And It Wasn't Even On The List

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 We experienced a close call here the other day.

MathMan, who is working multiple jobs - teacher, department chair, and coach to girls' softball, the boys' JV basketball team and baseball (okay maybe that's 5 jobs) - is clocking long days that often run from 6:30 a.m. with the start of his long commute until he returns home at 9pm from some coaching job.  When he gets home, he's not done.  He still has work emails to answer and send, lesson planning, papers to grade  and whatever other random stuff comes up.  And two kids who sometimes need help in math.

The man is on overload.

He was at the end of his patience about some work related thing when he came into the bathroom and said, "I am doing everything I can and it's never enough."

What triggered his exasperation may have been work-related, but the impact of the words hit me square in the forehead I was exfoliating when he stormed into the bedroom to search for his calculus book appendage.

Old instincts kicked in.  We've lived this life before.  Early in our marriage, MathMan managed a Radio Shack and worked about eighty hours a week.  I worked regular hours and took care of the apartment.  I hated that dynamic so much that I once sat down and made a list of reasons why he should find another job. 

Now I'm not even working regular hours.  Am I not pulling my weight?  I'm looking for a job and writing a novel, but that doesn't look like work.  Writing is what I love to do.  Keeping house doesn't count for much because so much of it is invisible.  I'm alone much of the time so no one can see what I do.

If a woman cleans a toilet and no one is there to see her do it, did it really happen?

I blinked at MathMan  as I tried to think of a response.  The old fight or flight response poked its head up and sniffed around.

Down boy.

"What do you mean by that?"  I'd decided to ask for a clarification, for him to flesh out that thought, to tell me if I should be doing more.

Something in my face must have indicated that the old instinct was alert now.  He picked up his book and explained that his job frustrations were mounting and he was struggling to juggle all his roles.  He was clear - this wasn't a home issue.

The fight or flight instinct settle back into place and quieted.  I tried to be supportive, mostly by just listening.  He went back to his desk to finish one last work assignment before coming to bed.  While I finished getting ready for bed, I silently congratulated us for getting better at this.  In the old days, this would have escalated into ugly words before it become a tense, angry silence punctuated by only the most necessary of polite words through gritted teeth.

I also thought about what else I could be doing to ease his burden and to show how much I do appreciate all that he does.  My thoughts ranged from taking over the yard work to getting this novel published.  A wide range, I know, but I have been so lucky to have him support and encourage me every step of the way.  Even when I know he must be thinking it would be nice for me to have a regular, paying job again.

I pulled out my notebook and jotted down a few ideas.  I'd talk to him about it later.

The next morning, I asked him how he was feeling.

"Much better.  Venting helped."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, I needed that.  Thanks."

I smiled at him and swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

He touched me on the back and laughed.  "The fact that you've taken to sleeping topless doesn't hurt either."

Gratuitous pic of my honey.

Who Sent in These Clowns?

Snippets from the last couple of days. (While I try to edit another video.)

Setting: The home office aka Blogging Ops

The Actor, picking up the Dancer's Agnes Scott College brochure snarks, "What's this - it says "A place for women." Do they mean the kitchen?"

You know, he doesn't look so bad with those missing front teeth.

Setting: Still in Blogging Ops

I am holding up a baggie of Milk Duds that has been riding around in the bottom of my bag of work stuff. They're melted and squished together to form a rectangular clump. I shrug, pull one end of the clump out of the bag and take a bite of it. Chocolate and carmel are chocolate and carmel, no matter what form they take.

"Why are you eating that stool sample?" MathMan asks innocently.

After he regained consciousness, it didn't take him long to figure out that one of his eyebrows is missing.

Okay - that's all I can muster at the moment. Long day, sat in meetings, stubbed my toe, have this unresolved itch. Have figured out how to make blogging part of my paid job. (You heard me.) Had something disappointing at Dairy Queen (note to self: stick with the tried and true). Et cetera.

Now I'm off to FINALLY try out the Love Tub with MathMan. We've got big plans for our inaugural dip. Bubble hats and bubble beards are such a turn on!

Carpool Log Day One: Ask Yourself This.....

MathMan and I made it through our first co-commute yesterday without a single puppet show. Thanks to those who provided future programming suggestions. What great ideas! However, I want you to consider carefully before encouraging me to vlog. Aren't I insufferable enough using the written word?

So this is how our afternoon commute went as we made the short drive from my office to our marriage counselor's office. Oh the irony.

First, I started out examining my face in the mirror behind the car's window visor. Why is it that I always see stray hairs that must be plucked only when I'm in the car and have no tweezers?

Next up, MathMan made a left turn and didn't stay in his lane. I chided him briefly but then I got distracted by the German bakery on Atlanta Road. My stomach growled.

I asked "How about if we stop there and buy some German pastries and then we stop at Douceur de France and buy some eclair?. We can do a World War II re-enactment and my mouth can be the Ardennes." (history nerd humor + food humor - Epic FAIL).

MathMan responded with alacrity, "That would give new meaning to the Battle of the Bulge."

I laughed because I actually got that joke and then looked down at my tummy and sucked it in really tightly, trying to meld it with my spine. More FAIL.

As usual, I was not happy about having to go to see our therapist. I don't see why we need to go talk to some guy about our marriage. And hey! he doesn't even have fab eyebrows. When MathMan picked me up at the office I moaned, kvetched and then whined a little. He was unmoved. I decided to take the direct approach - petulance and threats.

"I'm not going to talk. I just going to sit there with my arms crossed and glare at a spot on the wall. YOU can do all the talking," I huffed, then flounced away, shuffled some papers, clicked my mouse and watched MathMan from under my eyelashes as I pretended to concentrate on my computer screen.

Still nothing. His calm demeanor can be so annoying.

So there we sat about forty-five minutes later and my resolve was gone. I was participating, making a go of it, taking an enthusiastic part in the conversation about our relationship with each other and with The Spawn.

Then our therapist picked up this book and held it up so we could see the cover. The title was The One Question That Can Save Your Marriage by Harry P. Dunne, PhD.

Thankfully, our therapist isn't one to expect us to actually read the book, although I'm sure he thinks it might be a good idea. Nor is he one who thrives on the dramatic. He just cut right to the chase.

"The question is pretty simple," he began. MathMan and I waited quietly, patiently. I don't know what MathMan was thinking, but I know what I was thinking. There's just one question?

"The question is What would it be like to be married to you?"

I gasped first, then let out a very unladylike guffaw. MathMan seemed to ponder this quietly. Gathering my wits about me, I sucked in my breath and watched him. When he looked at me, I gestured that I would choke me with my bare hands. He just blinked at me as if to say "As if I haven't considered that a million times and dismissed it because I don't want to go to jail because of you."

We left the office with our next appointment scheduled and some thinking to do. What would it be like to be married to me?

The very idea gives me the shakes......



To be continued.......