Yakety-Yak: Patience, Timing and Clarity

It happened again the other night.  The house was quiet.  Husband was outside having a smoke and I finished up some work, packed up the computer and settled deep into a book.  Ten minutes later, I look up and realize that my husband has come in and started "a conversation".   He's got no idea I'm not listening and honestly when I figure out that he's talking about the difference between Irving and Updike,  I'm envisioning bloody self-mutilation as the only viable way out.  That's how painfully frustrating "instant" conversation is to me when I'm not in the right state of mind or in the middle of something else. 

For him, it's a bit different.  Here is an example. 

ME: We need to think about our summer road trip....I was thinking either Novia Scotia or Montana/Wyoming...what do you think?

HIM: Novia Scotia sounds good.

ME: Great.

And 2 weeks later, I'll come back with tickets, rental car, two weeks of driving maps and all hotel reservations all in a labled 3-ring binder complete with all possible activities we could do on any given day. I'm all puffed up and excited and he'll look at me and ask, "When did we decide this?" 

See...to me, when he says, "Nova Scotia sounds good" I hear him making a decision. But in his mind he is saying, "It sounds good to me, but let's think about it for a while and then we'll get back together and we will discuss it again and decide together."    

As you can imagine, either one of these scenarios is not in any way satisfying for either of us.

Ironically, our communication mayhem stems directly from one of the things that drew us together in the first place--we are absolute polar opposites. There are a million examples of how opposite we are, but I'll stick with the pertinent one: To him, any discussion and/or decision is a thoughtful, circular, integrated process. To me, most are a fast, linear means to an end.

In the beginning, we defined it differently: I described it as "he calms me". He talked about "liking my energy". Yeah, the first blush of love might have distracted us a bit from what we were really trying to say.

I thought he calmed me? Well, looking back, it might have been a slight coma induced by a 77 minute treatise on Sun-Ra's "Seven Minutes of Silence". (huh, irony.) And it's not just me. When he and our son came back from the park and the first "bird and bees" conversation, I completely understood our son's glazed over eyes and comment about the "forty-five years of talking" that went on during that thirty minute session.

My "energy"? He was probably stunned in submission by the sheer volume--as well as the sheer volume of actionable items that came out of any conversation--most of which were rediculous in nature.

Fifteen years on and we've gotten comfortable with the issues these differences bring.  And we've gotten comfortable with the fact that every 5 years or so we find ourselves sitting down with a communications counselor so we can remind ourselves of the little tips and tools we need so that our conversations don't turn into the Cold War.     

And so we find ourselves in one of those cycles now, sitting together in a room with another person, trying to get back into the groove of good conversations. It's good and fun...we laugh a lot which is great.  And it is a nice feeling knowing that even in the tensest of moments, we know we are both working on something that matters.

This time I decided to write down the three key things I need to remember as a bit of a cheat sheet for me/us, in the hopes that a reminder will lengthen the cycle just a bit: 

MY PATIENCE:  I know how he likes to and needs to think through things--and the inherent benefits of this process.  When I ignore this and take his first response as his answer it's because I'm either being lazy or taking the easy way out. Busted!

HIS TIMING:  He knows that he can't spring a conversation on me if I'm in the middle of something else.Typically it works better if we engage in the long discussions when we are cooking, driving, planting---I can keep busy with my hands while giving him my full attention--and even then, we keep it to 30 minutes increments so he gets to the point and I don't wander off.

OUR CLARITY:  For any conversation, it helps if we establish up front if we want each other to:

A)  Just Listen
B)  Listen and provide totally biased feedback and comfort
C)  Listen and give unbiased, unvarnished feedback (he tends to go straight to this one so I need to really be clear about whether I want number 2 or 3, or it can be dangerous for him)
D)  Listen and then do something to help fix the situation

I know that there is no rocket science here, just plain old common sense tools for each of us to apply.  Which doesn't mean that these tips are any easier to remember when he's blocking my view of Mark Harmon on NCIS and wanting to talk about the meaning of Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore".  I mean, really.

Futuristic Amazing versus Awesome : Self-Confidence In the Making

Did the unthinkable the other day and went shopping with my daughter.  A bunch of you will read that sentence and think to yourself, "that's all you need to say...we get it".  But I'm figuring to add insult to injury here, so I'll just keep on writing.

