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I get a newsletter from the Mayo Clinic. Today’s gem: “Coping with stress is easier when you identify your stress triggers, manage your time well and beat burnout.”

Duh…

I can identify my number one stress trigger. That would be Mister Gadget, in all his pleasant glory.

I don’t think I mentioned that I’ve been tapering off the Zoloft. I’m nearly done, and have learned some interesting things in the process. The first thing is that Zoloft worked wonders as a marriage stabilizer. If When Gadget, my man of few words, which, when uttered, tend toward sour and sarcastic, and I bicker (oh, the commas in this sentence are dizzying), I end up the worse for wear, and he is oblivious to the fact that there is even an argument in progress, and generally snaps at me to inquire why I’m being so nasty, again, oblivious to the fact that he is snapping at me. The frustration rises and consumes me in the instant, and I’m powerless to express anything, and find myself on the verge of tears. It’s maddening. And I’m not a nasty, sour person. I’m gentle and pleasant (for the most part).

I ask him what he thinks it means if I need to be medicated in order to live harmoniously with him. “You’re still going on about that? I’m over it. It’s history,” he says, in reference to the spat, assuming that’s where I’m coming from when I ask him what he thinks it means if I need to be medicated… He does that. Makes assumptions about what he thinks I’m talking about, instead of actually listening to what I’m saying. It’s maddening!

And perplexing. At work, effective communication is one of my professional skills. I’m generally diplomatic, patient, and pleasant. I help bridge cultural chasms, for crying out loud, and bring about a meeting of the minds. People are usually cooperative, and even if they’re not, I can still deal with it. But on the home front? We do not communicate well. And I don’t know why. Obviously, I think he could stand to be more cooperative. He just thinks I’m stubborn and overly sensitive. It’s true, I admit it, but I’m generally reasonable, and not stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. Whereas he seems to be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. It’s more entertaining for him. Or something. It would be nice if he could see that what’s merely entertaining for him is serious for me, and perhaps, possibly, make a little self-sacrifice and attempt to show some consideration for my sensitive nature. To tell me not to be sensitive is of very little help. If I knew how to curb my sensitivities (naturally), then I’d DO it. Work with me here, please.

Meanwhile, I’m pulling out my hair, and wondering if tapering off the Zoloft is such a good idea. Zoloft gave me a buffer that allowed me that instant of time to seek words rather than be immediately incapacitated in the face of frustration. So I wonder how I can possibly acquire that buffer naturally. I don’t need it for work. I don’t need it for my child. I don’t need it for my siblings or my friends. I only need it for Mister Gadget. Why is that?

The other thing I’ve noticed with the taper is that the first few days with a reduced dosage are fine. Even great. But the fourth day is another story. There was a spat on day 4 of the first dosage reduction cycle, and there was a spat on day 4 of this one as well. It could be coincidence, but something tells me it’s not. Interesting. After day 4, things seem to normalize. I go two weeks on each reduction. I’m nearly done. One week to go. I’m wondering if I’ll have another meltdown in a week and four days.

Now, I’m not saying that Gadget is a complete jerk and I’m an angel among angels (although, when it comes to being behind the wheel, it’s a completely different matter, and yes, I’ll say he tends to be a consistent jerk in that respect). The frustrations of which I speak are not a constant thing. THANK GOD! This latest is an unloading of the most recent day 4 experience. We have many harmonious times. There’s not such an emotional need to write things out and unload when things are harmonious, though. The result is a rather lop-sided portrayal of the relationship.

I have a beautiful life. Truly, I do. I just have my moments.

Coming soon, a show and tell post about recent inspirations and corners of my home.

Happy Anniversary, Baby, Got You on My Mind….

Does anybody remember LRB? I used to love them. Well, I still like them, but haven’t heard them in years and years.

Five years ago, today. Las Vegas. Fools for Love. April Fool’s Day! (There is method to my madness. It’s a date that’s easily remembered.)

A Vegas wedding would have been the last thing on my mind, had I married in my twenties or early thirties. By the time I reached my late thirties, all those youthful fantasies of fairytale weddings had long since dissipated.

But enough about weddings and youthful fantasies. Today I heard the heartbeat again!! The doctor put the doppler to my belly and in all of two seconds, there was that beautiful whoosh! whoosh! whoosh! pow! whoosh! pow! that I love so much. (The pow is when the little peanut kicks. Such an active little thing!)

The results from the last screen came back with nothing out of the ordinary. The fetal medicine folks still recommend the detailed echo, and that’s fine. My doctor said that women of age with diabetes sometimes have higher rates of infants with cardiac abnormalities, but not to be alarmed. There’s nothing so far to suspect anything of the sort. The detailed echo would just provide a little more information. It seems that all is well on the baby front, even in the face of statistics, so I am VERY thankful!!

I gained two pounds. That part is a disappointment. But after the recent food frenzy, it shouldn’t be a major surprise. And yes, the frenzy continued, because we dined out tonight to celebrate our marital bliss. Mexican food. Gadget’s favorite. (Next to pasta.) The wild boy even behaved himself, for the most part. I think he had about three bites. Next time I won’t order him his own plate. Once we were back in the car, he immediately started snacking on his Cheerios. Some people’s kids.

