Showing posts with label arguments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label arguments. Show all posts
Monday, March 09, 2009
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Coffee--The Beverage of Marital Discord
When you have been married for more than a year, it becomes obvious that there are really only two or three fights that continually occur. The setting changes, the lines are tweaked a bit, but really, it's the same old fight you had two weeks ago, refreshed and brought out for another go at it.
For example:
"Should I make spaghetti or tacos tonight?"
"Spaghetti sounds good."
"Yeah...but I have those tortillas I need to use."
"We could have them tomorrow."
"No, I think I'll make tacos."
This is not the actual fight, merely the prelude to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."
Two weeks later it will go something like this:
"I was thinking of painting the bedroom. Do you think this beige color or the blue color would look better?"
"I like the blue. It seems crisp and soothing."
"Yes...but beige is so neutral. It will go with everything. "
"Yeah...but it's kind of boring."
"Still, I think I'm going to go with the beige. Thanks, hon.' "
And...we're back to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."
One of my oft-recycled arguments is "The Fight About Not Wanting Your Help Unless I Specifically Ask For It." This one pops up quite frequently for me. Maybe it's my Puritan work ethic, or a slight streak of feminism, but please don't try and take over a task that I am working on in an effort to "help" me. I am not a two-year-old. I am a capable, smart, problem-solver. Please, don't insult me by thinking I can't handle things on my own. Yes, I realize this may seem to others, specifically my husband, to be a silly personality quirk. It's my quirk, d@#! it. Accept it already and don't help me! (I realize this is crazy.)
Of course, married life doesn't work that way. One would think that after ten years, or more, of marriage that a couple would understand one another so completely that they would avoid irritating each other in those irrationally annoying aspects of their lives. Nope. Not At All.
A few weeks ago, I woke up tired and feeling a little out of it. I made breakfast for the boys and started a pot of coffee. I hoped a caffeine injection would lift my grumpy spirits. Trying to avoid human contact, I went into the bedroom and began to read while patiently waiting for my coffee to finish its slow brewing, anticipating it with great delight. After about two minutes, in walks my husband with a mug of coffee. For me. Because he loves me. Because he wanted to do something nice.
I sighed and put my head down on the pillow, dreading what was to come. I don't like my husband's coffee. It's too sweet and has more milk than I like in my coffee. He had ruined my expectation of a perfect cup of coffee on this trying morning. I had two choices. I could say nothing, and drink the yucky coffee that I didn't want on this depressing morning, or I could try to secretly pour out the coffee and make my own without him knowing--an impossibility in our small house. I was too impatient for my coffee to wait twenty minutes for him to get in the shower, allowing me to finally get what I wanted and avoid a fight at the same time. While I pondered my options, I grew angry--Who asked him to bring me coffee anyway? Doesn't he know I don't want him to do things for me unless I ask him? He never listens to a thing I say!
I was ramping up for "The Fight About Why You Never Listen To Me."
Familiarity in marriage never prevents the fight. It does, however, greatly decrease the time spent fighting. Once the fight begins it goes something like this:
"Oh, we're having 'The Fight About Why Do You Move My Stuff Without Telling Me.' Let me get out the playbook."
"I say, 'Please, don't move my things.' You say, ' I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it on purpose.' Then, we go back and forth a few more times explaining why we feel the way we do. Voila. Fight ends."
"OK."
"Let's go rent a movie."
Half the time, you're just phoning it in. After a while, a fight that once took two excruciating hours of emotional turmoil can be reduced to a two minute conversation during commercial breaks. Of course that is assuming that PMS, a really bad day at work, or plain old craziness doesn't enter the picture. That can sort of derail the process.
For example:
"Should I make spaghetti or tacos tonight?"
"Spaghetti sounds good."
"Yeah...but I have those tortillas I need to use."
"We could have them tomorrow."
"No, I think I'll make tacos."
This is not the actual fight, merely the prelude to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."
Two weeks later it will go something like this:
"I was thinking of painting the bedroom. Do you think this beige color or the blue color would look better?"
"I like the blue. It seems crisp and soothing."
"Yes...but beige is so neutral. It will go with everything. "
"Yeah...but it's kind of boring."
"Still, I think I'm going to go with the beige. Thanks, hon.' "
And...we're back to "The Fight About Why You Ask My Opinion, Then Don't Use It."
One of my oft-recycled arguments is "The Fight About Not Wanting Your Help Unless I Specifically Ask For It." This one pops up quite frequently for me. Maybe it's my Puritan work ethic, or a slight streak of feminism, but please don't try and take over a task that I am working on in an effort to "help" me. I am not a two-year-old. I am a capable, smart, problem-solver. Please, don't insult me by thinking I can't handle things on my own. Yes, I realize this may seem to others, specifically my husband, to be a silly personality quirk. It's my quirk, d@#! it. Accept it already and don't help me! (I realize this is crazy.)
Of course, married life doesn't work that way. One would think that after ten years, or more, of marriage that a couple would understand one another so completely that they would avoid irritating each other in those irrationally annoying aspects of their lives. Nope. Not At All.
A few weeks ago, I woke up tired and feeling a little out of it. I made breakfast for the boys and started a pot of coffee. I hoped a caffeine injection would lift my grumpy spirits. Trying to avoid human contact, I went into the bedroom and began to read while patiently waiting for my coffee to finish its slow brewing, anticipating it with great delight. After about two minutes, in walks my husband with a mug of coffee. For me. Because he loves me. Because he wanted to do something nice.
