed to not play “Good cop, Bad cop.”  So, I simply told the kids that Daddy needed some alone time.  The kids and I had a fine dinner together and it took my mind off the drama Steve and I had created.  I signed all the homework papers and did the bedtime routine and managed tuck-in.  The boys are snuggle bunnies and require all the accoutrements to go to sleep.  We give in.  Routine is story and snuggling in Mom and Dad’s bed.  We move them later.  It’s just easier.  I decided that I wasn’t interrupting their routine just because Steve was being a butt and hiding out.  We marched into the bedroom and they were excited to see Daddy and gave him the big tackle hug and  hit on him (like males do for some reason) and said good-night to him.  I assumed he would then leave, since he was angry at me.  He didn’t.  He snuggled up in the bed on the other side of the boys.  I had avoided even looking his direction, but I glanced his way in surprise for just a second.  His mean face was gone.  He was wearing a sweet, gentle look.  I wasn’t really touched.  “Whatever!”  was pretty much my main thought.   

I read two dinosaur books to the boys and then Brady, age 3, read one to me.  Strangely, that book was about elephants the second time around, but points for trying.  Then we looked at one of my favorite Anne Geddes books together for awhile.  It was one Steve had purchased for me on a little vacation he and I had taken.  Great, why did I have to have some sentimental, sweet book up here tonight?  Anyway, the boys are hooked on my favorite page where all the babies are dressed up like worms, so we looked at that for a minute and then it was time for lights out.  Brady had sort of a rough day at preschool – he had scratched a friend for no apparent reason.  His day got rougher when he came home and Mom put him through the torture of clipping those claws he had used.  Judging from the screams, that might have been punishment enough.  Regardless, he was now tired.  Nighttime prayers were said by Harper and then it was goodnight time.   

Out of the quiet, though, still snuggling Harper next to him, Steve speaks.   “Boys, I need to ask you for some advice. “  Long pause.  “ Have you ever hurt someone you cared about?” Brady immediately tells the story again about how he scratched Joey today.    “And what do we do when we hurt someone ?”  asks Daddy.    “You say you sorry” says Harper.  “I say sorry to Joey” states Brady.  He still thinks we are reviewing his earlier incident. “It’s important to say you’re sorry.  What else can we do?”  Daddy continues on.   I can see where this is going and I’m started to feel kind of touched, a bit tender about the whole thing.  I don’t really want to feel that way, but it’s headed there.  

 “How do we show someone we are sorry?  What kinds of things can we do?”    He’s leading a real discussion now and the boys are chatting away with him.  He talks about words and actions and that we can’t take them back.  Wow.    “C’mon boys, name something else we can do..” I’m playing along now.  Why not?  This is pretty good stuff.  I whisper into Brady’s ear “flowers – tell Daddy flowers.”  Hee hee. Steve is still talking.  “What about a kiss?  Can we show someone we are sorry with a kiss?”    Brady blurts out “Flowers!”  and Steve loses it now in a silly way, cracking up.  Then, Steve gets up and comes around to my side of the bed.  He takes my hand and talks first to the boys.   “Listen up boys.  Pay close attention.  You’ll have to do this many, many times in your life, so you best learn now.”    Then, he turns his attention to me.  “I am very sorry.  I lost my temper.  Please forgive me.”  He then kisses my hand, then my lips.    Brady, in a jealous rage, tries to push Steve’s face away and now Steve and Brady’s faces are both on my lips.  Another time for crack up.  We get to end on a silly note and continue to snuggle.   

Saying you’re sorry is very important.  We both make sure we can do it.  Over the years, we’ve come up with some creative ways.  This one was my personal favorite.     Almost 15 years and counting…

Are you alive?

My hubby snores – a lot and loudly.  If he goes to sleep first, I’m doomed.  I hit him and ask him to roll over and offer a Breathe Right strip, etc.  It usually doesn’t work.  I just need to be really exhausted and since I work night shift, no problem.  I’m either asleep at different times or so dead dog tired I don’t really care.  He says that over the years I’ve started snoring, too and that it’s almost as bad as his.  Since I can’t hear myself snore, I’m choosing to deny or disregard that, whichever I wish.  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.  He hasn’t been sleeping well these past few nights and for us that can lead to a real concern.  We try to get on top of it and so he’s been taking something to go to sleep.  He can take up to two of those and after a few nights of it not really working, he took 2 last night. 

   We had both boys in bed with us, which usually bothers him tremendously.  They snuggle up with me and kick him. I, of course, have no issues with it.  In the best interest of his sleep; however, I decided to move the boys after they were good and out.  After I moved them, I noticed that Steve was really deep asleep.  In fact, he hadn’t even moved in quite some time.  He wasn’t even snoring.  Now, keeping in mind it is about 3am, I had a moment of panic.  I can’t hear him snoring, come to think of it, I can’t even hear him breathing!  Then, the nurse starts surfacing in me.  He took two of those pills, he could have depressed his respiratory drive – oh my God, what if he isn’t breathing?  I practice the steps of CPR in my head, preparing to open that airway just in case…This is a delicate balance.  If he’s really just soundly asleep, I don’t want to wake him.  But if he’s dying, that, of course, is another story.  He’s lying on his stomach, face down in the pillow.  Maybe if I could just turn his head to the side, he could breathe better.  I edge toward him, quietly, but steadily.  I’m listening closely for respirations, so then I can be reassured and leave him be to keep sleeping.  I’m close enough now to put my hand gently on his back and try to feel for chest rise.  Just as I’m laying my hand upon him, I hear a loud whooooosh of air.  Unfortunately, it didn’t come from his lungs – it was the other end.  And there he is, bottom up, with the most ground-breaking release of gas I’ve experienced in quite awhile (keeping in mind that I still change diapers).  It was the kind I could actually hear the rumble of the air and then I had to wait in fear of it spreading.  And spread it did.  Our ceiling fan was on!  He was outside the covers, so fortunately I could seek relief under the covers.  I gathered my senses and took in a breath of cleaner air.  Having lived through this challenge, I realized that my mission was, in fact, courageously complete.  

  Dead men don’t fart.  Goodnight dear.