Not Quite Betty Crocker

“He’s such a happy baby!” I remarked, sitting on the floor with her one-year old son.  “He’s always smiling.”

“You know, I think it’s because we never fight,” she replied, half under her breath because our husbands were around the corner.  Funny how women will talk about relationships with acquaintances, but men never do.

I thought everyone fought.  Hell, that was the big lesson of my divorce post-mortem: everyone fights, so instead of trying to avoid arguments, may as well try to get better at them.  But they never fight, never even an undercurrent of frustration between them, and I’m a darned good observer of couples’ interactions.  What am I missing?

~~~

At the funeral service for a dear neighbor, I sat next to a close friend and her husband, who are also neighbors.  Through the entire service, she fidgeted – bouncing leg, shifting in her seat, twiddling her thumbs. 

On the ride home, she laughed.  “You must really love me,” she said to her husband.  “I fidget all the time and you never tell me to stop!”

He stayed silent, apparently not feeling the need to confirm or deny.

~~~

Six months into our marriage, I often feel less stable than ever before.  I can’t explain it, despite multiple attempts to figure it out.  We’re very different, my husband and I, and in terms of time, we just haven’t known each other long.

“Someday you’ll reach the point where the years you’ve been together will outnumber the years you spent apart,” my therapist said.  I found that statement to be terribly depressing, having spent half my life with another person.

I’m thirty and have known him three years.  Assuming we’re only talking about adulthood, in a decade we’ll hit breakeven.  Wow.

Not the most helpful statement, but a reminder that we can’t take anything for granted for good reason.  We haven’t earned – through years of time together -- to assume anything about the other.  It’s time to stop trying to get somewhere and start just being.

~~~

2010 is the year of not losing my shit.  I lose my shit most in regards to my husband, because he’s what matters most to me.  Good or bad, my relationship with him is the culmination of some rough times, painful lessons, and what often feels like a path of destruction left in the wake of my maturity.  Living this life is something I choose every day.  Being with him is something I’m careful not to take for granted.

But the weight of my past can be a heavy burden for a relatively new relationship.  I have to remind myself that just because I’ve learned something doesn’t mean he has.  I’ve had the freedom to learn at my own pace; he deserves the same.

In past years I relied on mantras to get me through tough times: Keep moving.  Don’t run.  Timing is everything.  Anger requires action – go do something. 

This year, then, my mantra is this: Believe, Ignore, Look for the Good. 

When things go badly, I immediately think I made a mistake.  So this year, I’m going to push myself to believe.  When things go badly, I’m going to believe in him, believe in us, believe in goodness and light and getting through eventually.

But that’s only the first step.  While I’m fervently believing, I’ll be ignoring. Sure, my husband does things that drive me bonkers, but he’s human (and even my non-human family drives me bonkers: Frank, I’m talking to you).  We’ve gotten in the habit of mentioning every little thing we think the other should or shouldn’t do, as if just by saying something, we get closer to perfection.

Nope.  At least half the time I do something stupid, I already know it by the time it’s over.  No need to be told that it was stupid and I shouldn’t do it again.  The rest of the time, sure, I can use some input, but there’s such a thing as timing, and right when I’m feeling stupid ain’t it.  And I do the same thing to my husband.

So, no more.  I’m ignoring a lot more, on purpose rather than in the fog of lust, but whatever – same result.  When he’s all worked up over losing his keys, I’m no longer going to catch the passing frustration and make it my own.  When he says something ridiculous, does something reckless, or just plain drives me nutso, I’m going to leave it alone.  If it’s still bothering me later – when I can look at him and feel love again – I’ll bring it up.

And last, but not least, I’m going to spend the time while I’m believing and ignoring (and therefore not responding) looking for the good.  Hurt leads to anger, anger requires action, and my action will be to look for the good in the situation.

My dog isn’t going to live much longer, not even 12 – 18 months (because that estimate is from onset, not diagnosis, and we’re probably six months in), and that really sucks.  For me.  Because the best part of the whole thing is that he’s not human and therefore doesn’t know he’s sick.  Does he miss playing?  Probably.  Does he wish he could play?  Doubtful.  Research tells us canines can handle a whole lot of thought processes and feelings – jealousy, envy, happiness, maybe even joy – but they live in the moment, so the ability to wish for something different is pretty unlikely.

Thank God.  Because I wish for things to be different enough for both of us.  So I’m sad, oh so very sad, for myself, but at least we can make Indy happy as a clam by giving into his every whim, dressing him in weather-appropriate garb, and cuddling as much and as often as he’ll let us.  If he’s warm, comfy, and well-fed, how can he not feel loved?  And really, that’s the best we can do for him.

I’m believing in the power of love and time and being present to get me through the sadness, ignoring the fact that in a perfect world, he’d be a perfectly annoying and nutso puppy, and holding on tight to the only good I can see: we have enough warning to give him the best next six months (and maybe more, please, please more) we can.

If this mantra helps with a dying dog, surely it can help my marriage.  We’ll probably always fight and be annoying, but we have a lot of years to breakeven; may as well make the best of them.