I sighed and put my head down on the pillow, dreading what was to come. I don't like my husband's coffee. It's too sweet and has more milk than I like in my coffee. He had ruined my expectation of a perfect cup of coffee on this trying morning. I had two choices. I could say nothing, and drink the yucky coffee that I didn't want on this depressing morning, or I could try to secretly pour out the coffee and make my own without him knowing--an impossibility in our small house. I was too impatient for my coffee to wait twenty minutes for him to get in the shower, allowing me to finally get what I wanted and avoid a fight at the same time. While I pondered my options, I grew angry--Who asked him to bring me coffee anyway? Doesn't he know I don't want him to do things for me unless I ask him? He never listens to a thing I say!
I was ramping up for "The Fight About Why You Never Listen To Me."
Familiarity in marriage never prevents the fight. It does, however, greatly decrease the time spent fighting. Once the fight begins it goes something like this:
"Oh, we're having 'The Fight About Why Do You Move My Stuff Without Telling Me.' Let me get out the playbook."
"I say, 'Please, don't move my things.' You say, ' I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it on purpose.' Then, we go back and forth a few more times explaining why we feel the way we do. Voila. Fight ends."
"OK."
"Let's go rent a movie."
Half the time, you're just phoning it in. After a while, a fight that once took two excruciating hours of emotional turmoil can be reduced to a two minute conversation during commercial breaks. Of course that is assuming that PMS, a really bad day at work, or plain old craziness doesn't enter the picture. That can sort of derail the process.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Last Word
The last word is not always the best word, yet it lingers on the mental palette.
Sarcasm was handed out at birth in my family, with a healthy dose of argumentativeness on the side, and a little dash of stubbornness just to bring the flavors all together. Discussions and debates could erupt over whether a word was permissible in Scrabble, or which route was the shortest to the grocery store. These were important battles that needed to be won at all costs. They usually ended with a rush to find the dictionary, or a stopwatch for the next errand run.
I should not be surprised to find some of these things emerging from the gene pool in my two children.
"What time is it?" the Rationalist will ask.
"It's 2:00."
He looks at the clock and says, "No, it's not. It's 1:59."
30 seconds later,"Now, it's 2:00!"
To a 7-year-old, preciseness and accuracy are everything. They must not have covered estimation in the first grade.
Intuitive Monkey will ask,"How many more bites do I need to eat of these green beans?"
"A few more bites."
"How much is a few?"
"Three or four."
"Well, which is it? Three or four?"
"It can be either."
"Yes, but which is it?"
"JUST EAT THREE!"
"OK."
In my home, everything must be proved and wrestled into fact before being accepted by these sometimes exasperating boys. Everything is doubted until they have seen it with their very own eyes. Every mistake must be pointed out and corrected, because otherwise, it's just not the truth. Some days, I just repetitively hit my head against the wall to make the voices stop.
I have left behind some of my family ways. About the time I entered college, I realized that I didn't really have to point out errors to other people. When others would mispronounce a word, or use the wrong one, I would mentally note it and say nothing. Unproductive and pointless arguments lost most of their power over me. I still retained the desire to prove my point if faced with egregious fallacies that morally outraged me, but even those would only go so far. I learned to let the other person have the last word, even if they felt that meant they had won the argument. I would leave the discussion after making my best points, feeling that there was little left to say.
I have had an entire lifetime to restrain and refine those inherited family traits.
I live with two boys; curious, smart, and enthusiastic, yet devastatingly interested in being right ...about everything....especially things they have no idea about.
I know it's payback from my mom.
Sarcasm was handed out at birth in my family, with a healthy dose of argumentativeness on the side, and a little dash of stubbornness just to bring the flavors all together. Discussions and debates could erupt over whether a word was permissible in Scrabble, or which route was the shortest to the grocery store. These were important battles that needed to be won at all costs. They usually ended with a rush to find the dictionary, or a stopwatch for the next errand run.
I should not be surprised to find some of these things emerging from the gene pool in my two children.
"What time is it?" the Rationalist will ask.
"It's 2:00."
He looks at the clock and says, "No, it's not. It's 1:59."
30 seconds later,"Now, it's 2:00!"
To a 7-year-old, preciseness and accuracy are everything. They must not have covered estimation in the first grade.
Intuitive Monkey will ask,"How many more bites do I need to eat of these green beans?"
"A few more bites."
"How much is a few?"
"Three or four."
"Well, which is it? Three or four?"
"It can be either."
"Yes, but which is it?"
"JUST EAT THREE!"
"OK."
In my home, everything must be proved and wrestled into fact before being accepted by these sometimes exasperating boys. Everything is doubted until they have seen it with their very own eyes. Every mistake must be pointed out and corrected, because otherwise, it's just not the truth. Some days, I just repetitively hit my head against the wall to make the voices stop.
I have left behind some of my family ways. About the time I entered college, I realized that I didn't really have to point out errors to other people. When others would mispronounce a word, or use the wrong one, I would mentally note it and say nothing. Unproductive and pointless arguments lost most of their power over me. I still retained the desire to prove my point if faced with egregious fallacies that morally outraged me, but even those would only go so far. I learned to let the other person have the last word, even if they felt that meant they had won the argument. I would leave the discussion after making my best points, feeling that there was little left to say.
I have had an entire lifetime to restrain and refine those inherited family traits.
I live with two boys; curious, smart, and enthusiastic, yet devastatingly interested in being right ...about everything....especially things they have no idea about.
I know it's payback from my mom.
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