To me it was a lazy day...so comfy clothes, light makeup...you get the idea.  Memo was not received by daughter...to give you a hint of how she felt about how she looked, she looked at herself in the rearview mirror, "I'm so beautiful..I'll be the superstar, you be my guard."

I focus on the first part, and we talk about confidence and self-confidence on the way into the mall.  I mean, she did look good.  She had paired her black skinny jeans with a oversized suit jacket with a fedora...both in grey pinstripes.   Hightops and her red-striped hair completed her look.  As did her lil' hipster swagger as we moved around the mall.  I loved it.

As she received compliments from the various sales people--especially the guy at the Aveda makeup counter, I could see her shoulders pop back even more and her smile, typically beautiful and reticent, was both beautiful and right out there in front for once--self-confidence shining like the sun.

So, having time before the movie, we try on clothes (seriously, what the hell was I thinking) for me in a packed Nordstrom dressing room.  Not surprisingly, it turns out that she is not shy about sharing her point of view.  Loudly. 

"Mom", she drolls.  "That is so futuristic amazing, but you are not futuristic amazing...you are just awesome".  Okay.  Looking at it, she was right...the zippers at the shoulders, sides and hem, looked awesome, but not me...still wanted it though.  Sigh.

I move to the next piece.  I get it on and she is like, "That is awesome...and it hides your tummy."  Hmmmm.

Next.  "Oh god, Mom...that is so 48 minutes ago.  Even if we were here 48 minutes ago and you were trying it on it would still be so 48 minutes ago. You have got to just take it off."

At this point, all of the dressing rooms have laughter coming from them--and they are not even trying to hide it.

The next piece, a blue thing with ruffles, she just laughs and says, "Mom, you are not that shirt and it isn't you...it's sillysexy."

What is 'sillysexy' I ask?  "You know, when people try and dress like people who are much, much younger and littler....like __________".  Oh god.  I couldn't take it off fast enough while hoping ________ wasn't in the dressing room with us.

We find two pieces that she approves of and the thing is...she is right...about all of it.  As we gather our stuff to leave, she was like, "Mom, when you put on those two things you are buying you looked like you, but you didn't with the other stuff. How come?".  As I put on my shoes, I reminded her about the conversation we had earlier.  "Oh," she says.  "So confidence is trying new things like zipper clothes and escargot.  Self-confidence is having the guts to say no to things that aren't you, make you look sillysexy or that you don't like."

God.  Sometimes I just want to be her.  And I'm not the only one who thinks so...some lady down the dressing room yelled over the wall and asked if she could borrow her for the day.

Hah!  As if!

I'm not sure I'll venture out with daughter the next time, but I'll definitely remember her definition of confidence and self-confidence.  Even though I'll always want the shirt with zippers on it.

Beauty, Gardening and Food: Perfect Austin Weekend

There are two specific reasons this was the perfect weekend...the first one is my 7-year old daughter.  The second on is my 7-year old daughter. 

Our men (son and father) were off in Detroit for son's 10th birthday trip...yeah, don't ask.  He was born there and it's been a dream of both of theirs for a while.  They've been having a blast, which is all that counts.  So, anyway, this ended up being a girls weekend, and we tried to fit in all of the things we both wanted to do--as well as all of the tastes she has on her list.

For a couple of years now our daughter has said that she is going to grow up to be a 'food taster', which sounds perfect to anyone she tells this to...their eyes go a little dreamy, and you can tell they are thinking to themselves, "God, that sounds so good.". They are, to a person, just a little jealous of this dream.


So us girls spent yesterday getting our hair done (she got red stripes), having lunch (great veggie burgers at PTerry's), then dessert at another place with an old friend (blueberry chocolate brownie with almond ice creme, THUMBS UP), then massages at Milk & Honey--they were awesome.  We stopped by Whole Foods for big bakers, avacados and cheese (blue and gouda), then home for dinner and  a movie. 

Today we got up late, breakfast ala Starbucks, then to "The Great Outdoors" for plants and then we spent a very happy afternoon planting about 25 plants in various pots...beautiful weather, and according to daughter, the "best work day ever!".  Shower, lotion and getting 'prettied" up, and then out to a "fancy" dinner at Olivia on South Lamar.  She had gotten her chocolate and cheese, but wanted "...to try some more new things, so everything has to be new to me at dinner".

