Saturday, October 30, 2010

Compatibility: Fighting

Men and women fight differently.  Sven and I, of course, as the perfect married couple, never fight.  We do, however, disagree, argue, snipe, snark, discuss, mull, and wrestle.

After a morning spent in the following sort of dialogue:

Sven: Where are Princess' shoes?
Deb: Ask Princess.
Princess: They're in the toilet. (Giggles)
Sven: Would you just find her shoes?
Deb: Is your leg broken?
Sven: Is yours?
Deb: Is yours?
Sven: Is yours?
Dexy: I hungry.

I leave for work feeling guilty about my negativity toward my loving, hard-working man.  I go to work in a blue mood.  Around lunchtime, I send him a text message saying something like "I love you, I'm sorry I was so nasty to you this morning."  I get no response.

In typical female fashion, now I begin to worry.  Maybe he's really mad.  Maybe he is just tired of all of this.  Maybe he's thinking about how I never cook anymore, or how I've been dressing my children out of clean laundry baskets instead of putting their clothes away.  I begin to fret.

After two hours of fretting, I send the text message again.  He calls me back.  We have the following conversation:

Sven: So what are you sorry for?
Deb: For being so nasty and snipy this morning.
Sven: Oh.  Well, I was pretty snipy myself.
Deb: You were, but I felt bad about it.
Sven: I had forgotten all about it, actually.
Deb: Oh.
Sven: But I accept your apology.
Deb: Thank you.

This is the difference: when men get mad and blow of steam, they feel better.  When women do it, they feel worse.  I came to this conclusion by having an extremely scientific conversation with my partner teacher, Georgia, and my student teacher Eurydice.  Of course there are the exceptions: the enlightened men who never ignore their wives even when they say something eight times and then ask, "Did you say something about needing me to pick up the kids today?" even when you've been reminding them every day for eight days but hey, they didn't actually NEED the information until today so it doesn't count.  Needless to say, those enlightened men will not look at their wives at that point and say, "Why didn't you TELL me?"  But I really believe those men are the exception.

Feel free to disagree with me.  I will text you later to apologize.

Thursday, October 28, 2010


If there's one thing I pride myself on, it is my morning routine.  I am a paragon of efficiency.  I treasure my mornings, for, as you will see, it is during my mornings that I am most myself.

The following takes place between 2:00 A.M. and 8:00 A.M.:

2:00 A.M.: One of the children staggers in, wakes me up, announces "I had a bad dream," and gets into bed with me.

2:45 A.M.: The other one repeats that process.

3:15 A.M.: I accept that I will not be getting back to sleep and get out the computer to write for a few minutes.

4:00 A.M.: I finish with my Facebook, discussion boards, e-mail checks, and general internet playing and get down to the business of writing.

4:20 A.M.: My alarm goes off and is turned off.

4:50 A.M.: I get up and go downstairs to walk on the treadmill.

5:30 A.M.: I stagger upstairs and take a shower.  The children may or may not be awake at this point.  If they are, my shower is cut to 3 minutes and I emerge from the bathroom screaming "Put that down!" and "Don't stick that in your father, he's sleeping!"

5:33-5:50 A.M: Get out of the shower (see note above).  Get out computer just to check on that last sentence.

6:15 A.M.: Get off of Facebook and just check that last sentence.

6:30 A.M.: Say defensively to Sven, "I AM getting ready!"

6:45 A.M.: Finish makeup, move to bathroom to dry hair.

6:50 A.M.: Discover that I have literally no clothes that fit me anymore, cry.

6:55 A.M.: Realize that the dress I saved for years because I couldn't bear to give it away even though it was too small fits, rejoice.

6:58 A.M.: Go downstairs, put shoes on various feet and ponytails on various heads.

7:01 A.M.: Announce I am leaving.

7:05 A.M.: Return to get glasses.  Announce I am leaving.

7:07 A.M.: Kiss a crying Dexy, who is on the driveway lamenting, "I just wanted to say I love you, Mommy!"

7:10 A.M.: Realize I forgot my vitamins, go back in.

7:15 A.M.: Help Sven put the kids in his car, kiss faces.

7:21 A.M.: Swear.

7:25 A.M.: Leave for work, secure in the knowledge that I have nearly five minutes to get there and be on time.

7:38 A.M.: Arrive at work.  Gaze at the pile of work I left for myself the night before.

7:42 A.M.: Swear.

8:00 A.M.: Greet my first class of the day with a smile and a song.  That other stuff can wait.