Married to Mr. Rogers

I love Mr. Rogers. I grew up with him in our living room, and then he came back to visit regularly when my son was very small. He's a gem, that Mr. Rogers, a real national treasure.

He's actually an ordained Presbyterian minister who chose to share God's unconditional love through the medium of television. Mr. Rogers' gentle affirmations, exaggerated character voices, and deceptively simple musical compositions live in the minds of countless people in this country and well beyond.

He's awesome.

But I never thought I'd connect him to my marriage.

And then my husband bought these shoes.

I like the shoes a lot. They closely resemble a pair of my own shoes. And a pair of my son's shoes, as well. They're the ultimate spring and early summer footwear: comfortable, casual but not sloppy, fun without being too faddish. I am actually the one who found them in the store and recommended them to my hus.

I didn't realize how much this particular look connotes Fred Rogers' style until I began to trip over these canvas beauties around my own home. Each time I spy them under a dresser or tossed aside by the back door, laces wandering loosely, I think of Mr. Rogers. I have half a mind to find a cardigan sweater of some woodland color, perhaps a vintage style with wide blocks of vertical color on the front, and present it to my guy for Father's Day.

Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my husband?

Of couches and husbands

I had a friend years ago, newly married, who took it personally and injuriously that her husband fell asleep on the couch every night instead of coming to their bed in an intentional and timely fashion. Perhaps she was right to be concerned, as their marriage dissolved years ago... But anyway, when she told me this, I can recall thinking that I might be annoyed, too. Not because I'd take it to heart or feel slighted, but because the latecomer would disrupt my own already-sought-and-achieved slumber. Thoughtless.

And I was right. Because guess what? My own dear husband suffers from this same disease. Not on a daily basis, mind you, but often enough that it does affect my own slumber sometimes. He knows that falling asleep prematurely, outside of bed, negatively impacts his restful sleep patterns and causes him to toss and turn (yep, more disruption for me). We both know that research supports our findings, with sleep studies that show over and over how sleep is adversely affected by such behaviors. And he is fully aware that the minute he reclines on that inviting piece of furniture, and allows his eyes to flutter, he is a goner for sure. He knows all this. Yet, some evenings, in spite of my dire warnings and predictions, he persists in lying prone on the dastardly sofa and even covering himself with an assortment of fuzzy blankets. What the heck?! I guess I am a bit militant about such things, but honestly, once a pattern is established, and once everyone involved agrees it is not a healthy pattern and needs to be changed and/or avoided, I cannot comprehend a person's willingness to continue the pattern!

Am I crazy? Is it just a handful of husbands, or are they all this weak-willed when it comes to a cushiony divan in the dim of twilight?

Not-so-great expectations

Earlier this week, after the kid was sleeping, the husband and I sat down to chat about what sort of house we'd like to find. We are sort of looking, now that we've been pre-approved for the loan, but we aren't finding our dream or anything that even resembles it. And we don't have a lot of time to take advantage of the window of opportunity that summer permits.

Just like any house hunters, we have a little list in our heads of all the must-haves, followed closely by the nice-to-haves. What seems to occur, though, is that as I look at what's really, truly available on the market and in our price range, I start to adjust my happy little list. My husband, however, does not.

I suppose it could be a matter of faith. If we trust God to deliver what we need, then the right house will either pop up or it won't. If we're meant to move, then the place will be in the right location, the right distance from town, the right school. I shouldn't need to fret about any of it. And honestly, I'm not fretting. I like where we live. If I didn't dislike close neighbors, yappy dogs, loud vehicles, and bus traffic, and if I didn't still believe that our society is doomed to collapse pretty darned soon, then I'd just sit tight here and be thankful for what we have. I really am thankful; it's a great place.

My actual conundrum is the fact that I am a giver-upper. I don't cling to ideals. I don't cling to anything. I am as changeable as a June weather system. In the midst of our lively conversation (translation: rather hostile volley of words), it became clear to me that my husband thinks I am a bit of a flibbertegibbet. That I hurry through things, longing more to finish and accomplish the task than to do it well.

The reason that hurt was because he's right. And he is the exact opposite, painstakingly researching, studying, sketching, idealizing (IMHO, of course) before even approaching the road to be taken. Which is why he's better at doing home projects, why he's superior at remodels, why the garden that he built last year looks so nice.

