My husband's my hero.

I think the repeat references to my husband in this blog are starting to make him a little nervous.  The first few (many) weeks I was blogging, I had to beg him to read my blogs and, to be honest, this was frustrating and, therefore, inspired me to antagonize him with what I wrote.  Then, about six weeks into my blog, he said, rather offhandedly as he was looking at his FaceBook page, "can you not tag me in your posts anymore?".  I, of course, feigned ignorance.  Why ever not, my dear?  And was informed, ever so kindly, that he didn't need or want his friends or coworkers reading the intimate details of his life. (For the record, the post that day had been in relation to Micah's birth and JMahl's wariness of the soft spot on her head.)  


I was shocked.  Why, dear, I was only ever complimentary!  And besides, why you would be concerned about your coworkers and friends reading that you have a ____ inch ____?  I mean, they're going to somewhat assume anyhow, considering you wear a size 13 shoe and have a 3.5 inch long thumb.  And, we can't avoid the most obvious stereotype of all...  
What's the most obvious stereotype of all, Katryn?
Oh, well, I don't know.  I guess it's your shoe size.  I wouldn't know.  I don't pay attention to stereotypes.
uh. huh.


So, I quit tagging him in my posts... so now only my friends and family can read my posts. (or those of JMahl's friends and family that have friended me on Facebook- isn't FB great? Takes "my friends are your friends and your friends are my friends... the more we get together the happier we'll be" to a whole new level.)  But he's still nervous.  Today I got an email from him: "did you post today?  I didn't see one.  Can I read it?"  
Not yet.  Too bad.  Not until I write it.  But hey, the laundry's done!  


Because, while I definitely respect my husband's privacy and humility, I also have to satisfy my own primal urges to write what is in my head and heart.  And very often, it is my husband (I will not mention his anatomy) that is in my head and heart.  (Honey, that's a sweet comment, so take it as such.)  


But this has also worked well in my favor; because, you see, knowing that there is a great potential for his being the antagonist in my weekly "story", JMahl is attempting to ensure his role as protagonist, and is starting to go above and beyond.  And I like this.  Call me manipulative-- heck, you can even say I'm blackmailing him- but he's now got to make sure that anything I could potentially write about him will be entirely complimentary, since he doesn't have the option of telling me I can no longer write.  Or write about him.  That could be considered too controlling, and he doesn't want to ever be perceived in a negative light.  


In the last few weeks, whenever I've informed him he needs to apologize to me (because that's what I do when I'm tired of fighting:  "just apologize already.  you know you're going to do it eventually, and I'm tired of being mad and I won't apologize until you do.")- I get a heartfelt apology almost immediately.  It used to take a few hours and a small bribe.  He's called before leaving work to ask me if I need wine (I do tonight); he's given me shoulder and neck rubs without me having to ask.  He even brushed my hair for me the other night- something that rarely happens.  And I saw potential here.  Potential for an improved husband (I mean "relationship", of course. Relationship.)  But I still felt the need for a test.  Something to prove that  he was going to do whatever it takes to make me feel good- and, therefore, make him look good to anyone still reading this post.  


So I asked my husband the other night as I climbed into bed- do you see the difference, the tightness, the firmness in my body since I've been working out?  His response was spot on.  YES.
And when I asked him if he thought I could ever get rid of the excess belly as a result of four children.. again, I got a YES.  (the fact that he never took his eyes off his iPad for any of this conversation is not going to figure into this post).
And when I moaned and complained that when I got on the scale it told me I'd gained six pounds over the weekend, he didn't start listing off the entire package of pizza rolls, the excess amount of chinese food, and ho-hos and the ice cream that I'd consumed over the course of the weekend.  Instead he said "The scale's off."  


Baby, you keep this up, and you've got nothing to worry about.  

You may be right... I may be crazy.

"But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for...."  If you're anything like me, you can't say the words "I may be crazy" without breaking into song.  And no, this does not mean you are crazy.  Although it also does not mean you are not crazy.  


My husband thinks I am crazy.  Granted, he has many examples for why this is true, most of which I am not going to share with you today, although I believe I have discussed some in prior postings, but the primary reason he thinks I am crazy is that I like to make up stories in my head.  And no, not the good old bedtime stories that a mother is required to tell her children so they can stay up just a few minutes longer.  But real stories.  Manipulations on life.


