Life with Boys: Equality…Isn’t that what we want?

Someone brought up a good point: women are often seen as the ‘weaker sex.’  An attitude I dislike perpetuating, but I get where that is coming from.

Physically, my husband will most likely always be stronger than me.  He is taller - almost a foot, and he has a good 45 pounds on me.  He has more muscle than I do. It’s just the way our bodies are.  I won’t get into muscle endurance, testosterone levels, etc.  Bottom line, your average man is going to be stronger than your average female.

If I were to attack my husband, chances are I will do less damage to him than if he were to attack me in the same way.  I get that, but that doesn’t make MY attack any less wrong.

I think violence against women is thought of as more damaging, as more common. And perhaps it is, but what are the real statistics?  How many men are afraid to come forward because they will be thought of as weak?

I just read a very sweet post about stress and marriage.

And, yes, for the most part we are all in this together.  Roy and I just had a ‘talk’ with our 13 year old about his grades.  We were a united front.

I was sitting at my desk crying because I’m so frustrated, and Roy walks over to me with a flashlight on his head.

“Hey, Chris?!” He asks me adjusting his flashlight.

I looked up at him completely defeated.  Tears are streaming down my face, my hair is a mess, and I am sure my face is blotchy and completely unattractive. “What?”

“What color is Addi’s gym uniform?”

“Umm… shirt is grey and shorts are navy blue.” I tell him.

He nods and strides out of the room with a purpose, his goal… to find the gym uniform.

So back to the competition.  The kids see us as a united front.  If Mom is pissed, chances are Dad is gonna be pissed.  Dad might not agree with Mom, but if he lets the kids know that, Mom is gonna be pissed at him. So if for only that reason alone… Dad is gonna back Mom.  Dad also gets to hear Mom vent… sometimes for hours, and sometimes Mom goes off on a tangent, so that is yet another reason Dad is gonna back Mom.  And it goes both ways… Mom doesn’t want to hear Dad bitching about grades, or curfews or the 20 extra kids running around our house on the weekend, so Mom will back Dad.

But after 13+ years of this, I would be lying if I said that there wasn’t some competition going on.

What?  What competition, you ask?

Let me explain: If Roy found the gym uniform in question, he would save the day!  Addi wouldn’t get zeros for not dressing out, I wouldn’t be so frustrated, and we wouldn’t have to fork over another $15.  Dad is the winner… YEAH!

If I figure out what the problem is, and make doctors’ appointments, dispense medication, handle homework, etc… Mom is the winner… YEAH!

We totally keep score.

“ROY!  Seriously, can you help me with these kids?” I am trying to cook dinner, and Dean is hanging on me, Hayden is asking for something, and Addi is lost… and who knows where Joe and Corey are!

“What, Woman?!” He bellows from the darkness that is his office.

“HELP ME!” I’m trying not to curse, I admit it… or at least not curse loud enough that the little ones hear me.

He wanders out of his office a few minutes later, “What, woman?” He says this on purpose to push my buttons.

“I have a name!  Use it!”  Totally off topic, but needed to be said, “Can you please help Addi with his Math. I’m burning the meat here. Dean get off my leg…”

“No, he can do it himself.  If he needs help, he knows how to ask…” And he goes back into his cave.

“Seriously!” Once again, I’m yelling at this point, “YOU NEVER help when I ask you too.  Come on! Dean… seriously, get off my leg…”

“Excuse me… I’m the one that found the gym uniform!”

OH YEA… he totally helped.

But it goes both ways.

“Chris, come here.”

Roy always asks this just as I’ve settled into the couch on a cold Sunday.  Sunday is my catch up day, where I watch some of my silly shows… serious stuff.

“What?”  I sound like one of the kids whining, but I don’t care.

“Come hold this cardboard for me, so I can paint the trim.”

“Seriously!  Why can’t one of the kids do it?”  I’m really whining now, RuPaul’s Drag Race is pressing TV.