Our daughter had the grilled escargot skewer with mashed potatoes (THUMBS UP on both), then we shared the cheese plate (surprisingly THUMBS DOWN on the cheese...).  Here is the thing, she loves blue cheese, and any other cheese with big taste...for some reason, the Brazos Valley Blue and the Tarentaise didn't do it for her.  I, however, was very happy.   I had the beef carpaccio, which we both thought was excellent...definately THUMBS UP.  For our mains, she had the Kobe Shortribs with Truffled Risotto, and she was in heaven...especially the sauce..."Oh, my god this is so amazingly awesome." I had the rabbit-mascarpone ravioli with brussel sprout greens and pancetta creme...OMG...so very, very good. And she loved it as well.  I had a lovely la valentino peccorino and she had a peach juice/sprite concoction which was excellent. The owner or manager came over and complimented her palate and actually applauded her sense of adventure, which I thought was fantastic--earned my everlasting gratitude for supporting a growing 'foodie'.

All in all it was a 'high-five" dinner--and while the escargot were not technically new as she's had them before, "these are on a skewer, mom" and so I caved.   We both came home with that great day, warm planting muscles, food coma feeling.  Next, our  jammies and settling down for a movie.  She keeps talking about little things from the weekend--the too big robe at the spa, the stick the escargot were on, the ladybug we found on one of the plants...and all of the different tastes...to her these are the things that made the weekend so amazingly wonderful. 

Then she asks me what made the weekend perfect for me,  I, honestly, say "you, mon sweet petite".  She rolls her eyes and tells me I'm a goof. 

Seriously perfect weekend.

Failure in the morning, Failure in the Evening...Ain't We Got Fun!

Questions, questions, and more questions...and no obvious answers.  Last night, during the time I love/crave/adore/fear, my daughter came into our room looking to talk, as usual.  "Mom", she said as she crawled up onto the bed.  "I know I'm supposed to walk a mile in my brothers shoes, but his shoes are too big for me, so it's not going to work." 

"And", she said, like I should know what's coming next. "I have a sprained toe, so it's going to hurt too."

You've no idea, I said to myself as I cuddled her up.  No idea at all.  Outloud, I told her that it was just a saying, a way of getting people to think about how the other person feels.  'I don't have to think about how he feels about me", she said.  "He always tells me that I'm bugging him".

So, as it technically wasn't a question she asked, I fell back and told her that walking in his shoes could wait awhile, until she felt more up to it.  I would though, when she was older, make sure she read the book of stories edited by Charlotte Wood, Brothers & Sisters.

Cuddle, cuddle and off to bed she went.  Safe for another day, I fell asleep.

Then, this morning happened.  On the way to school (husband was up and willing, I should have let him take them--he would have had better answers).

"Mom," said boy in front seat.  "Are all prophecy's poems?"

"Ahhh"  (That's me hedging for time)

"Mom," said the girl in the back seat.  "Why don't you hear the word 'prophecy' used a lot?"

"I don't know why it's not used more, but you are right in that it's not used a lot." I said, honestly...the best I could do with her question.

"And," to son in front.  "I think a prophecy could be a poem if it were written that way, but not all prophecy's are poems.  Why do you ask?"  The old answer a question with a bad answer/question combination...I knew I had him on the ropes.

He turned to me, which was a bad sign as it connoted excited engagement.  "Ares..." (or at least I think he said this...Poseidon and Zeus were also mentioned at some point in his answer...as was the fact that this god was the god of poetry and prophecy's and/or had a lot of prophecy's about him.  And that in the Percy Jackson books, the gods liked Haiku "you know those are from Japan mom" because he/they always wrote in them how awesome they were and that it was a good thing that poetry could be used to make people feel better about themselves and then, when I was pretty sure he was winding down and I would not actually have to answer any more questions...

"Why isn't Poseidon king of the Gods?"

Technically, again, I can say that my answer was on topic as I'm sure that my answer had the phrase, "for the love of God" in it...after that, it was a blur.  Nothing tramatic must have happened to/for the kids as they bounced out of the car happily saying, "I love you Mom, you're the best.  Good answers" 

Okay, only the older son said that.  Younger daughter did what she always does which was grunt sarcastically at me and walk away.

