Don't Take That Tone With Me, Mister!

The following entry will consist of a bunch of marital issue venting, so feel free to leave now. I won't be offended. I may even recommend it.

So..my husband is no great communicator. In fact, my husband is no communicator at all. When he decides to bless me with his opinion on the state of our relationship (which is quickly declining) it is usually in some language foreign to me that is based on fragmented thoughts and even more fragmented sentence structure. I am a communicator. I feel the need to articulate my thoughts/feelings (in complete sentences) and follow-up with intelligent discussion to the point of collective understanding. I had a conversation with my husband last night that just drove me to the edge. It was that conversation you have after days of silence, save the occasional conversation about weather or dirty diapers. If you're still reading at this point, it went something like this:

Me: Honey, we've got to get some things worked out. I can't stand this silence stuff. I'm starting to get resentful and I don't want that. I don't want to be in bed with my husband and not want to be there. I don't want to cringe when you brush by me in the hallway. Things are obviously tense between us. I'm upset because I have a lot of things on my mind about our marriage and I can't get resolution. I need for you to talk to me about it. I mean really talk to me. Don't sit there staring at the floor, twirling your hair while I talk. The one thing that drives me crazy is the silence and what appears to be your lack of respect for my thoughts by not acknowledging that I'm speaking to you. I think we've just come to a place where we are both placing way too much emphasis on what is the other person's responsibility to this relationship and not enough emphasis on what are our own respective responsibilities. (Fade to five minutes later where husband is still staring at the floor and twirling hair and I am still talking except for the occasional pause to allow for his interjection.) Do you agree or disagree with any of this? ......................................(2 minute silence while I watch him, eagerly awaiting response)

Me: Hello?
(30 more seconds)
Him: What do you want me to say, Holly?

Me: I want you to say something of your own volition. I don't want to tell you what to think and say. I want you verbalize whatever it is that has gone through your head in the last 8 minutes that you've sat there twirling your hair.

Him: It doesn't matter what I say. You'll just tell me what I think and if I say something it will be wrong or in the wrong tone.

Me: It DOES matter. And I only tell you what I "assume" you are thinking because you refuse to TELL me what you think. By all means, set me straight. Or...quit asking me what I want you to say. And as far as the tone thing, I'm not having that conversation. You know when you are using a condescending tone with a condescending comment. We've been over this.
(The "tone" issue refers to the fact that when he does choose to communicate, it's usually in a very hateful manner. And when I am offended by that, it's followed with an explanation of how he can't hear himself talk most of the time and doesn't know what kind of tone he has. His hearing is fine, by the way. He just says he sometimes thinks he's talking loud enough and he's not. He sometimes talks too loud when he thinks it's normal. He sometimes sounds condescending when he thinks he's being completely conversational. His explanations...not mine. I don't buy it. He doesn't have this problem with anyone but me.)

Him: See...there you go. I try to communicate with you and you are "implying" that I am wrong about the "tone" thing. You don't want to have that conversation again because you've already decided that what I think about my tone is not right and that's the end of the story.

Me: I think the toilet in the girls bathroom was trying to back up earlier. Can you take care of that?

Oh..and there was something in there where I said, "I'm really unhappy right now and I can't imagine that you're happy with all of my bitching about being unhappy. Are you happy?" To which he replied, "I thought I was happy. I mean, I'm happy when you hug me sometimes."

I went to bed. I can't take it. I mean, if he doesn't want to make me happy via verbal communication then he can keep me happy with a steady stream of flowers, dinners, seduction and the occasional diaper duty. It's not a tough trade-off. I am getting totally stressed about the whole thing. I'm not one of those people that can just push down emotion. I've tried and it usually leads to depression and extreme alcoholic consumption on a nightly basis. Not a good combination for a stay-at-home soccer mom sporting full-time student status. So..ok..I vented.

Let's see if I can think of anything a little less heavy to end this post. Hmmm..ok..45 days until the lakeside retreat. That makes me happy.

This Could Be the End

God is seriously pissed right now. I looked out my window a while ago and it was raining, snowing and sleeting all at one time.