Now, I think I come by this trait naturally.  It runs in my family, I do believe.  For example, as a child, the best part of Thanksgiving was all the children (16 in that generation) cramming into a bedroom, lights out, to listen to my Uncle Dan regale us with stories of Jonathon the Great.  Oh, we loved Jonathon the Great (never once, in all the stories, shortened to just "Jonathon".  It was always "Jonathon the Great went to the Tower of Stones" and "Jonathon the Great rescued the Princess" and "Jonathon the Great found the magic feather".)  There's something to be said about consistency, constant affirmation of Jonathon's greatness, and my Uncle's imagination and dedication.  I often wonder now how much he dreaded being roped into these hours long story-telling sessions and if he breathed a sigh of relief when we'd all outgrown the stories, although now we've got a whole new generation of children (19 so far, with only half of the original 16 married and producing) dying to hear Jonathon the Great stories, despite the fact that I don't believe, when eavesdropping, that this generation of stories is anywhere near as great as the ones I was raised on.  


My father is also storyteller.  In some post soon I will share with you his talks with the Elves. He is a story teller with a conscious.  A modern day Grimm brother or Hans Christian Anderson.  His stories have value, purpose, and a moral... not just entertainment, but a higher calling.  But I'll share those stories in a later post.  My father has actually written a book on storytelling within organizations; granted, I haven't actually read his dissertation (yet, Dad, yet), and he would probably define it very differently, but in my head, that's the premise.


Many people in my family write- whether drafting novels, marketing blogs, or weekly news-filled letters and emails-- and I think I've learned that the written word is often more powerful than the spoken word.  (There is also likely to be another post on "Mommy letters"-- our affectionate (?) term for the long tirades my brothers and I (and our spouses) would receive from my Mother when she was not pleased with something we had done.)  And hyperbole is definitely a hereditary trait...just ask my father, my brother's wife, or my husband... but sometimes the details of what happened are just more interesting when you embellish them.  (My husband has picked up on this and when I tell him a story he'll typically follow it with "Now tell me what really happened.")


But it is not the hyperbole or the written word that concerns my husband (except for the times I send him emails he does not want to read at work-- and I'm not talking about the risque ones).  The story telling that concerns him- well, I say "concerns", but I really mean "makes him think I'm crazy"-- are the stories that go on in my head.  The long conversations I have with people-- with strangers in the grocery store, with family members with whom I am having an "issue", with him, with my children's teachers, pediatricians, fellow gym members (typically these conversations revolve around how great I look after only seven visits to the gym and how they wish they could be as svelte, stylish, in shape as I am), therapists (should anyone in my family ever need a therapist, those conversations have already been prepared).   I constantly have a conversation ongoing in my head.  Sometimes I create these conversations out of boredom.  Sometimes they are begun because I have something I want to say and no one has asked me my opinion, so I just tell it to the person in my head who asked me (often a prestigious political A-lister who is then so impressed with my level of understanding of the issues that they offer me a job and I am catapulted to instant success; sometimes Dr. Phil or Oprah- same result of instant success, but also including instant fame and wealth).  Sometimes, I really want to propose a specific theory or brag on my children, so those conversations have to come up somehow.  And sometimes, I'm just tired of talking to children and there are no adults around, so, voila, an adult conversation!  It just so happens to be in my imagination, but at least I'm getting some mature and intelligent discussion going.


I've read articles on interviewing (heck, I've WRITTEN articles on interviewing) and they all say the same thing "prepare for your interview before hand by going over your answers to the questions the interviewer may ask you".  Sound advice.  I do do this.  But I do it even when I don't have an interview scheduled.  I just carry on a full interview in my head while doing the laundry.  And yes, they always offer me the job.  


And sometimes, I need to make some very powerful points to my husband about the things he should or should not be doing.  These conversations can get very intense, and this is where the line (in my husband's opinion) gets crossed from normal to crazy.  Because, while it does not happen often, there have been times-- maybe one or two, three at the most-- that I've sort of, somewhat, kinda forgotten whether or not the conversation was real or in my head.  Now, I know this can not be all that unusual. It can't possibly be.  It's just that my imagination is so vivid and our conversations are so intense, and since I know my husband so well, I can pretty accurately determine what he is going to say in a real conversation and, therefore, recreate it in my head.  So when he tells me "That conversation was all in your head"... sometimes I've had to stop, think, and say "oh, yeah.  You're right"; while other times I vehemently deny it... which leads to one of those fights I discussed in a prior post.  But sometimes I can just say to him, "You know what?  Maybe it was.  But it's something you WOULD have said if we had had that conversation in real life".  At which point he is forced to stop, think, and say "oh, yeah.  You're right."


