Blah Blah Blah

No one listens to me. Out of all my gripes (and they are numerous), this is Numero Uno. I can cry, cajole, plead, threaten, bribe and rationalize, all to no avail. I can (and have) pitch a fit of epic proportions, yelling and stomping and throwing soft items (hurling a downy slipper is about as threatening as, well, hurling a downy slipper). I can sit calmly, establish eye contact, hold their hands and speak from my heart in a simple, easy to understand manner. Regardless of the approach, the effect is the same: Brick.Fricking.Wall.

I'm not alone. A friend recently told me the story of his wife lecturing their 10 and 12 year old daughters after the umpteenth yelling, smacking, name-calling fight between the two. At one point, she told them they were acting like stupid jerks (and if this strikes you as harsh, let me tell you that if you've never said something similar - or worse - to your children, it's only because the opportunity hasn't yet arisen. Sometimes our precious cherubs are a-holes, and sometimes, we let them know.). At the end of the lecture, the girls were both in tears. But not because of their horrible behavior, or because they felt bad about treating each other so poorly, or because they were overcome with sisterly affection and were vowing to never let it happen again.

No, they were crying because Mom said they were stupid jerks. They hadn't heard anything else.

I found myself in a similar situation tonight. Julia annoys the shit out of Katie. Katie, in turn, treats Julia like a dog. It pisses me off to no end. I was really ramping up to a good, long lecture, when I noticed their eyes glazing over. Julia was sitting there trying to fit her hand in her mouth, and Katie had suddenly developed an acute interest in her big toenail.

"This is just ridiculous!" I'm ranting on. "You're sisters! Is this how you treat your friends? Are friends more important than your sister?" I wonder if at some point I start sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher - wah wah wah wahhhhhh. I had barely gotten started and I had already lost them. I had to pull out my secret weapon.

I got silly.

I started making goofball noises and funny faces and flapping my arms. It got their attention. I danced around the room and pinched them on the butt. They started laughing. And now, now that I finally had them focused in on me, I found my anger was totally diffused. My girls were laughing and smiling and looking at me. I seized the opportunity, bent down and whispered, "Love each other."

It worked, at least long enough to get us through supper and everyone tucked into bed. Long enough for me to not end up frustrated and upset. Tomorrow is another day, and who knows what might happen. But for tonight, they listened, and so did I.

(Congratulations to Scout, who won my Fabulous Mystery Prize giveaway! Scout, I'll be contacting you soon, and I'll post the details of the fabulous prize.)

Rules of Engagement

After 21 years together, Sean and I have argued over much of the major stuff. As our children age, we're sure to have the occasional disagreement, and an annual barn burner over something. But mostly, we're relegated to fighting over stupid shit out of sheer boredom.

There is a general standard operating procedure for such fights:
A. I say something mildly irritating, generally a complaint about something he is or is not doing.
B. He says something completely over the top and usually wrong.
C. I overreact, storm off, slam some things and do a lot of heavy sighing.
D. He apologizes and tries to hug me.
E. I start crying and get a few verbal digs in.
F. He apologizes again and offers to take me out to dinner.
G. I accept, because I am forgiving like that.

THIS IS THE WAY IT WORKS. Those are the rules. So when he breaks the rules, it really throws me off my game.

Last night, I began the engagement according to the rules:
"Hey, can I ask you to do me a favor?"
But before I could even make the complaint, he goes right to item B: "OMG, what? How am I disappointing you? What disgusting thing am I doing? Whatever! You've been an asshole all day!"

At this point I should mention that I had the girls out most of the day, and he and I had barely interacted. This is not to say that I wasn't about to be an asshole, but I really hadn't up until that point.

OK, so he's not playing exactly right, but I know where I'm supposed to go: C. Overreact and storm off. I go upstairs and get Katie to bed and then sit there waiting for him to come up and apologize. Half an hour later, I'm still waiting. Apparently, I'm going to have to make it easy for him. I walk into our bedroom, where he's reading. He gets up and leaves the room.

What the hell? This is totally not how it works! If he wants to play hardball, I'll show him! I pull out the secret weapon - the air mattress.

I make a big show of dragging it through the house, past him, and into the baby's room. Then I huff and puff and slam my way back to the bedroom for a blanket and my pillow. I settle down on the mattress, open my laptop and start typing away furiously on my favorite message board. I'll show him! If he's not going to apologize, then I'm going to abandon my big, king sized bed and sleep on this twin air mattress on the floor! Ha!

It was a poorly conceived plan, but I didn't really think it would come to this. Surely he'll walk through the door any minute to apologize and I can go get back in my bed, self righteous and vindicated . The baby wakes up (because he can smell me if I get within 50 feet of him), so the two of us cozy up on the air mattress. A nursing baby, a laptop and an angry typist on a twin mattress is not an ideal situation. I know I'm being ridiculous. All I have to do is get up and go back to my room.

But to do so would be to admit defeat, and I don't even know what we're fighting about. All I know is that it's imperative that I don't lose.

It was a long night. The baby fell off the mattress twice, and I went overboard once. I woke up stiff and sullen, and spent the first hour of the day ignoring my husband while we got ready for church. Finally, I said to him "Do you want to take separate cars?" and the ridiculous of that statement ended any ill will.

As we sat in the pew before Mass began, he asked "Do you want to bury the hatchet?" and I said "NO! I am going to stay mad all day!" But it's impossible to do so, because he is charming and sweet and it's simply too much work to stay mad. I love him, even when he's wrong. Even when he doesn't play by the rules.