Oh..and I clicked "Next Blog" earlier and ended up here. It's the funniest shit I've read all week.

Joy, Pain and Confused Violation

Yesterday afternoon Edie woke up from her nap just in time to go pick up the girls from school. I got her all bundled up and into the carseat. We proceeded down the driveway and she says, "I happy to see you, Mommy." How incredible is that? This child that spends nearly every waking moment of her life with me is happy to see me!

We have soccer tonight. Last week was a nightmare. Ciera insisted on going to the game straight from her grandmother's wake. The first half was painful. It hurt me to watch it. Two minutes into the 2nd half she was benched...for the first time EVER. Rightfully, I admit. It was tough though. It was bound to happen. She's been playing keeper for 3 years now and it was inevitable. I hope tonight is better. We start outdoor again in 2 weeks. It's much better for me. Indoor soccer is just so fast and leaves little room for error.

I have this problem. This whole online classes thing is severely cutting into my blogging and internet porn time. I'm none too happy about this and thinking I may have to do some rescheduling.

Does everyone have one of those siblings that tries to cryptically give you guilt trips? I have one and she drives me fucking nuts. Every conversation goes something like this:

Me: So..I guess it's going to snow today.

Her: Yeah. I saw that. Of course, it might as well snow everyday for me. It's not like I really have someone to keep me warm anytime.

Me: (ignoring last comment) Are you going to the soccer game tonight?

Her: Well, I'd like to but I have all this work to do and then I really need to clean my room. Of course, since I don't really have anything else to do with anyone I've spent a lot of time cleaning my room lately.

Me: (ignoring last comment) Have you talked to Mom lately? I tried to call her a couple of times yesterday but never got her.

Her: No. I really don't talk to her much lately. I guess since I already have a degree, she doesn't really have much time for me these days. I called her last week but when I asked what she was doing, she said she was putting up all the breakables because Edie was coming over so you could finish up some homework. I figured that must have really been taking up her time, so I just told her I'd call her another time.

Me: (ignoring last comment but getting irritated) Hmmm. So anything exciting going on?

Her: No. I'm thinking of just transferring to another state. I don't think anyone would really notice. At least then everyone might be happy to see me if it was only a couple times a year.

Me: So..I guess it's going to snow today.

As you read this conversation, you may be tempted to add in a whiny voice or sarcastic overtone. Don't. All of the above guilt trip is given via the normal-everyday-please pass the ketchup kind of delivery. I always have this dazed and violated feeling when I finish talking to her. It's not like this is the kind of conversation we have on a bad day. This is the kind of conversation we have EVERY day.

If I Have to Live in this Soap Opera, Somebody Better Damn Sure Write Me a Make-Out Scene with the Leading Man

Shit!! It's like I'm in a parallel dimension. Everyone's pissed at someone. Sisters hating sisters. Friends hating friends. Friends hating sisters. Exes hating friends. Friends hating exes. Exes hating sisters friends....you get the idea. And the damnedest part of all...I've got no one to hate. I'm going nuts. All I can say is this: In 7 weeks I will be sitting in a big ass vacation house with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.....enjoying the hot tub, daring someone to go jump in the lake. And I really don't give a fuck WHO is there with me or who jumps in the lake.

Death and Government

Ugh. It's been a bad week. Jeremy's (ex-husband) grandmother died Tuesday evening. She is the woman that raised him. It's a sad, long story that I don't have the energy to recant at the moment. A vicious cycle of bad parenting and grandparenting that ultimately led to our divorce. He loved her very much. And so did my girls. It was a long battle with cancer. The end was very much expected but still excruciating for them. It's heart-wrenching to see your children in that kind of pain. The kind of pain that you can't fix with a kiss or a band-aid or even stitches. It's hard to look at their swollen faces and bloodshot eyes and tell them that everything will be ok. Children always do opposite of what you expect. Avery is my sensitive one. I thought she would be devastated. She was...for a few hours. Then she drew some pictures of her G.G and wrote a song and found solace. Ciera is taking it much harder. I guess because she's older and thinks deeper. It makes me very sad. So I did the one thing I knew to do....we went and got haircuts and new clothes. It helped. It makes me wonder if there is something innate about shopping....built into the female chemistry. Ciera says she will still play in her soccer game tomorrow after the funeral. She says her G.G. will finally not be too sick to see her play.