So he may be right, I may be crazy (cue singing)... or maybe I'm a genius.  And if I ever doubt this, I'll just ask someone.  And if I want to get an intelligent and informative take on my own level of genius versus potential craziness, who better to ask than myself?  

Family Friendly Fighting (Optional Title: "I need a medicine ball to throw at my husband, since throwing a baby would hurt the poor child, too."

I have a confession to make.  I am not perfect.  Wait, no, I take that back.  My confession is that I married an imperfect man.  He's close, but it will be a few more years before I've perfected him.  But now, while he's still a work in progress, this causes some problems. Because his imperfections tend to conflict with my perfection, and this means we fight. 

I know, I know.  Those of you who know us are shocked right now and not sure if you want to keep on reading.  You're afraid of losing that image of us as that perfect couple that all couples aspire to be. I understand that, and I admit that it is hard to admit to this "imperfection".  You look at us and think "Wow, they are perfect!  They must never fight!".  And on the outside, we are perfect. We are exceptionally intelligent, cool and attractive-- and the fact that we are an interracial couple automatically elevates our cool and attractive rating (or so I've been told).  We drive silver cars (and only cool people drive silver cars. Boring people drive blue and green and even black cars- I made this point up.).  We have gorgeous children.  (Of course, being bi-racial, they are not only gorgeous- because I've been told repeatedly over the last eight years that all bi-racial children are gorgeous- but they look just like [fill in the name of a famous bi-racial baby or a friend or neighbor's bi-racial baby here].)  And our children are extremely intelligent-- just ask me, and I'll give you proof of this.  And my husband has a great job, and I am a stay-at-home mother for the most part, so we obviously have the ideal life.

And no, I'm not arguing any of this.  I would never want to disavow anyone of this notion, because we are, pretty much, the ideal couple and family.  But, nonetheless, we do, occasionally, fight.  And I must say that over the last few years I've discovered that fighting is not as much fun as it used to be.  Because it used to be a great deal of fun.

Back in the day (pre-kids)- fighting was awesome.  It was stimulating, exciting, and really added spark to a relationship.  Plus, to some extent, it helped work out problems that would otherwise be ignored and potentially infringe on perfection down the road. I admit, I was occasionally known to instigate fights over nothing, but, it's cliche and I hate being cliche, the making up part was always worth the fight. But now, with kids?, fighting is not as fun anymore.

For one thing, you have to whisper-fight.  And whisper-fighting sucks.  How are you supposed to get your point across about what an @$$ your husband is being in a whisper?  [Cue low lights and hushed voices]  "honey... honey... can you hear me?  okay, good.  Anyhow, what you said was really a jerk thing to say.  What?  I said, what you said was a jerk thing to say.  Did you say 'go slow'?  I am going slow... oh, you said 'I know'.  Oh.  I said 'Oh', not 'no'.  Why would I say 'no' when you said 'I know'?  What?  No, I didn't ask you if you wanted juice.  Why would I ask you if you wanted juice?  What sense does that make when we are talking about what you did wrong? I  didn't say... what?  are you kidding?  you don't make any sense.  It's orange febreeze?  What's orange febreeze?"

Plus, cursing in a whisper really defeats the purpose of cursing.  I was raised in a strict no-foul-language-allowed household.  And by foul, I mean my mouth got washed out with soap (literally) for using the word "crap" when I was about thirteen. As a result, I get a very satisfactory and perverse pleasure out of cursing when I'm mad.  And that's very hard to do when you are trying to keep the kids not only from hearing you fight, but from potentially overhearing a very bad word.  So, I tend to make a lot of weird sounds and facial movements that are meant to imply curse words without actually saying them- while whispering. Example:  "ffff....ughghghg... you, you zaaaazzhoooeeouu.  I can't believe you actually fffuuugggg-en said that. I said 'I can't believe you actually fffuugggg-en said that.  Said that!  SAID that!  I can't believe you said that!"  

Yeah, not as much fun.  Nor as much impact.  The other factor of fighting when there are kids in the house is the pretend make-up. When the kids walk in the room when you're at your angriest and you automatically have to pretend that you really love each other at that moment. We've become very good at this.  [cue child walking in the room-- normally to ask for juice]  "you fuuuugg... FUN husband, you!  You want some juice, Mason?  Okay.. here you go.  What are we doing?  Oh, we were just talking about how we want to kiss each other.  See?  MUUUAHH.  Oh, that's gross?  Well, then... just run on back out of here while we continue to kiss.  [exit child]  zaaazzzzhooeeeuuu."  