The problem is that other than that garden, I'm usually the driving force behind major changes in our lives. And remember, the garden came to be when I went back to work for that awful year of dad-stays-at-home-with-the-boy. It was a matter of survival, and we got through it, but by no means was I the only one going crazy. I think the garden helped my spouse to make it through the year.

I stand firm that we may not have gotten married yet, let alone purchased any homes, if I hadn't been my flibbertegibbet self and gotten the silly notion in my head about the importance of emotional commitment and then property ownership. We may not even have a child yet. Well, we might have gotten around to that, since I am married to a man. 'Nuf said.

I don't mean to expose too much insider information here; that's not what this blog is supposed to be about. I guess I am just wondering where other people stand on ideals and must-haves. Is the rest of the world as movable and wishy-washy as I am, because it's necessary to bend your own rules sometimes? Is it right to expect to find exactly the right thing? Does stepping away a little bit mean that you're giving up? That you don't have enough faith in God to deliver? Or is it just a healthy realization that adults can't wear rose-colored glasses and still reach goals?

I was reading another blog, written by a woman who'd lost a child suddenly, and she commented that some of the best advice she received was simply that as time goes by, you expect less. You don't expect to ever feel the same way that you did when your child was living. You don't expect, anymore, to see her sweet face in the morning. You don't expect others to understand your suffering. You lower your expectations. And I fear that perhaps, on a much more shallow level, that's what I've begun to do with my life.

Things don't go as you'd hoped with your home, your family, the economy, and you adjust your expectations. Jobs are lost, and once again you re-set your list of what you'd been ready to experience. Relationships disappoint, people let you down, you don't set the world on fire by 30... and all along, you are constantly rewriting that list in your mind.

Did I just describe most people? Or only myself? How firmly should we stick to that list we made? Is saving considerable money worth giving up on a lot of what you'd hoped to find? And would anyone ever do anything if they waited for the list to be completely fulfilled?

Too many questions, I know. But I welcome your feedback.

-Pessimist Mel

Train your child up...tight

It was a typical morning here.

First, let me explain that in my home (and in my mind), I am the Time Nazi. Being an undeniable type A-ish person, and having married a Type Z, I am relegated to being drill sergeant—especially in the mornings. Even when I'm not the first one out of bed, it still falls upon me to wake the little boy, wake him again, pack lunches, encourage the child to get dressed, force him to the table to put some sort of edible into his mouth, remind him of the necessity of shoes and a jacket before departing for the bus stop, do a perfunctory check of his brushed teeth and washed face to make sure he's presentable, etc. (I honestly don't know how parents of several children do this every day. I guess the older ones are enlisted, sometimes unwillingly, to help round up and prepare the younger ones. But still. Wow. My respect and sympathy go out to you.)

Anyway, all the while I'm going about my morning business, I am clashing with the Type Z who wants to wrestle with his son, eat breakfast just after I've put all the food away, and have meaningful conversation about his job performance while I'm hollering for the kid to put on both shoes, not just one.

I get a bit resentful at times, being the "driver" of the family, the one who must always be "un-fun." Sometimes we un-fun folks are not happy about our recurring role. Sometimes we feel stereotyped, and bitter. Mostly we just feel uneasy because we can't turn off that un-fun gene, and no one else seems to notice our approach to impending doom in an unplanned, untimely world.

I digress. I am the Time Nazi because I want my son to be aware of schedules and deadlines. I realize there are worse things than being late for school; I mean, he's in kindergarten for crying out loud. If he misses the bus, so what? I'll drive him. I'd honestly rather drive him anyway. But it's the principle of it all, the precedent that is being set. If we fool around and miss the bus now, I'm looking at 12 additional years of fooling around and driving him to school.

I often choose a course of action based on the principle of the matter. For example, why do we bother keeping the kid at the table even when he's finished eating? Because that will be an expectation for the rest of his life. There doesn't seem to be much point in letting things slide now when I know down the road that the sliding must cease; it's a lot easier to learn it right initially than it is to un-teach the wrong way when he's older.

Still, my uncertainty remains: How much uptight is too much? I can see and feel sometimes that I cause stress in my son. Not much, because he's wired a lot like his dad, too, and can drift happily and aimlessly for hours. He's five. But the facts remain: we need to get to the bus stop on time. We need to have enough presence of mind to remember to grab the backpack with all its papers and possessions. We might need to allow a few extra minutes to let out the dog we're dog-sitting.

