Fighting Fair

I have some redeeming qualitites that I bring to this relationship Better Half and I have.

I'm a decent cook (as I can read and therefore can follow a recipe).  I'm a decent seamstress (again, due to the reading thing).  This is beginning to look like it was written in 1950.  For the love.

I saved us thousands of dollars in private school tuition by home schooling when the kids were small.

Although I am not an extrovert, I am MORE extroverted than Better Half, doing my part to ensure that we don't spend so much time with only each other for company that we start looking like each other.  Or looking like our dog.

I say what I think.  Almost.  Always.  So we discuss things like politics, religion, replacing our 50 year old furncace with a new one, etc. etc. etc.  And he   we make better decisions because of the dialogue.  :o)

Fighting fair, however?  That's not really one of my redeeming quailities.

I have a short fuse.  I can get angry and frustrated very quickly, and I get over it relatively quickly.  I try to bite my tongue and count to 10 or 20 or 1,000 when that happens, but I'm not always successful.

I'm historical when I get mad.

And I have NEVER followed the advice given to almost every married couple from Paul's letter to the  Ephesians--"Be angry and do not sin; don't let the sun go down on your anger."   I choose instead to follow the advice of David in Psalm 4--"When you are disturbed, do not sin.  Ponder it in your beds and be silent."  I mean, come on.  Paul was never married (that we know of).  And David...well...David was married.  Lots.  Whose advice would you follow?  :o)

Okay.  Fine.  I'm still working on the "do not sin" part.  But the  "Ponder it in your beds and be silent" thing?  I've got that DOWN.

It has never bothered me to go to bed angry.  I find that 6+ hours of time-out and rest goes a LONG way towards giving me a reasonable perspective on whatever I was ticked off about.

Irritations are harder long-distance.  A friend of mine, who has done this a number of times, had this advice to give:

  "the great 'thou shalt not' is fighting over email.  If you have something angry to say (and you will - remember, he'll be kickin' it in LA with Lil 'Wayne and the Kardashians in the VIP section with Tanqueray while you're managing 4 kids that are aggravated that their dad is gone), say it over the phone, not over email."

This sounds resonable, and I'm finding from other experiences in my life that email/text/etc. is a HORRIBLE way to express one's frustration with a situation.  So I'm really making an effort to handle conflict this way.  And I'm shocked that Better Half has only been gone two weeks and I've already had to discipline myself to excercise this gem.  More than once.

I'm still not sure why I'm shocked by this.  Sort fuse = me.

So I'm saving it--my irritation--for when we talk on the phone.

But here's the problem:  Although I have absolutely no qualms whatsover about retorting tersely, "Fine.  Whatever. Good NIGHT!" and flipping off the light and seething in silence until I fall asleep; I cannot even bring myself to say, "Fine.  Whatever.  Good NIGHT!" and hit "end" on the cell phone.

That feels like a level of unfair fighting that even I'm uncomfortable with.

Instead I'm learning how to offer forgiveness when I'm not ready to forgive. How to see it from another side when I still want to look at it from just my side. That not everything is done with the express intention of ticking me off.

And I'm learning that you can do both:

"Not let the sun go down on your anger (at least the sun in the Golden State--the sun goes down here before dinner is even on the table) and "Ponder it in your beds and be silent."

And maybe that's gonna be a big part of figuring out this "Be angry and sin not." thing.

Making a Short Story Long...

Since this is primarily a place to record the goings-on of "My own Backyard,"  I guess a recap of the past few months is probably in order.  If I ever get industrious enough to have this nonsense printed and bound in hard-copy, I won't want the events that have led up to the new adventure we're experiencing these days to go un-documented.  And as I'm sure most of my future posts will be about said "adventure," it might be helpful to know how we got here.

So--and I'll try to make this short and sweet--here goes:

Boy meets Girl (or maybe Girl meets Boy--I don't exactly remember, and that may be further back than we need to go).

For some crazy reason Girl still does not understand, Boy proposes to Girl.  Girl says yes.

Boy and Girl make people.  Four of them, to be exact.  A statistically good number to ensure that their her unique brand of crazy gets passed along somewhere in the gene pool.

Boy and Girl spend the next 17 or so years (give or take) raising the people in a functionally dysfunctional home in a small Midwestern town.

June of 2012 Boy finds out that his employment security is not immune to the plight of the American economy.  Girl inwardly has a mental breakdown while outwardly tries to remain composed and supportive.  (Employment instability is one of Girl's deepest fears).

August of 2012 roles are tweaked.  Girl works full-time.  Boy does...well, everything else.  It's a pretty cushy deal for Girl, minus the obvious decrease in spendable income.

October of 2012  severance package runs out.  Boy is offered employment.  Great company.  Great benefits.  Great potential for future advancement.  Great distance from small Midwestern town.

Employment is located in the Golden State.

Boy takes job.

Boy moves across the continent.

Girl stays behind.  With the four people.  And the psychotic dog (more on the dog later). The oldest of the people graduates this year.  Girl's teaching contract needs to be fufilled.  Plans are for Girl and people to join Boy later this summer.

Which brings us to now.

We are in the middle of week two of this "new normal."

Stay tuned to see how it goes.

It would make for a highly entertaining reality show, I'm sure!  I'd wager it's every bit as good as "Duck Dynasty."

Dear Blog,

 I know.  It's been a Really. Long. Time.

And I'm sorry.

I can give you all of the excuses reasons why I haven't posted in a million months.  The school year, drama, kids, drama, tired, drama, husband-has-a-new-job-and-I'm-moving-to-California (Wait.  That is the drama)-did I mention drama?

But they'd be just "reasons."

The truth is, I've been stepping out on you with Facebook.

I'm ashamed.  Truly I am.  But Facebook is easy and convenient.  The little box that asks me "What's on my mind" is small.  I can fire off something quippy and have the nearly instant gratification of  5 likes and 3 comments before I've even scrolled through my newsfeed.  And you know how that feeds my inner narcissist.

You are tougher.  Your box is REALLY big.  I have to have a LOT of words.  Yes.  I know.  This isn't generally a problem.  But the time factor is.  And you have a place for a title.  So not only do I have to fill the big box with LOTS of quippy words, I also have to come up with a quippy title.

Lately, that's just been too much pressure.

So I bailed.

But there you sit every day where I can see you (thanks to Better Half who made a shortcut for you on my bookmarks bar that I have no idea how to remove), making me feel guilty reminding me that I wanted this as a record for my family someday of our wacky crazy life and the wacky crazy things I think at any given moment.

And I do miss you.  Lots.

And people have been asking about you.

Okay.  Fine.  My parents have.  I think they're our only readers anymore.

I know.  Totally my fault.  And it's okay.  This relationship can just be for us.

So, will you give me another chance?

I know I'll have to work hard to earn your trust and that is going to mean putting words in the big box more than once a month.

I'm really going to try.

Love,
Me