“Chris… come help me!” And my thought process is… if I help him, I can remind him about it later to get out of doing something more offensive like laying under his car and holding something for him.  If I don’t want to help him, then I have to cash in one of my chits on this, and is it worth it.

Now, this is all in good natured fun.  When the crap hits the fan, there is never any doubt in my mind that Roy will have my back.  

But marriage is definitely a competition.  And sometimes it’s to your advantage to let your partner win one once in awhile.

I will say I don’t personally know any couple that has divorced in recent years.  But I’ve read enough books to know that at the very least authors seem to think this is a reason for many divorces.

“I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“I forgot the woman I once was, and I need to find her again”

Or some variation of that.  

I get that. 

When Roy and I met, I was already a mother.  I wasn’t a single young lady with no responsibilities. I didn’t get to ‘become’ a mature wife and mother, with him. 

Well, more mature maybe, but I had already moved past certain stages in my life, and because I had Corey when I was so young I don’t know if I ever 'discovered’ that woman.  I went from being a freshman in college, to a mother in the blink of an eye.

And though I have never regretted my decision to have any of the boys, I wonder about the woman I will become when I am not a mom, first and foremost. 

I’ve never been an adult and not been a mom.  I’ve never had disposable income and not thought about buying a little something for one of the boys, or saving it for a family trip, or buying school supplies, etc, etc.  Roy and I have never gone out and not had to arrange for child care for at least some of the kids. 

Who will I be at that stage in our life?

If this were a romance novel, perhaps I would be that woman and Roy would be the hard working husband that ignores me and leaves me to my own devices.  I would wake up and feel lost, unloved and unsure of who I was.

Or, if you’re lucky enough you find a spouse/SO that HELPS you discover who you might be, could be, want to be.

Lucky for me, I have Roy.

A few years ago, Roy and I went through something pretty big. It was a rough time, so rough I looked into divorce.

I will say part of that was me, not wanting to deal with something that interfered with our plan-we did things pretty traditionally.  Home, moving up in his career, me supporting him emotionally and mentally, a bigger home, and eventually there would come a time when it was just us, and we would hopefully have the freedom and the means to pursue some of the things we wanted.  Travel, a boat, fixing up a home on a lake big enough for said boat.  And then there was a kink, a kink I couldn’t deal with in my own mind for months.

Through it all, I raged at Roy, and tried desperately to hide it from the kids.  (I will say it was not an affair) I was mad at myself, because in moments (rare though they were at this stage) of calm, I thought to myself:

“This isn’t something we can’t get through!" 

"Is this really that big a deal?”

When I finally told my mom, because let’s be honest all I wanted was a hug from mom, she told me not to be mad at Roy.  She knew he loved me, and it was my job to help him get through this.

And as mad as I was, if I asked myself what I would miss if I walked away the answer surprised me.  I would miss the big things-a man I loved, a home I loved, all the plans we had made. I would miss my inlaws, though I know they would still be a part of my life.  I would miss the lifestyle my husband works hard to provide us.

But it’s the little things-never seeing his smile aimed at me.  Never feeling him turn over on a cold night and seek me out.  

But, it’s funny, I tell my sister what I would miss the most is his ability to make everything ok.  Here I was furious with him, and all I wanted was for him to make it all better.

Isn’t that funny? When I am upset, I hug Roy and put my nose right behind his ear.  For 14 years he has smelled the same (well, for the most part…there was one weekend on the boat…oh, it was bad…) like soap, and something else.  Something strong, masculine and so very comforting.  It reminds me of my dad, and the way he would hold me when I was little-if I fell and he picked me up.  Or if I was sick and he would comfort me.  No other man besides my father, has EVER made me feel so safe, so cared for.  No other man, besides my dad has ever made me feel like the rage in the world couldn’t touch me simply because he was here.

And so, I stayed.  And we worked through our issues.  In the great scheme of things, I think much of the pain and angst was in my own mind.  I learned, I think I did, to be a bit more flexible.  I learned that I simply can’t control everything, nor should I try to.

But my decision to stay, came down to one very simple question: Could I imagine feeling the way I do about my husband with anyone else?

