Dear Husband

Sometimes, I question , as I’m certain you do, if I am the right woman for you.  Your life would have been so different without my complexities.  The terroir of my emotional landscape is as familiar to you as Mars.  You don’t question like I do, and for God’s sake you value keeping the peace over speaking your mind.  My softness often hides inside, under my quills, where the good it does is more elusive.  You might have been served better with the opposite, soft on the outside, quills kept tucked safely away.  I am much more than I do, and this lies in direct conflict to one of your most esteemed values and identifying trait of being a hard worker.  

But, still waters run deep, and in my heart, I know you have a very deep well.  You are my private iceberg.  Only the tip can be seen; the majority of the mass is hidden, undiscovered, unknown, unreachable.  One of your favorite quotes is, “I like a challenge.”  You might say that about me, although I know I am, and our marriage is, harder than you ever thought it would be.  

Many of the things I want from you, I now realize you want from me too.  And I wish, more than anything, that I could give them to you.  I think the reason I want them so badly from you, is that I don’t know how to give them..... to you, to me, to anyone. 

The soft, calm, centered, artistic, playful soul beckons to me from somewhere, and I greedily want it.  I get glimpses of it, and pounce, ravenous for what has been missing for so long.   But, you see, a calm soul can’t live with ravenous, pounce, and greed.  It may not be as elusive as trapping a moonbeam, but the challenge needs more tools than I have right now.  

So, I unabashedly demand it of you. Unbeknownst to me, I am asking you for something I am seeking, perhaps for myself, perhaps for others.  Something I have been exposed to, yet do not know intimately. 

Welcome to my inner journey.  My hidden softness can only be exported through the written word for now.  It can’t be spoken yet; it gets distorted and torn and hardened when I try to speak my truth.  

I know, in the subterfuge of your iceberg, you can comprehend, interpret, listen, feel, at least part of my pilgrimage to my center.  I invite you, to understand my deepest and most private self, through my written word. 

A New Topic

Women write about slowing down, trusting.  They talk about time flying, and years passing.  They write about motherhood and kids; oh, they write about their kids.  They try to write about themselves, distinguish themselves from their kids.  They write about nature, and details, and overcoming whatever has come their way.  They write about books and arts and politics; they write of painful pasts.  They write of their causes, they share their insights.  They speak of friends and dreams they have.  They write of health and change. They write of their sadness, their darkness, their depression.  

It’s harder to find, or at least I haven’t found it yet, writing about marriage and the spousal relationship.  I mean real writing, intimate, true.  Or perhaps what I have always thought is true, no one feels or experiences the world as I do.  I had talked myself out of that because I never dreamed of finding people and making connections with those who understand some of my struggles.  I do understand the tenuous ground of writing about spouses, (or teens or parents or sisters...etc) but I yearn to understand and have someone identify with me on this level.  

I have an added advantage right now of having a few trusted readers, none of whom appear in my real life.  Except for my mother.  And I have another blog where I write about her.  Kidding.  

Even though we have made major changes, our lives are still full and busy and, frankly, we are tired.  I don’t take the time to talk to Steve about much of my journey, and when I do, it doesn’t come out like I want it to.  Over the years, especially when tempers run short, I have written him letters so that I can let him know what’s going on. I wrote one to him a few days ago.  Not only did it explain where I was coming from, but, as with most of my writing now, it led me to new places that were unexpected.  I have done this the past few days, and I have taken to filing them in a folder I have dubbed, The Husband Series.  

I am not sure what will come of this, but I like it now.  Parts of these letters are very personal, but I think parts of them may be more universal.  The biggest surprise for me is what I am learning about myself.  Writing to him has pushed me to look at some things in a new way.  And as a disclosure, I may not give him all of the letters.  And I certainly won’t share them all here.  But I would be interested to hear what you think.  

The Times, They are a Changing

Our family life is much better.  I want to tell you all the things I’ve done to make it that way.  And let you know what a hero I am for rescuing my family.  

But I can’t.  It’s my husband.  He got on board and has taken flight.  He literally does everything at our house.  He works full time.  I don’t get paid for anything I do.  He does most of the grocery shopping, most of the cooking, most of the laundry.  He pays most of our bills and budgets our money.  He does lots of random projects too - he fixed the Wii, got our locks replaced after the scary stuff this summer, mows the grass at the Lake House, waters our plants, changes lightbulbs.  And more. 

I could tell you what I do (and I just might before this post is over) but thats not the point.    The point is that he has not traveled in several weeks and has really stepped up at home.  In the past, even and especially the most recent past (six months or so), he has done many of these things.  But he did them begrudgingly and with venom.  