(as Austin Powers would say)

I spent a s t a g g e r i n g amount of money this week, but I feel very good about it.  (Most of it, anyway.)

The state has a fantastic guaranteed tuition program so I can now proudly say that my son’s univeristy tuition is paid in full, guaranteed for when he’s ready to go (as long as he goes to a public university).  I bought the maximum, which translates to five years.  I had previously let it be known that I would expect my children to pay for their own education, like I had to (the reasoning behind that stance being that the education might be more fully appreciated and taken seriously).  I don’t know whether I will let him know I’ve done this, when he’s older.  I’d rather encourage him to do his best and seek scholarships, grants, internships and such.  I don’t want him to grow up assuming that life is a free ride.  I want him to learn a good work ethic.  I want him to be responsible.  I want him to be able to go confidently out into the world, when it’s his time.  I don’t want him to be lazy.

I also paid the property taxes for the year.  That’s not such a happy outward flow of cash, but there’s no getting around it, and at least a little of it does go towards good things like the public schools.

Recent family crises added to the net (and I’m so thankful that I am able to help out a bit).

…and…   ….shhhhh….   …don’t tell Mr. Gadget, but I ordered the Nikon D40.  What the heck, say I…  It’s a barely discernible drop in the bucket of freeflowing cash this week.  Barely discernible!  What better time than now

Actually, so far I’ve only told him about the tuition and the tax.  Not the family crises and the camera.  He won’t mind, though.  He might be a wee bit jealous, but he did get a new camera himself this week (which he got to get from the community fund).  And I’ve forked out quite a LOT of money to help out his side of the family when in crisis, so he has no room to grumble, should he decide to comment. 

I don’t know how other families keep financial peace.  I know that financial matters are the root of many a marital woe.  And we have had more woe than I care to express or continue.  So.  We have come to an understanding.  Our accounts are separate, like single people.  I manage the family budget.  We contribute to the common fund by percentage of earnings rather than dollar amount so we feel equal relative pain, and if we have anything left over after our family commitments, then it’s ours to do with as we please.  It’s an average budget, though.  It doesn’t include expenses out of the ordinary routine.  And really, we should establish a savings plan, for future and for retirement.  It’s one step at a time for my dear MG though.   He balks at anything that will reduce his current potential spending money.

Mr. Gadget’s wants seem to exceed his means, and mine generally don’t. (Means being what’s left over after family commitments.)  Somehow I end up feeling guilty if I ever covet something expensive.  (I attribute it to my upbringing, which has both pros and cons.)  The tuition, family donations, and camera came from my personal funds, and somehow I feel a bit guilty about the camera, even though I shouldn’t.  I guess a part of me worries that MG will think that if I got to spend X then he should get to spend X.  Math is not his strongsuit.

I wonder if we’d view things differently had we married younger, or had he not been married previously.  If I had married younger, I probably would be gung ho for a fully joint account, in which we would have to agree to certain expenses as a team, and we’d have to be responsibly accountable to each other for all of our expenditures.

Having been single and established, way into my thirties, it’s been quite difficult to fully adjust to the sharedness of marriage.  Having been previously married, MG’s child support payments come from his personal account, which substantially diminishes his available mad-money.  This is why he feels strained and why it’s easy for his wants to exceed his means.  Maybe I’m a bit hard-nosed, but support for his other child is his responsibility, not mine.  And support for our child is our responsibility together.  That’s how I see it, anyway.  If his daughter were to come live with us, of course we’d both support her, but he has no custody, and none forseeable.

I need to find a way not to end up feeling guilty.  I’ve worked very hard (I’ve worked for one company for almost 21 years) and made many financial sacrfices along the way so that I would be better set in the future.  The future is now, and it should be okay for me to have a Nikon camera, guilt-free!

I stumbled across something innocently enough a few months ago in which appearances suggested that a rose was a rose. When I inquired about said rose, the man of the house assured me that it was, in fact, not a rose. Today I stumbled across what looks to be a rose — a rose of the same variety as the alleged rose of earlier days. Or so it appears. I inquired about said rose, resulting in anger directed toward me for snooping and not minding my own business, and the reiteration that the rose is, in fact, and as clearly stated before, not a rose. It has been explained to me that this rose is not a rose, but it has not been shown or proven. Words of assurance were the sum of the offering of explanation in the initial confrontation. I accepted these words the first time, but this rose upon which I’ve stumbled today requires a more complete explanation. Because it looks like a rose. It smells like a rose. It feels like a rose. I am having a difficult time understanding how it can be anything other than a rose.

The thing is, without a valid explanation, it looks like a lie, and I can’t tolerate a lie, if that is what it is. I’m not an idiot and I generally have an exceptional capacity for grasping things (except jokes), so the explanation that the rose is not a rose must be improved upon, in order to put me at ease. I don’t want a marriage in which secrets are kept and lies are fostered, and I think that I am justified in wanting a valid explanation.