Guess what?  Only 12 more hours until bedtime.  I want a martini...extra dirty, Kettle One, straight up.  Please?

Boy, Wierdness

This morning on the way to school, my son informed me of about a billion facts about left-handers.  Not because he is a left-hander, mind you, but because he has been "...infiltrating the left-handed database", as he put it.  This database, as far as I can tell, consists of his left-handed friend Henry and one book, "Lefties" by Jack Fincher.  He might have also perused a left-handed web site, http://www.lefthandedportal.com/, but I didn't get all of the details on that before he got out of the car at school.  That, and the one about BB Guns at friends houses, are conversations we need to come back to this weekend.  I'm expecting sighs and eye rolls.

But getting him to focus will be difficult as he and his father are about to embark on his 10th birthday trip to Detroit.  Yes, Motor City, where our son was born and lived until he was three-months old.  They are going back primarily to bond over the tree in the front yard of the house we lived in where my husband and his brother buried the umbilical cord after it fell of our son's body.  I never asked much about that little ritual, still not that interested quite frankly, but they got a kick out of it.  And so now, for a period of about 15 minutes, my husband and son will stand on a sidewalk in Detroit and talk about rituals and babies and love.  Then, knowing them, they'll be off to every museum in the area, happy as clams.  The one they are really looking forward to is the Henry Ford Museum.  From all of the Presidential limousines to the house of the future and everythign in between, this is a wonderfully odd (in the best way) museum.  They are both very interested in seeing the chair that Lincoln was sitting in when he was assasinated, as well as all of the engines in the "Made in America" section.

Upon their return, there will be the sleepover with about 4 of his friends for the actual birthday party and they will dress like this--a cross between a young Obi-wan and well, I'm not sure what else.  Pillows for shields, socks for ear covers and clown shoes, along with a sword and a hero name I cannot pronounce--times that by 4 and you'll have the main activity for the sleepover.  Between bouts of saving the world, there will be Lego building, a movie and possibly a convoluted football game in the park.  In other words, heaven.

It's amazing though that in just under 3 years I'll be looking back and wishing frantically for the odd and innocent simplicity of this time as girls, a growing social life, a reticence to share anything and everything that flows through his brain, and a million other things I don't understand will be the new world order for him and his friends.  And he'll believe, wholeheartedly, that wierdness is something I alone hold the patent to, because let's face it, he'll be too cool to chair dance with me in the car to the They Might Be Giants version of "Istanbul" like we did yesterday on the way home from my office.

So, I guess I better make good use the time we have left in this phase of his life, lord knows there are quite a few more odd facts to learn, sword fights to have and songs to boogie-down to.  

Go To Hell. I'm Reading

I looked up from my book last night and here is what I saw.  All of us, heads buried in a book, TV off, music playing (yeah Joe Ely), cat meowing (Big Spitty wanted out!).  It was perfect. 

The youngest, reading one of her Magic Treehouse books was reading outloud because the words "sound different in my head".  The oldest was reading a fantastic kids sci-fi book I had got for him...."The Roar" by Emma Clayton.  He had read all 400 or so pages in about three days (we try to catch him at night, but he outfoxes us sometimes).  Husband was reading something brilliant and I was reading absolute crap.  Yup, I was very much escaping thinking about anything, so I was, I am ashamed to admit, reading hardcore shifter romance...not even a genre I knew existed a year ago and now I find there are thousands of titles...who knew?

Regardless, the rest were shoring up the family cultural capital by reading acceptable 'good' books and I was only mocked a little. A pretty typical night all in all.

After about 45 minutes, the night disintegrated rapidly when our daughter saw--and read outloud, very loudly--her father's bookmark which read, 'Go to Hell.  I'm Reading." Hilarity ensued.  Which was fine, it was a school night and it was time for bed.  Giggled whispers of "go to hell, i'm walking upstairs...go to hell, i'm brushing teeth, go to hell, i'm washing hands"...floated down to us as they got ready for bed.

At first I thought I should go up/yell up about their language and to settle down, and then I said to myself, 'Go to hell...they're laughing, together."    And sometimes, that's the important thing, regardless of how we got there.