My answer was simple….no.

Ok… first let me clarify the title of my post.

My husband doesn’t like conflict, specifically conflict with me. If there is an issue at work, he will do what needs to be done.  He is a very diplomatic man. Everyone likes him. If he went on Survivor, he would win, or be the first kicked off, because he doesn’t believe in playing games.  He’s a straight shooter; he tells it like it is.  But then I enter the picture.  On the one hand, I feel blessed that there is nothing more my husband enjoys in life than making me happy (Am I bragging here?  Maybe… probably.. ok, I am.) 

“Do you like this dress?” I could have the ugliest 70’s prom dress on, and if I loved it, he would say he did too. And then secretly laugh at me in the privacy of his home office.

“Hmm… my hair is sort of driving me crazy.  Should I cut it short?” I know he likes it when my hair is longer, but he will tell me to do what makes me happy, and then he will tell me it’s pretty when I’m done.

And then, there are the moments when we are arguing.

And again, let me clarify here.  I don’t really argue; I fight.  If you piss me off, I’m gonna tell you why you did, how you did it, and I’m gonna make sure you KNOW it. Yes, I can be a witch with a capital “B.” I know this, and must admit it does come in handy at times (We finally got the right person on the phone to discuss our horrific Morton’s experience… and we were given a partial refund.), I know that many times I can be… intimidating?  Hmm… I don’t know if that’s the right word… scary?  I don’t know… I think I scare some people, not my husband, mind you! But I realize I can be intimidating occasionally.

When I’m mad, I’m like a pitbull… my bark is worse than my bite. I yell for a few minutes, maybe some foaming at the mouth, and then it’s cool… we can sit and talk and hash it out.

But, sometimes I get angry… like an evil genius.  Everything gets really calm in my head, and that’s saying a lot, as I LOVE chaos.  I start to throw out ten dollar words, and I even use them properly! My voice gets lower, no yelling here, and my eyes flash.  Or at least that is what I imagine my eyes do (I read too much!).

If I act this way with the kids, they back down.  Well, the older boys do. They know they crossed a line, but Roy shuts down.

I am convinced that if I could just record him (a video recording would be even better), Roy would see that he has a ‘tone.’

You know what I’m talking about ladies.  Their arms cross, their eyes go blank, and their jaw slackens.

Now, the arm cross I can deal with.  I’m pretty expressive when I talk, I flap my arms around, and I think it distracts Roy, so I cross my arms, so that he can’t get distracted by my flapping around.  So, if he does it… whatever.

But those eyes… I have waxed poetic about my husband’s beautiful eyes before.  When he’s happy, they have this delicious sparkle to them, but when we argue, they go flat, cold… and he doesn’t get that.

Half the time when we 'fight,’ he says nothing.  He waits for me to burn out, and then one of two things happen: Eventually, I will say I’m sorry, OR I ignore him until he gets sick of it, and then he will do something cute.  I’m a pushover when it comes to my husband.

But occasionally, he will speak up, and he takes this dismissive, condescending tone.

“Yep… hmm… ok, Chris.  You got it.”

“Yep… ok… whatever you say, Chris.”

“Ok, Chris. You know it all, right?”

ARRGGGHHH… drives me crazy! And before you know it, we are arguing about whether or not he has a 'tone.’

“There is no tone, Chris.”

“What tone?  What is this tone you’re talking about, Chris?”

Yes, he always says my name.  Perhaps it’s to remind him who he is talking too.  I don’t know, but it drives me nuts.

The original fight is forgotten, and I start looking around for a tape recorder.  We don’t have one, so I don’t know what I’m doing!

“I want to tape you.  If you could hear yourself, you would see that you have a tone!” I’ll explain.

“Ok, Chris. You know it all, right?” See, he’s jabbing all my buttons.

And NOW, the boys are trying to do the same thing.  I’m going to drown in a sea of snotty tones!

See, look at that… just thinking about their tones, and all they imply has made me annoyed… and scattered… and confused….

