Why must everything be so difficult?

Husband has overbooked himself, and he is panicking.

He has committed to being in two different places at the same time, with the children. Naturally, he wants me to rescue him, and ferry the children from event to the other with him. Naturally, I am resisting.

Just cancel one, I tell him, it's not the end of the world.

And this is where the "we" that is us breaks down. If I don't give the answer he wants to hear (which in this case would be "sure, I'll help you by cancelling my plans for the day!") then he will badger me all week long about changing my mind.

He is crafty, so each day he will approach it from a different angle.

The number one angle, always, is the children. "But the kids would really like it if you are there." That well may be the case, but keeping in mind I am with the children 99% of the time, I can let this go. In fact, it's good for them to do the occasional thing without their mother, thus preparing them for the world at large once they fly the coop.

The next angle he usually takes is to attack the worth of what I am choosing to do instead. Couldn't you do that some other time - like any other day, he will ask. While he adamantly guards his precious time, mine is always up for grabs.

A few days later, he plays the profitability argument. The good old money card. In this case, apparently the annual children's party suddenly has numbers attached to it. "It's very important to our company's continued success" that we all attend. I point out the key issue there - the children's party - makes my presence redundant. It is a party for the children, not the adults.

And then finally the kicker, "but everyone else goes as families." Ah. Finally, the heart of the matter: the image. Despite the fact that it is not true, I have been to many of these things and can attest not everyone brings their spouse, to him it means everything that I trail after him at these events to put up a unified front. This says "see what a cute family we are? nothing but roses at our house..."

I have to have my wits about me at all times, one small hesitation on my part and I will be cancelling my plans and coming to his rescue. I need to be strong and consistent in my message, yet not come across as angry, since that will only make everything worse. I need my full body armor in place at all times, because he also likes to attempt this upheaval at different times: when I'm half asleep or after I've had a glass of wine. I need to be prepared - it could strike at anytime.

Once again, it doesn't escape me that I consistently liken our relationship to a battleground. Drives. Me. Crazy.

A truce, of sorts

It's fair to say we have both been trying quite hard lately. A calm has descended, there is stillness in the air, but certainly and sadly no love for each other, only a shared love for our children.
This peace is welcome, and if I don't turn my mind to anything else and put blinders on, it's all fine and dandy. My children are happy, we are not fighting, it's all good. Except when he talks about future things, like "our retirement", and alarm bells go off in my head at the thought of the rest of my earthly days spent with him.
I have researched relationships to the best of my abilities, but still can't find any meaningful advice on what to do when you are unable to feel anything positive about your partner. I fear it is like trying to revive someone who hasn't had air for five minutes; it's perhaps possible, but the person will forever be damaged.
Can we, at this point, breathe life into a relationship that has been too long dormant?

my contrarian ways

My husband hates Facebook.

Whenever we are in a social setting, he brings this up to gauge reaction. At a recent function one unfortunate night, he paraded me around from group to group, bringing up Facebook in each small gathering, making sure I was listening, as Joe Blow proceeded to (for the most part) chastise the popular social networking site.

And as we walked away, he would look at me, eyebrows raised, and say, "See? Everyone thinks it's crazy."

That night it was Facebook. Frequently it is another topic that we don't see eye to eye on. I cannot tell him enough that what Joe Blow thinks about Facebook, or whatever topic he has chosen to exploit, doesn't matter to me. I understand Joe is welcome to his opinion, and I'm welcome to mine. End of story.

What else is there to say?

Yet he proceeds to labor his point. I think, mostly, because he likes the sound of his own voice, but also he likes to agree with the majority. He sees strength in numbers, no matter how well you might structure your opposing argument.

But I am not so democratic. I sometimes - just for fun - take a contrarian stance. Like the time in grade six where I argued smoking should be allowed in schools. I have never smoked in my life, and am seriously opposed to smoking, as were most of my classmates. But I learned a lot that day about debating, and got a glimpse into the world of smokers for an afternoon. It was educational - I can't say I remember much else about grade six.

As I age I am more and likely to be a contrarian not just for fun, but legitimately so. I no longer feel the need to acquiesce to the popular side of an argument, and happily disagree with the majority on all sorts of issues. I call it personal growth. Husband calls it plain wrong.

And here again we are at odds. Shocker.

I haven't broken this news to him yet, but I've enrolled in some courses at my local university. The subject: social media.

It's so much fun to stir the pot.

Time well spent

I'm in trouble again.

Husband is very upset that I don't spend anytime at his side in social settings.

And of course, he is right. We enter a party, and I virtually flee from his side at the door, and get swallowed up by other party goers instantly. He inevitably will seek me out and drag me away - always reluctantly - from the fun a few hours later. Back to reality.

But those hours are precious - I can so easily and quickly lose myself in the laughter and alcohol induced pleasure that any party brings. I always find a good conversation that interests me, or someone who makes me laugh. It is a noticeable difference from his company. No wonder I don't want to leave.

Dinner parties hold the same appeal. I jockey to sit away from him - often obviously by saying "Let's not sit with spouses! Boring!" - and eagerly engage in conversation with my neighbors, until he rouses me from my revelry by announcing its time to leave. Where does the time go, I always wonder. And why is almost ANYONE else in the world more interesting and fun than my husband?

Last night, he was upset that he'd said it was time to go and I had ignored him completely. I think I actually looked at him and saw he was speaking to me, but I'm becoming an expert at not hearing him. His words almost never hold any appeal to me, anyway. They are just white noise.

The lecture I had to listen to from the passenger seat went something like, "When I ask you to leave, don't ignore me. I had told you before we got there I planned on being home by 11:30, what didn't you understand about that?"