“Of course he did.  Why in the hell aren’t you doing these things?” you might ask.  And if I were honest, I am struggling a bit now.  Because now he does all this, and he has changed.  He is joyful, happier, and has lost all judgment of me.  Honestly, I feel as if I am in a movie and I have a fatal disease, and now they are ready to make it on their own without me.  Or the other movie about the man who is having an affair and is suddenly happier and doing more to assuage his guilt.  

One of the more subtle changes in our Take Back Our Family is accepting each other for who we are.  I am in the beginning stages of it.  So that means that I am trying to accept myself for who I am, instead of trying to be someone else. If this concept were linear, I would first accept myself, then my husband, then my children.  But since nothing in life is linear, I will probably start and finish with myself, if there is even a finish.    I am working, we are working on loving who we are, not changing it.  

Sometimes these theoretical musings become so vague that they are not productive without a trite detail to bring it into focus.  Without doing a complete genealogy report, let’s just say that my husband is a typical hard working mid westerner coupled with the fact that he is a dyslexic first born of four, charting him at Type A times ten. I was raised in the Deep South, where naps and reading and thoughts and rocking and talking formed the core of my very being.  He is at his happiest mowing and caring for the lawn, whereas I would be happiest reading in the hammock for the day.  He doesn’t know how to “work” a hammock.  

So, it is not surprising that we have different approaches to housework.  That’s fine and good.  But my husband is a perfectionist, and not only unrealistically expects himself to be perfect, but he also projects that on me.  It has taken me over 16 years of being with him to figure this out, though.  That fact is staggering.  Note to self:  Fill children in on this detail early in their relationships so they can spend the first 16 years on something else.  

Honestly, I would work and work to get things right for him.  Doing laundry his way, doing the checkbook, cooking dinners.  And it was never quite right.  I didn’t realize this and he didn’t either.  We were both just being ourselves.  I gave up on the checkbook early on.  Perhaps my way wouldn’t have worked long term, but it worked for a single 20 something.  Say I had $500 in my checking account, and I charged $50 on a credit card for dinner.  I would just deduct that from my check register, so that when it came time to pay the bill, the funds would be there.  He thought that was ridiculous, refuting the accuracy of my checking account.  So, who cares? He made more money and wanted to handle the money and I didn’t want to fight it.  Fine.  

Without going into every detail of our laundry and cooking life, just understand that I finally gave those up too.  Over the course of the past six months or so, I realized that I was spinning my wheels all day on shit like this, and never being enough to anyone.  I did laundry.  I just didn’t put matching up all the socks at the same importance as the national debt crises.  Sure, mornings are easier when the socks are matched up.  Evenings are easier with a cocktail.  It doesn’t always happen.  Move on.  

Ever since my kids were little, it has always overwhelmed me that these little beings HAVE TO EAT AT LEAST THREE MEALS A DAY, EVERY SINGLE DAY.  Yes, I cook.  I actually like to cook.  I would spend so much time planning, and cooking only to be met with complaint after complaint after complaint.  Kids eat a bite and say they are full or thats disgusting.  And complain of hunger before the dishes are even cleaned.  Steve would say my meals were too complicated.  Just make it simple.  Fine.  Or just coordinate the finishing times of each item.  Or just add a little garlic.  (He IS a chef by trade.)  Or he would come in and make something else.  Or complain that they kids needed something else besides cereal and fruit and milk for breakfast.  Look, I ate Fruit Loops for breakfast for the first 18 years of my life, and I am fine.  

I spent years trying to please them, and it was never enough.  I spent years trying to show him what all I was doing.  I spent some angry years telling him if he didn’t like it, he could do it himself (or go to hell or some other negative non- Buddhist gentle approach).  But I kept trying to please.  

And then I laid down my sword.  Peacefully and without fanfare. I told them I was no longer giving my all so that they could have full lives, especially when they all treated me like it was their God-given right and not experiencing gratitude. I quit doing anything for them that I didn’t want to do or deem absolutely necessary.  I told them to expect cereal for breakfast and a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner every single day.  Anything more than that, consider it a bonus. Period.  I started reading and writing again.  I take quiet times.  I am happier.  

I am not sure what happened with Steve.  He continued to do the laundry, but he seems to enjoy it.  He cooks and cleans.  He doesn’t seem mad about it anymore.  I think he quit fighting me.  He quit expecting me to be who he wants me to be or who he is or who he thought I was.  I think he is happier because his clothes are folded and put away  just the way he likes them.  He is happier with his meals and what the kids are eating.

We are all learning a new way of being.  The kids are saying thank you when I cook dinner or breakfast.  They are thanking me for rides to friends or activities.  They are asking about my day. 