I HATE this government professor. I know that I should probably not jump to that conclusion so early in the semester. Especially since I've never even met him face to face, but I have jumped. I know when I write an "A" paper. There have been occasions that I just wasn't up to it and intentionally wrote a "B" paper. I'm not trying to brag, but I can hold my own when writing a paper. And with the miracles of Spell and Grammar Check...how could I go wrong? So when I questioned my professor as to why he didn't find my writing worthy of an "A", here is a clip from his response:
one last point. I might be guilty of grading someone a little more harshly, if there are some indicators in their writing that they have real promise, than I might grade someone that has no writing aptitude at all, especially in the first writing assignment. This probably isn't fair, but subconsciously, I think every faculty does it to some extent.
Aside from the GLARING gramattical errors, I find this unsettling. Maybe I'm just pissed because he wouldn't give me the "A."

Bitch Session in Progress: Please Turn Off Your Cell Phone and Use Your Inside Voice

I'll just go by topic. Find one that interests you and feel free to join.

Ex-husbands: Ok, First: My oldest child "became a woman" this weekend during her stay with her father. I received a phone call from the daddy and to his credit he was actually able to somewhat mask the near-hysteria in his voice. Seems that she "started her thing" and the wife was away and he didn't know what to do.
"Well, Jeremy, is she ok?"
"I don't know, Holly, she's in the bedroom."
"Did you give her a pad or something?"
"No! I already told you I didn't know what to do! I've been trying to reach you for an hour!"
"Nice. Let me talk to her."
"Avery!!! Come get the phone and take it to your sister." (Like she has the plague or something.)
Long story short...she was fine and able to handle it on her own.

Ex-husbands (still): It's soccer registration time again. I pay all of the monthly dues (year round) for Ciera to play competitive AND this month I have to pay an extra $45 for the indoor season. I asked Jeremy to make sure he gets Avery registered for spring season ($35) and he says he'll have to see what he can do. Ok, asshole, I pay $600 a year for registrations, dues, and equipment. Surely you can find a fucking way to swing the $35 twice a year. Or, if you want, just pay me the $4000 that you owe me and we'll call it even.

12 year old menstrual issues: Ok...I'm proud that my daughter is growing up. I feel bad that she has to join the ranks. I want her to be comfortable and confident and all those things. I have been the perfect picture of supportive and sensitive. But really...don't ask me one more fucking time in 30 minutes if I think you should change that thing!!!! Of course I will smile and say all of the appropriate things but in my head I am thinking of locking you in the bathroom with a year's supply of sanitary items and making you stay there until they're gone.

Unethical, bastard business owners: The deep-freeze that we had last week resulted in a broken window in my husband's truck. We spent the better part of a morning locating someone that wanted to bring their mobile service to his place of employment in the bitter cold to fix it. The man that we settled on came there the next day and happily replaced the glass for a small sum of $150. My husband was warm and dry and we were all happy. Two days later, Ken gets in the truck, closes the door and the fucking thing shatters into a million pieces. We call the said bastard and politely explain that the glass must have been defective or perhaps the installer overlooked some small detail that resulted in the freak breakage. He politely told us that we could shove it up our collective ass because he doesn't do faulty work and maybe if we tried closing the door a little easier it wouldn't have happened.

Asshole professors: Ok...I shouldn't have waited. I shouldn't have taken the government class online. There are probably many things I could have done to avoid taking this class at this time. Still...I think that there has been and continues to be plenty of information written about this lovely system that we call a democracy. Is it seriously necessary for me to write 15 two to three page essays and a 10 page paper about the shit?? AND if you're going to make me do that, is it seriously necessary for me to take a mid-term AND final AND weekly quizzes?? And is it really necessary to have that whole plagiarism lecture on your site? How can I really avoid it when you want me to write that much shit about something that so much shit has been written about already??