I don't want to build my offspring to be a monster like me. Yet, I see how my child is already more responsible than many kids his age. It doesn't seem like a crime to foster in him a sense of awareness, an understanding that the world will not wait for him when he dawdles. High blood pressure? Stomach ulcers? Those are bad. But a comprehension of the daily timetable and how to function within it successfully?—that's my goal.

How do I walk that line? Do you, too, walk that line? Or are you the Type Z who is funneled and herded into formation?

P.S. I was slightly annoyed this morning when I got the boys out the door, walked the borrowed dog, and came back into the mess we'd left only to spy my husband's lunch box, full of healthy and paid-for food, sitting on the kitchen counter. Damn.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should

See that jar?

Full of blood, that's what.

Well, figuratively speaking, of course. It may or may not also contain some sweat or tears. (Have you ever noticed that if you combine sweat and tears, you get swears? A coincidence? I think not.)

I believe I may have spoken before on this site of my and my husband's very diverse work styles (here and here to be specific), and how said diversities affect our marriage. Well, we canned some tomato sauce recently, and it amplified those differences.

I had already canned some things in the past few weeks, and perhaps I was a bit canned out. He was eager to use all the tomatoes he'd grown, but perhaps not so eager to actually embark on chopping, measuring, cooking, and processing after an already long day. Perhaps he gets tired of taking orders, and perhaps, just perhaps, I'm not too good at taking them either. (I've been told that I'm not a good support player. I can't deny it. But I'm not to blame: you see, I'm no good at switching roles. If I must manage some places, I end up trying to manage in all places. If I see inefficiency and incorrectness, I must speak. So call me a manager. I've been called far worse.)

Anyway, we plowed through a huge vat of tomatoes. I stayed away for awhile, having been ordered from the kitchen at one point early in the procedure, but then I got sucked back in like a Ball canning lid, and ended up cleaning most of the mess (which usually happens, and might just be the reason I try to stay out of these events).

All I know is that a big bunch of tomatoes were reduced to a much smaller pile of guts and seeds, and an unimpressive amount of canned sauce...and that I have ever-growing respect for the true pioneers who had to do this sort of work along with a slew of other, tougher assignments just to garner enough food and fuel to survive a winter. All that so they could work their hind ends off again come spring, likely while caring for and/or expecting children. They were a hardier strain of beings, I think; one old diary my father has tells of some frontier gal who "was delivered of a son in the morning and then prepared dinner later that day." Can you imagine? I guess all the weaklings died in childbirth; based on my labor experience, that would likely have been my lot—Todd would've been out shopping for someone younger and healthier within a season or two, because he'd have needed a crew of workers.

But I digress. I'm done canning for awhile. I'll eat the veggies fresh, fried, grilled, boiled, sautéed, whatever, but I'm not dragging that mammoth pot out again until at least September. I hope all the work will be worth it when we break this stuff out in winter. If nothing else, it was a good reminder for my poor, naive husband, who clings to a confused belief that he and I can somehow work together on projects from home. As a team. Us. Hmmmmmm.

Signing off.

When old friends change teams

I've already mentioned here how you're likely to run into people you know in this city. It happens all the time, especially at events in the downtown area. Throngs of people are milling, milling, and the chances are always good that a familiar face will surface. I saw an old friend recently, one with whom I'd lost contact for several years. Last time I saw her, she was married with children. A dedicated mom and wife. Settled. Committed.

Well, I ran into her downtown, and this time, she was arm-in-arm with someone other than her husband. A woman, in fact.

I did a double-take, because surely, this person only looked like the person I had known. But no: closer inspection revealed that it was, indeed, my old friend. And there was no doubt that she was "with" the woman by her side. I could distinctly sense their partnership.

Now, I've worked at creative firms before. I've known some folks who made no effort to hide the fact that they preferred someone of the same sex. Some of those folks I've liked and respected, and some I've avoided... So, I've responded to them pretty much the same way I've responded to heterosexual people. Twenty years ago? This scene might have made me more uncomfortable. Now? I've seen it. It doesn't freak me out as much as it used to.

