Friday, May 27, 2011

Don't Tell Me What You Think I Want To Hear About What I'm Thinking

Afternoon Readers,

     If you were to ask me, "Paige, would you rather be chased down a crooked hallway by an ax-wielding murderer, or listen to the babies scream at you some more?", I'd say, "First of all, that's a strange question to ask, at a Church picnic, but if you really want to, please." My threshold for screaming is high, but wasn't high enough yesterday, to keep me from being reduced to a big, crying weenie.. As a result, I found myself on the phone with Husband being talked down....kind of..
What follows is a rough transcript of our conversation:

Me: are you?

Husband: Good, Babe. How're you and the kids?

(What followed was a few seconds of silence..and then..)

Me: I--I--It's just that they won't stop crying! They're cr- crying and screaming (sob, sniff) and I c-c-cant' t-take it anymore...

Husband: Here's what you need to do. calm down. Just ignore them. You tried that? Have they eaten? Changed? Well...then I don't know what to tell you..Honey? Honey, you still there?

(After a few moments, I answered, purely to keep him from charging home to make sure I wasn't playing in traffic)

Me: I'm fine. Sorry to have bothered you. Have a good, no...I'll be fine. Ju- No, I told you it's fine..goodbye.

     Consequently, I spent the next few hours alternating between crying and wondering why sympathy was harder to come by than loose change within three feet of the homeless. What was it about Husband he couldn't find it within himself to reach through the phone and pat me on the back? Was it too much to ask for a few "It's ok"s or simply a "Why is the world's most beautiful woman crying when she's doing such a great job? I can't wait to see your beautiful face when I get home."
     However, after three diet Mountain Dews and a great amount of milling about, the answer came to me:

Men don't want to help, they want to HELP.

As in, "Hey George, you say your step ladder broke? Well, by golly, take mine." Or... "Gee, Bob, if you're not catching any fish, try using bait." (Bob's an idiot)
     The universal disconnect revealed itself  with perfect timing. I wasn't going crazy. He cared, he just didn't care the way I wanted him to care. So who cared?...I cared. Why did I care so much? That was a lot of caring...too much caring. Perhaps he cared too much, but in his own way...but that wasn't too much, because it still wasn't the type of caring I wanted...

Sometimes men say women are crazy. Sometimes I think they're right.

     But that didn't change the fact I was still adrift in a sea of baby howler monkeys. When he got home, I did the first rational thing I'd done all day (besides turn-off Kathy Lee and Hoda) and explained why I was so upset. Turns out, Husband had no idea I felt that way, but confirmed my speculations about his wanting to "solve" instead of "salve" problems.

I felt better. He felt better. Life went on.

     Of course, that's not to say, a series of events wasn't unknowingly put in motion. Events that may or may not change life as we know it, but

...that's another story..

Until Next Time Readers!