Ok… first let me clarify the title of my post.

My husband doesn’t like conflict, specifically conflict with me. If there is an issue at work, he will do what needs to be done.  He is a very diplomatic man. Everyone likes him. If he went on Survivor, he would win, or be the first kicked off, because he doesn’t believe in playing games.  He’s a straight shooter; he tells it like it is.  But then I enter the picture.  On the one hand, I feel blessed that there is nothing more my husband enjoys in life than making me happy (Am I bragging here?  Maybe… probably.. ok, I am.) 

“Do you like this dress?” I could have the ugliest 70’s prom dress on, and if I loved it, he would say he did too. And then secretly laugh at me in the privacy of his home office.

“Hmm… my hair is sort of driving me crazy.  Should I cut it short?” I know he likes it when my hair is longer, but he will tell me to do what makes me happy, and then he will tell me it’s pretty when I’m done.

And then, there are the moments when we are arguing.

And again, let me clarify here.  I don’t really argue; I fight.  If you piss me off, I’m gonna tell you why you did, how you did it, and I’m gonna make sure you KNOW it. Yes, I can be a witch with a capital “B.” I know this, and must admit it does come in handy at times (We finally got the right person on the phone to discuss our horrific Morton’s experience… and we were given a partial refund.), I know that many times I can be… intimidating?  Hmm… I don’t know if that’s the right word… scary?  I don’t know… I think I scare some people, not my husband, mind you! But I realize I can be intimidating occasionally.

When I’m mad, I’m like a pitbull… my bark is worse than my bite. I yell for a few minutes, maybe some foaming at the mouth, and then it’s cool… we can sit and talk and hash it out.

But, sometimes I get angry… like an evil genius.  Everything gets really calm in my head, and that’s saying a lot, as I LOVE chaos.  I start to throw out ten dollar words, and I even use them properly! My voice gets lower, no yelling here, and my eyes flash.  Or at least that is what I imagine my eyes do (I read too much!).

If I act this way with the kids, they back down.  Well, the older boys do. They know they crossed a line, but Roy shuts down.

I am convinced that if I could just record him (a video recording would be even better), Roy would see that he has a ‘tone.’

You know what I’m talking about ladies.  Their arms cross, their eyes go blank, and their jaw slackens.

Now, the arm cross I can deal with.  I’m pretty expressive when I talk, I flap my arms around, and I think it distracts Roy, so I cross my arms, so that he can’t get distracted by my flapping around.  So, if he does it… whatever.

But those eyes… I have waxed poetic about my husband’s beautiful eyes before.  When he’s happy, they have this delicious sparkle to them, but when we argue, they go flat, cold… and he doesn’t get that.

Half the time when we ‘fight,’ he says nothing.  He waits for me to burn out, and then one of two things happen: Eventually, I will say I’m sorry, OR I ignore him until he gets sick of it, and then he will do something cute.  I’m a pushover when it comes to my husband.

But occasionally, he will speak up, and he takes this dismissive, condescending tone.

“Yep… hmm… ok, Chris.  You got it.”

“Yep… ok… whatever you say, Chris.”

“Ok, Chris. You know it all, right?”

ARRGGGHHH… drives me crazy! And before you know it, we are arguing about whether or not he has a ‘tone.’

“There is no tone, Chris.”

“What tone?  What is this tone you’re talking about, Chris?”

Yes, he always says my name.  Perhaps it’s to remind him who he is talking too.  I don’t know, but it drives me nuts.

The original fight is forgotten, and I start looking around for a tape recorder.  We don’t have one, so I don’t know what I’m doing!

“I want to tape you.  If you could hear yourself, you would see that you have a tone!” I’ll explain.

“Ok, Chris. You know it all, right?” See, he’s jabbing all my buttons.

And NOW, the boys are trying to do the same thing.  I’m going to drown in a sea of snotty tones!

See, look at that… just thinking about their tones, and all they imply has made me annoyed… and scattered… and confused….

We were watching the season finale of The Walking Dead yesterday, and then today I was watching Private Practice, and I notice a theme: How long do you wait?

How long do you wait for your wife before deciding she was problably eaten by a horde of zombies?  Ok, probably not an issue for most of us.

How long do you wait for the man you love to decide he’ll have a baby with you just because YOU want one?  Ok, might be more of an issue for some.

How long do you wait?  How hard do you try?  When is it acceptable to give up? 

I will bring a dead horse back to life just to beat it to death again.  I’m that persistent.  Roy would probably say I am annoying at times.

One recent big issue: the older boys’ biological father.  He has some issues, and to be honest Roy and I aren’t sure what they are.  I don’t know what is going on with him, and, frankly, I don’t know if it is really my business, but I do know that he has hurt my boys. 

He said some things, did some things, and these things hurt my boys deeply. 

And yet, Corey and Joe seem happy!  They do have Roy, and he treats them no differently than the younger boys. He is Dad to them.

And yet, I would by lying if I said a part of me didn’t pity my ex.  

Corey and Joe are good boys.  They are kind, intelligent, and caring.  They work hard in school, they have friends that care about them, and they help out around the house (not as much as I would like sometimes!)… they are good boys.  They are just good human beings - and I think I am being pretty impartial here. 

And their bio-dad is going to miss all of that.  He missed joe getting his driver’s permit.  His 16th birthday. 16th! He will miss Corey’s graduation. His 18th birthday. 18th!

But, we have tried. I have tried. Roy has even tried to reason with him. The boys have tried to talk to him, to mend the gap that has gotten cavernous between them. 

I don’t want them to regret anything.  I don’t want them to wake up one morning and wonder if they should have done more, and yet they have told me that they have made peace with the idea that they simply do not have a relationship with their bio-father.  They have come to terms with the idea that it is a relationship that will most likely not ever be fixed. They don’t want the chaos and hostility that comes with that relationship. They accept it.  So shouldn’t I?

Roy and I have taught them, or we try to, that their opinion matters.  Their voice means something; it has value.  At their age, they are just learning what it means to make decisions that have lasting consequences, and yet we have taught them from the get go that is the case.

And then they tell Roy and I, with conviction, with certainty and strength, that they accept what is. And so, there is a part of me that is sad.  Their bio-dad will most likely never get to see up close what fine young men the boys are. And yet I am proud of them… for realizing that even though they might want to, they can’t change someone.  They can’t force someone to accept responsibility.  I am proud knowing that the boys go to bed every night and KNOW they did everything THEY could to try to mend fences. And gave multiple opportunities for the other party to make an effort.

I am proud knowing they didn’t give up, but they realized there came a time when they had to give in.

Hayden and Dean have just figured out how to add things to their wish list on Amazon.  Dean still needs some work.  He and I put about 10 things in it, and when I looked the other day there were about 150.  I was surprised, so I went to check it out, and he had coffee makers, about 15 packs of coffee capsules… like I said, needs some work.

The other day Dean and Hayden asked if they could look at toys on Amazon.  I said fine and helped them get to the website.  This is what I overheard while cleaning the kitchen.

“Dean!” Hayden fussed at him, “Move over!”

“No.”

“Dean, move!”

“No, I’m the boss.” Dean says.

“You’re not the boss.” Hayden argues.

“Yes. I’m the boss.”

“No, you aren’t!” Hayden was getting annoyed at this point.

“Yes. I’m the boss.”

“You have to be super smart to be the boss.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, what’s 6 times 6?” Hayden asked.

I am not even sure if Hayden knows this just yet - he just started doing multiplication in second grade.

“4.” Dean answered confidently.

“WRONG! See, you’re not the boss.” Hayden sounded triumphant.

“Yes, I’m the boss.” 

Interesting conversation.