And for the record, the exciting, cliche "make up sex", well, that sort of goes by the wayside when you have kids, too.  Half the time we're just too exhausted to even think about it, and when we do think about it, the planning of it becomes a little too difficult. "I'm sorry."  "I'm sorry, too".  "I'm turned-on".  "Me, too."  "okay... what time will the kids be in bed?"  "Well, we've got to finish dinner first... what's 'turned on' mean?  Were you listening, Kayton? Oops. Turned on means... uhmmm... happy with each other?  But only when a Mommy and Daddy are happy with each other.  It doesn't apply to you and your friends.   Yes, you may have more spaghetti...  so where were we, honey?  oh yes... well, finish dinner, then family time, then pjs... I think we've got about two more hours until... Mason, get your elbow off the table... two more hours until we can, well, you know..."  Of course, by the time those two hours roll by, well, need I say more?  

Now, JMahl and I don't fight all the time, or even most of the time.  Just sometimes.  And if there's one thing he's learned by being married to me, it's when a fight is brewing. And he's a smart man- not perfect, but smart.  He can sense a fight brewing from the tone of my voice on the phone when he calls to say he's on the way home, and he's learned to diffuse that situation. These are the times he walks in the door with a bottle of wine. He has learned that I can't be angry with him for not picking up milk (especially when I drove by the grocery store four times that day and just never felt like stopping) if he does stop and pick me up a bottle of wine.  One statement that you will never hear come out of my mouth is:  "What do you mean you were too tired to stop and pick up milk?  You had enough energy to stop and pick me up a bottle of wine, didn't you?"  Yes, call me selfish if you must, but the kids *could* drink water at dinner, in a worst case scenario.  And when JMahl can't diffuse a situation (with wine), he turns into a master politician.  In fact, had my husband decided to go into politics, he could quite possibly be under consideration for the next Presidential nomination.  

He's amazing, I must say, at twisting my words, at getting me to say the one thing I swore three minutes before I would never say, and, when all else fails, going into denial mode.  "I didn't say that.  I never did that.  Nope.  Didn't happen. How much have you had to drink?" (or, if it's a morning fight "Have you had your coffee yet?")  This has a tendency to drive me insane, which is when I can no longer keep my voice to a whisper- although I still manage to keep my curse words camouflaged.  [cue screaming]  "ARE YOU FARREEGERING KIDDING ME????"   

But, even in my crazy psychotic screaming, there is still a lesson.  For these are the times (after dinner, after family time, after we've ascertained that there will be no make-up sex) that we are able to tuck our children into bed and explain to them that "Mommy and Daddy fight just like you and [sibling] fight... but we still love each other and always will.  Just like you and [sibling] love each other-- even when you're mad at each other.  And you didn't hear this just now, but when you were up here brushing your teeth, Daddy told me that he was sorry and that he loves me very much and that he was wrong and that I was right and that he is always wrong and I am always right .  Wait, you were eavesdropping and you never heard that?  Well, that's because he whispered it.  Yes. He did.  So, even if you didn't HEAR Daddy say he was sorry and that I'm always right, I want you to know that he IS sorry and that Mommy is always right."    

Because even if you shouldn't fight in front of your kids, it's going to happen.  And while it may not bring the pleasure it once did, at least you are teaching your kids a valuable lesson.  Mommy is always right.

A back-ordered gift does not break any rules.

JMahl and I agreed that we would not be buying presents for each other on Valentine's Day.  We do this every year (agree not to buy presents), so you'd think that by now it would be a given; but I think we both still feel the need to reaffirm the commitment, just in case.  Since the present I ordered him was on backorder, I actually followed the rules this year.  Of course, he still showed up after work with a bottle of wine (which is more of a staple than a present) and gave me a full-body massage (should be a staple, but is not; therefore, I didn't mention the lack of flowers), and I provided him with a clean house, quiet, well-behaved children, and a fabulous dinner and desert.  (like every night, of course).
Granted, the house was a few steps further than just "clean", because in the spirit of Valentine's Day- and since the gift I bought him was on backorder, remember- and "just in case" he decided to buy me something anyhow (which he did not), I felt it necessary to, oh, just get a few things for around the house.  
By a few things, I do mean a relatively large purchase of a 3 inch pile area rug for our living room, and when I am going to spend a large sum of money, like a good wife, I run it past my husband first. 
Our conversation yesterday morning, then, went something like this:
JMahl:  What are your plans for the day?
Katryn: I'm going to take the kids to the park (a beautiful day for February), and maybe stop by Home Goods.
JMahl:  What are you planning on getting at Home Goods?
Katryn:  We need a rug in the living room.  Every time Micah falls she bumps her head--it's dangerous.  (See?  This isn't about me, it's about the children.)  Besides, it's Valentine's Day. 
JMahl:  I thought we weren't getting presents.
Katryn:  We're not!  (item on backorder doesn't count, obviously)  This is for the house.
JMahl:  Do we have the money for that?
Katryn:  Of course we have the money!  How could I pay for it without money? The cashiers at Home Goods are all women, so my cleavage isn't likely to get me far.
At this point, JMahl rolled his eyes, sighed, and kissed me goodbye. End of discussion.


