Scenario:
7:40am. Temperature of 4°C (39°F). Today's forecast high is 16°C (61°F). The
forecast also calls for a 40% chance of showers "later today".
How do you dress your child?
Discuss with your spouse; I'll read War and Peace. When you both agree on an answer,
email me. I'll be halfway through Moby Dick by then.
In my experience, fathers completely
reject the cool morning air and ignore the risk of precipitation. Mothers
subtract 5 degrees from the actual exterior temperature, and prepare the child
for the odd chance the 40% chance of showers becomes weather Noah would never
venture out in.
The real key to any marriage isn't coming to an agreement between husband and
wife; it's getting your kid out the door before your spouse sees how you've
dressed him:
"What, no boots?! No sweater under his jacket?!"
"They say a forty percent chance. Plus, it's heading into the mid-teens later,
his feet will be hot, and he'll end up all sweaty."
"Or, he'll freeze at recess, have to walk around school in wet socks and
sneakers all day, and ruin another pair of
shoes."
"Fine, you dress him."
"You know what? Whatever. You take him shopping
for new shoes every three months."
The truth, as with most things in the universe - certainly when dealing with
marriage politics - is somewhere in the middle.
It's cold now, but he won't freeze.
It might rain later, but shoes dry, and he won’t get athlete's foot by wearing
a boot for a couple of hours. But bickering about it is part of the pattern,
isn't it?
As much as we allow our children to experience sibling rivalry, and we expose them
to their friends' toys without ourselves being strong-armed in buying them for our basements, adults have the same need
for conflict.
It's familiar; it allows us to constantly test boundaries with our spouse. When
the conflict has passed (or been stifled and saved for that big blow-up a
couple of times a year), it reminds us the person we married accepts our
faults, and the relationship can withstand some stress.
Game - Confrontation by h.koppdelaney via Flickr
I think one of the reasons space
aliens have not made themselves (plainly) visible to humans is sometimes -
just sometimes - we
argue over really stupid s**t.
- How many more minutes of a movie should the kids watch before bed? The
whole thing (45 min), or only another ten minutes?
- Should they have a cookie for dessert and risk cavities and a habit-forming
love for sweets, or should we deny them and spend the final hour of the day in
Armageddon?
- If they are going to get a cookie, is it
once they've eaten three pieces of broccoli, or four?
- Should we argue with them for twenty minutes, denying them the rest of the
movie until they're in their pyjamas, or should we extend the evening
by ten minutes after the movie to change them later?
- Should we punish our spouse for not standing up to our in-laws, or allow our
in-laws to punish them for taking a stand.
It's funny, isn't it? All the minutiae
we fill our pie plates with before smothering it into our spouse's face.
The reason our grandparents - if they've survived life and each other - have
such a distinct charm; the reason they have that quirky, edgy, pattern-filled rhythm
to their relationship is: they've been through a half-century of
second-guessing.
But, at some point, he just told her he loved that crummy sweater and, yes,
he's going to wear it every day; and she's told him that yes, the house looks
better with the bathroom door closed - so leave it
that way, will you?
After fifty years together, should
we be so lucky, we will barely notice those quirks anymore. We'll mind our own
business as we watch our children and grandchildren battle it out with their
spouses.
One day we'll learn to cut all the bologna. Then, aliens will touch down and my
wife will say to me:
"If you'd listened to me, they would have been here years ago."
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