I was always Team Jennifer (Aniston). She was my favorite “friend,” I love her hair, blah, blah, blah. And yesterday she said something that really makes a hell of a lot of sense.

To paraphrase: Our worth as women shouldn’t be defined by marriage or having children.

I agree=100%!

Kids aren’t for everyone, marriage isn’t for everyone, and it’s great that people know this. They recognize this and are ok with it. I adore my boys, I love being a mom, but not everyone thinks like me, and why should they?

But it goes both ways. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard, “OH, I could never just sit around all day.” When people find out I’m a SAHM.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve had people ask me if Roy allows me to do certain things. He makes the money, so somehow that makes me less of a partner. For the record, no I don’t need to talk to Roy and get his permission to run to the store.

I can’t tell you how many times I;ve had people explain to me current events, political agendas or told me who someone was, because apparently being a SAHM means I can only watch cartoons and read Dr. Seuss.

This boils down to respect-on both sides. Just as some aren’t defined by their decision to NOT have kids, I’m not defined by my decision TO have children. I love being a mom, but it isn’t all I am.

I’m a wife, a friend, a sister, a daughter.

I’m a writer, but most importantly, I’m an adult. I take (or try to anyways) responsibility for my decision and at the end of the day, I’m happy with who I am and what my choices in life have been.

Why is it that men just get better, and I just feel older?

I find myself in a strange situation - at 37 (almost 38), I’m healthier than I have been in 15 years.  I’m more at peace with who I am, I accept my faults, even embrace them to a point, and yet the past few days, the fact that I am almost 40 is getting to me.

Again, it’s weird… I don’t feel almost 40.  I certainly don’t act almost 40, but the facts are there.

I have two boys bigger than me - one is getting ready to graduate from high school. My third guy (up until about 6 months ago I called him my little guy) is getting bigger and in less than three months will be a full fledged teenager. Hayden acts like a teenager - sulky, mouthy, convinced I suck. And my sweet Dean will be in school next year.

I look in the mirror every so often wondering if today is the day the crow’s feet become obvious.  I check my hands (they say you can tell a woman’s true age by looking at her hands), determined NOT to let them slip and reveal my age.  I check my part for gray hairs more often.  And I won’t even talk about the boobs (five kids did a number on them), cause at least the butt’s holding up.

I realized that shopping at American Eagle is probably something better left to the boys (even though their shirts are so comfy and soft… ok, I still buy their jeans sometimes too) and yet the idea of shopping at Talbots leaves me cold.  (I think I’ll stick with Loft and The Gap).

But even with all these reminders constantly slapping me in the face, I just don’t feel almost 40!  I feel young. I wake up most days eager to start my day - even if I’m just going to do laundry and chill out at home with the boys.  I don’t dread getting out of bed anymore.

Is this how an almost 40 year old is supposed to feel?  Is almost 50 better?

Can we have it all?  I’m not just talking about women, but men too.  Can we have everything our little hearts desire?

Sure, but it depends on what you desire.

I think there are some young women out there that want the ‘dream.’  They want high powered, high paying careers.  They want their kids to be perfectly adjusted little geniuses.  They want the spotless house without having to pay for help.  They want to put gourmet meals on the table every night and have witty conversations with their SO (special other) and children.

Or at least that is what some THINK is having it all.  I am speaking from my own observations and experiences only. Your story might be different.

I think we can have all of that, but it won’t be a daily thing.  It won’t ALWAYS be perfect, rather you will have moments of perfection, and you will hold on to those.

I don’t work outside the house, and that was a choice I made willingly.  I don’t stay home because my husband believes women should. I did it because when I was coaching full time, my home life suffered.  Yes, I had those small moments of perfection, but it got to the point where they were too far apart.  There were times I would work for 20 days straight, no day off, and in those 20 days I never helped the boys with their homework.  I never sat down to dinner with my guys. I often missed tucking the boys in at night.  So, I decided to quit and stay home.