Mothers: Ok...some people are happy being under-achievers. I may lean slightly toward the over-achiever side. That may annoy the hell out of you. Don't try to talk me out of success. No, I don't think that 16 hours is more than I can handle. No, I don't think I'll be the crazy one by the time I get a psychology degree EVEN if I do continue at "this rate." My exact words to her: "You should quit bitching and just be grateful that I'm paying for it instead of you."

Parent-teacher conferences: I always get the note that says my children are doing great in school and a conference is not necessary. So why, then, must I suffer through the day out of school because other people have children that are not doing so great? And why do parent-teacher conferences have to take place on the Friday before MLK day when they really don't need the 4 day weekend. They were just out of school for 17 fucking days in a row. They've only been back for 9!! Come on...throw me a bone here.

Ok...I feel better. Please remember to fill out the survey and drop it in the box by the door. We are always trying to improve these sessions to better meet your needs.

Whiskey Dreams and Sad Little Victories

So, wow. It's been a while. Holidays are always such a whirlwind. I dread them when they're coming and always somewhat regret when they're gone. Aside from presents that I didn't ask for and hangovers that I did ask for, it wasn't so bad. Many days of children at this grandma's or that. Many nights stumbling into bed. It's a life that really isn't mine anymore but one that is so comfortable I can't help but climb back into.

Christmas night: Back in that hole in the wall bar that I hate. Lots of drunken cowboys and bad karaoke. A surprise this night though. A flash from the past. The boy from high school that everyone loved. The boys always wanted to be like him. The girls always wanted to be with him. I had my days in his sun. A few short weeks that high school made seem like a lifetime. He looked like shit. Life has been hard on him. Still the same boy. With his 22 year old girlfriend. I befriended her. She liked me. She hates being in his shadow here she says. It wasn't like this in Oregon she says. I can't see that he casts such a shadow anymore. Still it must be sad for her. There was a victory though. He was happy to see me. Said I looked fabulous. He had hoped to run into me soon. Trying the whole night to tell me, show me when she turned away. Still the same boy. A sad victory, I know. But a victory nonetheless. The local sheriff pulled my ex-brother-in-law over on the way home. In the Christmas spirit he sent us on our way. Possibly to our deaths, but it was Christmas and it was a nice gesture.
I did a drown night at one of the college bars in Tulsa. Damn that's been a long time and now I remember why. Or maybe it's better to say I remember part of why. A couple of ladies nights in places where there were no "ladies" in sight. I told lots of stories. How did they put it? Oh.."Holly was in rare form last night." My phone rang often. Too many times I let them talk me into getting out of bed and into the car to meet them. I've never been one to turn away the masses, you know. My husband is never comfortable when I am that person. He's angry and doesn't know why. He's lonely and doesn't know why. It's funny. It's that person that he fell in love with. That person is the one he married.

New Year's Eve: After the Christmas/sheriff incident, I didn't want to venture south of this little town. I drove the mile and a half to my ex-brother-in-law's house. It was an odd collection of old friends. Me, my husband, one of my sisters, one of my ex-brother-in-laws (with a different sister), Jill's ex-husband, his cousin, his friend. Later Chase came. The ex-brother-in-law went to jail. We told him not to drive to the bar. We fully understood that it was only half a mile and that it was only for half an hour. We tried to make him understand that he had already been pardoned by fate just one week ago. He didn't listen. And all of his daddy's ex-mayoral political power yielded nothing. Well...they didn't impound his truck. We stayed and partied. Chase cooked some Chase concoction. Nobody ate it. Not even Chase this time. Maybe he has changed after all. It seemed like he was gone as quickly as he arrived. I wish I had been able to spend a little more time. Pay a little more attention.
There are many more stories. I'll try to get to them after a few days of this rambling. I think I'm ready to leave the life that's not mine anymore behind for a little bit. Maybe till summer. Maybe just until spring. It was warm and cozy there.

Coming Soon

Holly Returns