It’s not perfect.  Picture day is today and several days ago my oldest daughter said I needed to make her a hair appointment for her pictures.  I said that even if you would have asked nicely, I wouldn’t do that.  We are not spending that money for school pictures.  She said get Ann (a favorite babysitter).  I said no, we are not spending that money - I will help you straighten your hair.  She went off on a spiel about how horrible I was at hair and that definitely wasn’t going to happen.  Yesterday, she realized I was serious about not paying for the stylist or sitter, and said OK, you can do it.  And do you know what I said?  NO.  I am not doing that for you.  You were disrespectful to me and I didn’t deserve that.  Figure it out yourself.  (I never would have done this in the past. NE-VER.)  

So, last night I showered and read while my husband learned to use the straightener and enjoyed a half hour with our oldest daughter.  She was thrilled with her hair and I think he was secretly proud too.  

The times, they are a changing.  

  

Kid's Rooms

Monday was my daughter’s eleventh birthday. She is at camp and she sent me an email asking me to clean her room so she will be happy when she gets home.  I was expecting more of a long letter filled with gratitude for the mere fact of giving her life. 

I have to think about what to post here about our changes.  For one, I don’t want to scare anyone. And I am sensitive about some things, and feel too vulnerable to post or think about even. And I don’t want to bore anyone by describing every tear or every nod to the gods about a particular moment. And many things are so darn complicated that I don’t even know where to start. 

So when my daughter sends an email asking us to clean her room, there is more to the story.  Although I like telling just certain parts like that because then I can just laugh.  And laughing is fun. 

So, yes, her email.  We told the kids that part of taking back our family included cleaning out our house and putting more TLC into it than we have in the last couple of years.  What she heard was that we were redecorating the entire house and buying all new furniture...and can we change everything into ultra modern because thats what she really likes. We were thinking more along the lines of putting pictures in frames and throwing out two year old Halloween candy we hid from them.  

Now, thankfully, we are not candidates for that hoarders show.  I don’t watch it because it is a scary possibility.  Me watching that show would be akin to a person who drinks a whole lot watching a show about alcoholism and recovery.  Too close for comfort. But people have described those houses and I know we aren’t there. Yet.

My kids rooms are driving me nuts.  They have accumulated more stuff and their rooms are popping at the seams. Their rooms used to be so lovely, and we played in them all the time. One of my pressure points about changes needing to be made was the fact that I break out in hives when I enter their rooms now. So, we spent time in my son’s room this weekend and, although we are not finished, it is so much better. I conveniently forgot to take a before picture, but  the after picture starts this post. (That black thing is not a vacuum cleaner.  It is my oldest daughter's ultra modern fan that the little kids stole from her room the minute we returned home from dropping her off.)  Here is a picture of my youngest daughter's room if you want an idea of the before picture. 

And while I am at it, this is my oldest daughter's room, the one who wants me to clean her room. This is the messiest it gets - she was just in a rush to catch the bus to camp

I am happy to report that all of these changes that we want to tackle in the fall MAY not be as hard as we expected. The kids were across the street and my husband and I WORKED ON THIS TOGETHER. I capitalized that because our approach to this is so different that we should have a mediator in the room with us while we do it. I want to start by organizing all the toys and pieces, basically inside out.  He wants to just throw stuff away or push it in a closet or under the bed so it feels good to walk in.  Starting this project together was akin to having a Jew and a Christian start by needing to come to an agreement on Jesus’ relevance to the world. 

We didn’t finish, but we were both so happy with the results.  I would probably do a better job than Steve if I had about 10 years to do each room.  I start things, and pile things, and sort things.  And then I get hungry and distracted and the piles stay there and nothing gets finished. He shoves everything and it lasts until you want to get one toy out and the entire closet falls out, just like in the movies.  Or maybe the hoarder show.  But I don’t watch that so I wouldn’t know. 

So we pulled things out and started working together.  Until I freaked out when he went to throw away a piece of the LiteBrite and I had a stack for those little pieces. Or maybe it was when he tried to mix Legos and Play Mobile. We eventually found a rhythm and he gave me a timeline and made me something to eat when I got hungry.  I wasn’t near finished but he said we had an hour left and we needed to start finding containers for the different stacks so we could go out on our date night.  That last part gets a little hard for me and boy, do I get distracted.  He stayed right there and we finished together.  

Everyone was elated.  The kids wanted to play in there right away.  My son wanted to build lego forts and didn’t want his sister on the Nilo Table.  She was easily appeased with a set of blocks that had been buried and spread apart for a year.  They played happily for an hour while we got ready to go out. 

The afternoon not only included us working together, therefore strengthening our marriage. We enjoyed it.  The results made the kids play together happily, and created incredibly good energy. 

We had a sitter and no plans.  It is part of this project - spending time together, building our marriage, having fun together again. This, obviously, will take some time to re-enter the groove and remember what it is like to relax together. 

Because the only thing we wanted to do was have cocktails in our son’s new clean room.