Now that I am home full time, I have moments where I wish I had a career of my own.  When I go out to buy Roy a birthday gift, I have a moment where I think:

“Gee, he is paying for his own gift!”

But, then I am treated to MY moment of perfection.  All my guys at the dinner table.  Maybe Addi is telling a silly joke, and everyone is laughing at it.  Dean is stealing chips off Hayden’s plate, and Hayden is taking Joe’s.  Roy is laughing, and I am sitting there enjoying my moment of perfection.

My house isn’t perfect, or rather it’s a mess, but I can take five minutes of my day and put all the toys up, and for a moment my house looks the way I want it too.

Maybe Roy comes out of his home office during his lunch break and says he wants to take me to lunch, and YEAH!  I can go, because I don’t have to hurry back for the hour drive to the pool.

Over the years, I learned to readjust my idea of what 'having it all’ means to me.  I learned that some of the things in the stereotypical dream of 'having it all’ weren’t things I necessarily wanted in the first place.

I might not be head coach of my own team, but I am home every day with my boys.

I might miss coaching once in awhile, but when the boys get off the bus, I am here to greet them and listen to them tell me about their days.

My house isn’t perfect (Heck, I still hate my couch!), but Dean knows all his colors and can count to ten (for the most part).

In the end, I have almost everything I want, but first I had to figure out what it was that I wanted in the first place.

Sooo, I make a pact with myself to spend more time giving in to my feelings of restlessness when it comes to writing…and than I don’t write for four day?  Go figure!

It could be because our timeline got moved up.

What timeline you ask?

Well, I’ll tell ya,  Hayden is a Freshman this year, Dean is in fifth grade-so he’ll start middle school next year, and Roy works about 60 miles from home. NOT horrible, until you factor in rush hour traffic.  Sometimes, Roy gets into the office in an hour an a half, sometimes it take twice that-my goal was to move the summer before Hayden’s junior year.  That would give him two years at a new high school, Dean would have two years at the middle school before moving into HS, but my husband is beat.  With the new position he accepted, he’s going in almost daily-and I know it’s hard on him.  So, we’re looking to move in just a few months!

Ugh, I said it out loud

We’ve been here so long, I forgot why I dislike the process.  Getting the house ready, finding a new house…and than there’s THE PURGE.

I decided to start small, something no one could have any say over-my closet.  I listed items on ebay, I put aside items for a yard sale-and felt accomplished until I looked at my closet.  Pretty sure it looks no different.  When did I accumulate so much stuff?  

To be fair, Roy’s side of the closet looks similar.  I tell the man he needs to purge and he gives me two t-shirts-out of the 50 he owns-though he only wears about 10.  He has a t-shirt that he wears constantly (I wash it, he wears it-vicious cycle) that I can see through-I kid you not.  It didn’t start out like that, he just wears it constantly!  To boot-it says Grooveshark (does anyone even remember what that is?) and he got it for free!  Not that there’s anything wrong with promotional swag-I love my pens, but when it’s starting to disintegrate, maybe it’s time to move on?

Now, for my case I realized I have way to many shirts with goofy sayings.  Some I bought for the specific purpose of basketball games-I have a few with sayings, or Hayden’s number, etc.  But most say ridiculous things like, “More Tacos please.”  I’m not sure why I need three shirts that say that-especially when all are just different shades of grey.  

And you’d think when the shirts hold no real sentimental value it would be easy to let go of-apparently, it is not.  You never know when you might find yourself in desperate need of tacos and maybe you’ve lost your voice?  I don’t know…

And let’s not even get in to my legging collection.  Now, in the winter I do wear them-daily for the most part.  I wear tunics and leggings, or a sweater and leggings, etc.  They’re warm and cute-the more colorful the better!  But I’m short, so specific brands fit me best-so why do I have pair after pair that are too big? 

I think there was a time when I bought clothes to make myself happy-I was feeling out of sorts, sad-and when I worked through that-I was left with a packed closet.  And so, THE PURGE commenced.

I truly hope the kitchen isn’t like this-or you’ll find me crying in the shower…