BUT. This person was married with a family. Was I to assume that she was meeting a gal-pal on the sly? That this downtown foray was covert? That she lived a double life? That I was the only one to know her secret? I pondered it as I watched the couple from behind the safety of my sunglasses. I used to know this person pretty well; she's not a secretive sort. That's why we got along well; we were both rather obtuse; straight shooters, if you will. Would I have the ability to lead a double life, let alone a lesbian double life? Hell, no. So, it was pretty unlikely that she was doing that.

Then I started to wonder whether not saying anything would bite me in the bum. Would she see me, recognize me, and wonder whether I avoided her because she was with a woman? I honestly liked her when I knew her, and I would feel bad if she thought I'd give her the cold shoulder even if I did feel a tad weird about her date.

In the end, I approached her and said hello. And she knew me in an instant, and was happy to see me. I met her girlfriend. We caught up on the past decade or two, on the events of our lives—both of us had much to share, although my story couldn't begin to compare with hers for sheer surprise factor... I was glad I'd spoken, but it was a bit awkward; she's divorced now. Her kids are pretty much grown. I wondered how they had reacted to all this change... but it's no use wondering, really. It is what it is.

Still. I just keep thinking about that brief interlude. People change, yes. People pursue different careers. People marry, and break up, and have children and lose children. But to change teams: that's big. It's a whole new level of change; it's sort of like meeting an old colleague who's found religion, or become a fanatic about a cure for some illness or a weight-loss plan, or emerged after a sad period to a whole new existence of possibilities. The person is fundamentally the same person you knew before, and yet. And yet. There's been such a serious shift in the person's priorities and interests that he or she is almost like a new person.

I'm truly not certain where I stand on the whole same-sex thing. Do I think people of the same sex can marry? No, I don't. The Bible states pretty clearly that marriage occurs between and man and woman. That said, I used to know two men who were better at being an "old married couple" than most heterosexual couples. Can people of the same sex love each other? I'm sure they can. Is being a couple always about the sex part? No, of course not; I'm certain almost any married couple who's been together for many years would agree that sex isn't the ultimate glue that holds the pair together.

To me, union with another person is about commitment, about sticking to that person even when you don't feel like it, about companionship when no one else will come near, about helping to lift heavy objects both literal and figurative. Union is sometimes as boring as going to the store for the other one who's sick, or being the voice of encouragement and affirmation during hurtful family occasions. It's sharing coffee and meals, or unloading on the other after a bad day and knowing that the someone will listen. And I feel pretty certain that same-sex couples can do all those things for each other just like married people can.

Yes, it's not biblical. I know that. It's not the way a union between two people was intended. I hate thinking about same-sex lifestyles being presented as a normal option, I do; however, I also balk at most of what's considered normal these days. There are plenty of really messy "normal" couples out there who are lousing up their kids and cheating on each other and making awful, destructive, and selfish decisions. I detest the idea of young, homosexual singles out looking for some fun; I also hate the idea of any young heterosexual person selling him- or herself short by participating in tawdry, meaningless flings. None of it is right; it's all sin, it all cheapens the human soul. I've seen it and was even part of it in my younger years, and none of it is pretty; it's all shameful. We all sin and fall short. Whose sin is worse doesn't seem worthy of argument.

Do I think people choose to be homosexual? I have no idea. I can honestly see how sometimes, consequences might lead a person down that path; abuse by someone of the opposite sex, encouragement in that direction by an influential adult, the confused hope that embracing something less standard will make the person feel more important and unique. But I honestly believe that most people who gravitate to that lifestyle and stay there are drawn to it because it's just part of their makeup. Perhaps it's genetic, perhaps it's determined by the brain, perhaps it's none of those things—but I can't imagine most people would choose to practice any lifestyle that pretty much ensures a tougher road for nearly everyone who takes it. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. I've never had any inclination in that direction. But it doesn't seem like an easy choice, and I don't think I would choose it.

Still, people do sometimes prefer someone of the same sex. Some animals, too, or so I've read. Occasionally, the person who prefers it is a person you know. I'm not sure what to make of the whole thing, except now I'm a bit more certain about one aspect: it's a whole lot easier to have opinions on things when you don't have any friends who practice those things.

P.S. It doesn't matter who. Please don't try to guess who—at least not here. Thanks.

The project philosophy as marriage theory

Ahhhhhhhhhh, a few coerced moments on the computer at last. I nearly had to arm-wrestle for access to the *#!?*& thing.