He wants an apology that I can't bring myself to say. Apologies are not my strong point.

Instead I sigh and think, don't you ever lose yourself in the moment? Enjoy stimulating conversation, the flicker of candlelight, sumptuous food, that feeling of joy? Happiness?

Don't you, like me, dread saying goodbye to these warm souls because that means facing each other, alone, on the car ride home?

what planet is he from?

My beloved friend of fifteen years is heading back east, going back home to care for her ailing mother. I am invited to her going away party, and of course want to go on my own to this event: husband has only met her in passing only once, afterall, and the thought of him being at this party with her diverse range of friends would be like bringing John McCain to a rave.

I don't want to be responsible for ruining the party.

I thought I would deal with it early, swiftly and impassively that I planned on going alone. As I suspected, it was not a simple chat. I dropped it into our phone conversation one afternoon, and there followed a long period of silence, followed by this diatribe:

"But it's not all women who are going." I acknowledged this. "And surely lots of people will be bringing spouses." Well, it hasn't happened yet, but that may be the case. "Well, you realize it's important for any relationship to do things together." Yes, ideally, especially when couples LIKE and ENJOY each other. "If you asked your brothers and sisters, they would agree with me that excluding your spouse from mixed gender events is detrimental." What on God's green earth have my brothers and sisters got to do with this? And what Puritan hole did you crawl out of?

What was incredibly ridiculous about this conversation, besides the obvious, was that two nights ago he had gone out with two friends, one a woman, the other a man - not a couple, by the way - for drinks and had not invited me, and I hardly batted an eye.

Oh the hypocrisy.

And then the feeling that follows: why, as near my middle years, must I jump through hoops for the right to do what I want? How can he not know that by acting this way, he is feeding a growing resentment that towers above me, blinding me to everything except his flaws?

It's the little things...

Sometimes, it is the little inconsequential things that make my blood boil over, and cause warning signals to flash in my head that read something like "YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY STAY MARRIED TO THIS PERSON!"

Throwing a costume together for Halloween the other day, privately congratulating myself because it was a whole hour before the party began, I'd asked my daughter to retrieve a wig that she had commandeered for her dress up box, and she dutifully did so. When she returned with it, we all immediately started taking turns trying it on, laughing as we all experimented with being blond bombshells.

In the midst of this, husband says, "Tell her thank you for getting that for you."

If I was, say, invariably impolite to my children, I would have heeded this reminder. But I am not. In fact, I more often am exceedingly polite, very quick to thank them for chores or any act of kindness, for that matter, in an effort to propagate good behavior.

Lost in the moment, manners escaped me, and I'm fine with that. I can live with myself. In fact, if I could live it over, I would even choose to live it the exact same way, and my daughter would be none the wiser. Until, of course, husband reminds us all that manners were not adhered to during this transaction. Thanks for that completely useless comment, honey, what would I do without you?

At the time, I simply said, like a robot, "Thanks, sugar". In a private moment later I told him I don't need to be treated like a child, thank you very much. And he replied, well, you should have said thank you. So in short, he would do the exact same thing again, too.

When the kids were little and he happened to call when we were at the park, I remember him giving me warning lectures that went something like, "You have to watch them REALLY carefully! Don't let them out of your sight for ONE second! Don't let her hang upside down from the monkey bars, it's too dangerous!" and so on. Our therapist has explained this behavior as typical of control freaks (okay, maybe the proper term is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, whatever...) who attempt to control what is out of their control by issuing orders, and I'm supposed to simply let him say his piece (as hard as that may be).

Where our child's safety is concerned, even though it drives me nuts since I have yet to (god forbid) lose a child or even experience much more than a scraped knee, at least it is partially excusable - he only wants to protect what he loves most in life. Now that they are older, it manifests differently. For instance, he ALWAYS asks, "Is that movie appropriate?", no matter what Disney or cartoon feature I have brought home from the movie store. It is so tiring, but I tell myself these are little things.

But neglecting to say thank you, perhaps once out of a hundred times? I'm trying to rationalize that one, but having serious trouble. Is he my husband, or my mother? His role in my life is blurred by this image, and no offense to my mother, but I don't want to sleep with her.

Priorities

My friend told me the other day her priorities are herself, her husband, and then her kids, in that order. She is undisputably a fantastic mother with adorable, intelligent children who clearly are not suffering from this arrangement, in case you are concerned. I was impressed with her clarity.

Of course, I paused for thought and compared myself with this pecking order. My priorities are currently: myself, my children, and then my husband; although this is a fairly new scenario. Up until a few years ago, it would have been more like my kids, my husband, and lastly, myself. It has taken me a while to find my footing, and to realize that putting yourself first is not mutually exclusive to being a good mother.

I never was cut out to be the sacrificial lamb I had become.

And so I have shifted these priorities without warning my husband. It has naturally unfolded over the last few years, and in fairness to him, I think he is wondering who the hell I am and where did his docile wife run off to?

I see this and almost even understand his bewilderment, although my patience wears thin quickly when we discuss the issue (He tells me I am wrong to prioritize myself, I tell him to fuck off. You get the gist).

So in short, I take part of the responsibility for our predicament. I have been a moving target, in all fairness. But I feel more like myself than I have in a long time, like I have regained my chutzpah that had temporarily gone missing. In many ways, my relationship notwithstanding, I am happier than I have been in a very long time. I have no intention of returning to the shadow of my former self that I had mistakenly become.

Like me or leave me, I tell him, and to my chagrin he doesn't seem to be going anywhere.