Now, had JMahl actually put his foot down and told me no, I would have listened, but I've come to a realization over the last few months.  My husband never tells me no.  I would like to say this is because he loves me so much and can't stand to see me unhappy (which I'm sure is what he would say), but I think what it really comes down to is that he has no idea about our money.  He makes all the money, but I handle the budget, pay all the bills, and pretty much make any and every financial decision.  He knows this, I know this... the only ones that don't know this are the home estimate people who insist both of us be present in order to give us a free estimate.  I've tried telling them countless times that if I say we are going to get new windows and siding, we're going to get new windows and siding, but they don't want to believe me.  "I'm sorry, we need both spouses to be present."  (and there's no way JMahl is going to talk to a salesperson after work-- not since that incident with the Kirby vacuum girl that he won't let me forget.  But it wasn't my fault!  I grew up in the country- we didn't get door to door sales people! I didn't know!)  So they insist on husband being present, and at first this really annoyed me, and I would get in arguments with the sales people.  NO, my husband does not have to be here!  Just give me the free estimate already!  Now I use it to my advantage to get rid of them-- oh, you require my  husband to be here to make the financial decision? Well, it's unfortunate, but he's out of town on business for the next 12 weeks.  No, that's not my husband you just saw ducking under the window.  That's..his... brother.  Yeah, his brother.  And no, he's not authorized to make financial decisions for this household.  I'm sorry.  You heard the kids call him Daddy?  And me Mommy?  Well.. it's a sensitive subject, and now I'm offended.  Good day.  
I've also started using this method with Jehovah's Witnesses.  I do admire their evangelism, but I am solid and secure in my faith and have no need to be converted to another.  Unfortunately, I've found that they (and the local Baptist church, oddly enough) don't agree with me on this.  So, I'm now telling them that No, I can not make any religious decisions without my husband present.  Last time I did I ended up with a sister-wife and a ban on birth control, and neither of those were as fun as I was led to believe.  
I also don't give to charity, buy from door-to-door meat packers, or buy orange glo product anymore (that stuff does not work!), but since I'm horrible at saying no to these sales people, I've now adapted a "scared face, pull my shirt closely around me, and edge the door shut with a quick glance behind me, saying with a whisper "my husband won't let me talk to people... "  It works.  The only thing I will buy door-to-door are pizza and cookies.  JMahl and I have a mutual understanding about those items.  
But back to the point-- I don't want you to get the impression that my husband does not wear the pants in the family.  He most certainly does.  He, ultimately, does what he wants to do, regardless of what I say about it; while if he were to ever tell me not to do something, I would most assuredly listen.  It's just that he never has told me not to do something, while I, on the other hand, have told him not to do many many things-- which he just goes ahead and does anyway.  So, he really is the boss around here.  Which brings us back to yesterday's conversation.  He never told me not to spend any money.
So to Home Goods I went to buy the most wonderful, thick, soft, ahhhh! rug I've ever felt.  And some new pictures for the wall.  And they are lucky that Kolbie was begging to go to the park, or I would probably have spent quite a bit more.  I'm actually surprised that stores haven't realized yet that they would double (at least) their profits if they provided coffee and daycare the moment a woman entered the store.  WalMart is close- they have a greeter at the door and an arcade.  But they don't have the greeter handing out coffee, and they don't have a babysitter in the arcade.  If I could shop undeterred and undistracted for an hour?  What joy!  Some one really needs to get on this idea, and I prefer it be Home Goods, since I happen to love that store. Although, I'll be honest and admit that it's not so bad shopping with my kids since I can expect at least one compliment every other person I pass, and Yes, I am vain.  I love receiving compliments on my kids.  
So, I have to say that for Valentine's Day I made out pretty well. Beautiful re-decorated living room (and a rug I could (and will) walk barefoot on for hours)- see my FB for photos-, a bottle of wine, a full-body massage, quiet kids, good dinner and dessert.  My husband?  Well, his Valentine's Day present will get here when it gets here.  They say March 2.