We tackled one of the aforementioned home improvement projects last week. If it weren't raining right now, and if the ladders had been put away and the porch swept back into shape, I'd provide a photo: The front of our home now sports lovely, chocolate-colored railing, trim, and gutters. What a difference! Perhaps next time I'll show you the nearly edible loveliness.

For now, though, all that recent work and (sometimes reluctant) teamwork has me thinking about projects in general. It seems to me that all projects follow a similar course. Professional projects, outdoor projects, remodeling projects, whatever—they all proceed in roughly the same fashion.

• First, the project looms, sometimes larger than life. Even small projects, when examined in detail, can be a bit daunting. All those minute points, hidden complications, the sheer thought of attempting such tasks can deter even the most brave and seasoned worker. What? We'll need a taller ladder than we own? Will we have to rent it? We need to scrape all that first? I never noticed how intricate is the scrollwork on this crazy trim... What a pain.

• Then, the details are wrestled into submission. The project is placed into sections, is ordered properly, different portions are prioritized, and the work begins. A ladder is borrowed, paint and supplies are purchased, work is tackled. At first, it may go smoothly, stay on schedule, follow the expected course... The workers' confidence may soar, and additional projects might even be discussed in the heat of success.

• And then, an unforeseen obstacle. Something unexpected happens, or is uncovered. Darnit, the eaves under this gutter are rotten. And the gutter is leaking and clogged at the same time—apparently hasn't functioned properly in years. We need wood, we need more caulking, we need sealant... But we will conquer. Camaraderie reigns yet.

• The project proceeds. More unforeseen obstacles; even with the dark shade, two coats are most definitely needed. Rain is forecasted, days of it for Pete's sake. And the rest of the household chores are looming—they have no respect for the big job in process. They cry out for attention as well. And the neighbors, those friendly chatty neighbors, keep distracting the workers from the job at hand. Interference! Where's the ref?

• At last, crunch time is reached. A new away-from-home work schedule hangs in the near future, in addition to inclement weather on its way, not to mention that one worker is planning to travel out of town in just a few days. All those factors bring about the just-buckle-down-and-get-it-done mentality in at least one team member, and that member's panic and grim determination eventually bleed onto the other members; work commences with steely force, marked by new intensity. The neighbors sense this and steer clear, recognizing the set of the workers' mouths, seeing and knowing that such a speechless, driven approach can only mean that "Just work, dammit" has become the mindset and small talk, even among the workers, has been set upon a shelf for a friendlier future time.

• And then, achievements accumulate, genuine and observable achievements, and the workers are fueled for the finish. Maybe they're still speaking, maybe not, but work continues at a still-somewhat-breakneck pace because the end is in sight. We can taste it.

• Finally, it's done, or so close to done that it feels done, and life can go back to normal, whatever normal looks like.

And that's the project. Nearly every project I've ever been involved with. And you know what I'm realizing? Marriage itself is a project—a project that happens to contain countless other smaller projects. To say this has been an odd, stressful summer would be an understatement. And I'm seeing that daily, especially in stress, this whole project procedure also describes intimate personal relationships a bit. The initial thought of marriage is intimidating, then do-able, then you plan it, then you take the plunge, obstacles arise and you work through them, more arise, you wonder what you were thinking, you get through it, normal is achieved once again, and this pattern repeats many, many times. Occasionally, the obstacles encountered are mind-numbing, might have kept you from starting the project if you'd known it would involve this... You work through them. You have no choice. It would be nice if the majority of married time was spent in that clear-cut, prioritized period where work is accomplished and people feel good about it. But many days, it's not there. Sometimes it's in that "just work, just get it done" phase where the only thing that keeps you working is that you started it and you'll finish it, by God.

Thankfully, marriage includes many moments between projects—happy, carefree periods of employment, of busy but not frenetic schedules, times to enjoy life and have plenty and take things for granted. Memories that are savored when the excrement hits the fan and suddenly every conversation is short and loaded, when Just Work, Dammit is the phrase on your lips and you have to bite your tongue and keep pressing forward, clinging to the knowledge that you made a promise, made a covenant, and you're in it to stay.

I don't think we'll be starting any new projects right now. Yes, there's time, there's man- and woman-power. But I think for now, we'll just savor this moment between projects. We'll get back on a schedule, we'll simply BE for a bit. Down the road there'll be time for more projects, for discomfort aplenty. And it will come. Oh, it will come.