He, however, thinks I am being unreasonable, and sees no need to explain things any further. So here I am, gashed and bleeding from the prickly thorns of the rose that is not a rose. But how could I be gashed and bleeding, if there is indeed no rose It must all be a figment of my imagination.

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Update. All’s well that end’s well. It has been explained that an omission can have the appearance of a lie, and it’s therefore of utmost importance to be upfront, forthcoming, and not vague in certain matters. That is, if one doesn’t want one’s partner to explode.

The other day, in the kitchen, I hugged Mr. Gadget. He probably helped clean up, which isn’t the norm, although he would contest that. It was a nice moment, but the very best part was stepping away from him and seeing my little boy smiling up at us, radiating the most beautiful pure love from every ounce of his giant little being. It was an impression I’d like to etch in my memory forever. It represents love at its finest. Unconditional. Untainted. Unjaded. Unscarred. He’s so young and innocent, and it filled him with joy to see his mommy and daddy embrace in a loving moment.

I need to remember this. To try to see love through the eyes of a child, rather than through the hardened skin of a weary and worn adult. Because, it’s true, I can be critical. I have great expectations that I impose upon myself, and by association, I impose them upon my man. Because we’re a unit; we’re a reflection of each other, in some ways, and I do believe there are some fundamental things that we should agree on. Like-mindedness. How I yearn for that. It sometimes seems that there is very little that we agree on, other than that we love each other and that we love our child with a great big gigantic love. Expression of expectations is not always conducive to a harmonious environment. I need to remember that he’s not me, and I need to embrace that and rejoice in the diversity he brings to our union. I need to appreciate him, simply for being him. And, perhaps, he just might do the same for me. Then, there will be more loving embraces, and there will be more shining happy faces smiling up at me.

It’s so worth it.

I have been conducting some field experimentation on the nuances of communication and the resulting contribution toward conflict management. I have an unwitting gadget oriented study participant.
Scenario I:
Casual conversation. Express a vague idea: “I’d like to plant a tree and some shrubs out front.”
Theoretical Outcome I:
Interchange of words. Exploration of the idea. Examples: “What sorts of shrubs/tree ” “I’d love a sweet gum and a burning bush or two, and a heavenly bamboo and perhaps a few other hardy, low-growing evergreens.” “Do you have a time frame in mind ” “It would be nice to do something in the next few weeks, before the weather changes dramatically.” “Is there a particular place you’d like to put the tree and shrubs ” “Why, yes, I have some ideas.” “Do you have an idea of how you’d like the front to look ” “Why yes, I could draw a picture so you could see what I have in mind.”
Actual Outcome I:
“We need some topsoil. You can’t just plant a tree in the ground.” “Why not ” “Do you want to go get the plants or not ” “Well, yes, but… (we don’t have a plan, and we haven’t done any prep work and surely there is some necessary groundwork),” unsaid and unheard. “Let’s go.” Followed by a nearly silent trip to the nursery, a selection of plants, a load of topsoil. “Where do you want the tree ” “I’d like to form a slight mound near the street lamp, and center it there. I’d like to form another mound near the driveway, …” Followed by topsoil shoveled in the general area of the street lamp. And so and and so forth, and so forth and so on, with the final result being a half-ass poorly planned execution of what could have been a decent piece of landscaping. Not to mention a disgruntled and unsatisfied party, frustrated that all parties weren’t interested in developing and executing a plan, and achieving a meeting of the minds and an accord of vision. Also, said party wondering how long to wait before insisting that the job be redone, this time according to plan and design, ignoring the pick your battles phrase that’s flashing relentlessly like a stock exchange ticker symbol across her mind.
Scenario II:
Casual conversation. Express a specific idea: “I’d like to make a concrete bench, and I have the instructions in a book, but I want to slightly modify the design.”
Theoretical Outcome II:
Follow the instructions in the book. Modify the design as specified. Build a bench.
Actual Outcome II:
Modify the design as desired. Follow the instructions in the book. “Why do we have to do it this way What do they know ” “We do it this way because it’s what the instructions say. They know, because they’re the experts. That’s why they wrote the book.” And so on. Exhausting, but in the end, there is a bench, and the prize-winning remark, “That went well. We hardly argued, and you didn’t mutter anything about divorce.”

The key, therefore, is to have a concrete (ahem), detailed plan in place, prior to initiating a conversation or expressing an idea. There is much weight placed on the old addage, “Think before you speak.”

Scenario I (reprise):
Rather than insisting the job be redone, while heeding the pick your battles self-advice, gather the tools and start re-working the offending area. Alone.
Theoretical Outcome I (reprise):
Unencumbered experimentation to determine a satisfactory solution. Potential second party expression of interest and voluntary assistance.
Actual Outcome I (reprise):
Compromise and settle on a solution that, although not the original vision, is deemed acceptable.

Last night.  Wild man toddler finally asleep, after a 2.5 hour battle.  A few moments on the couch, prior to calling it a night.  Mr. Gadget turns to me and says…

(regarding my job)

(the day job)

(the one that pays)

…What is it that you do