The Elephant's Child

A Theory About Unfamiliarity When Beginning a Marriage.

I believe that a bit of unfamiliarity with your fiance leads to a certain mild formality in the early years of a marriage.  That formality leads to a bit more careful politeness.  Good habits of plain old courtesy go a long way towards a peaceful everyday life as a marriage matures.  That courtesy is more natural when, as you and your spouse are beginning your marriage,  you aren't as familiar to each other as the dirt under your fingernails.

At the time Mad Musician and I married, we had known each other for 10 months.  Many of those months were months that I was spending 40+ hours per week in upper level architectural studio; he worked full time and lived an hour away.  Nearly all my friends and aquaintances thought I was bat-poop insane to be marrying "so young" (I was 22) and without a trial period of living together to "make sure we're compatible."

The essentials lined up, though: we shared a common faith, a common approach to financial matters, had come from families of similar backgrounds.  We shared a love of Bach, church music, and cars as well.  And most importantly, people who knew both of us really well thought we were a good match for each other.

But at the time we married, we didn't know each other all that well.  We weren't familiar with each other.  That bit of unfamiliarity meant we were more polite. We were guests in each other's personal spaces, in a lot of ways.  "I'm going to take a shower, did you need the bathroom before I get in?" 

There are numerous reasons I don't believe couples living together before marriage is a good idea.  The religious reason is only one of the many.  This is another.  The early days of living together set the tone and the habits for later married life, but the habits set during living together are habits and ways of interacting that have as their backdrop the relatively easy-out of simply breaking up and moving out. 

Better that those habits, those ways of talking together, shopping, dealing with anger, picking up dirty underwear, and sharing a bathroom be formed when a couple is still a bit "shy" of each other and in the context of a commitment to working at a permanent, difficult-to-dissolve, long-term relationship.

I also believe that what I've outlined above is one of the reasons that arranged marriages have such a high success rate.

 

An Only-Child Rant.

Why is it rude to make comments about the number of children a family with more than 3 children has (and it IS rude!) but somehow it's ok to make smirky comments, drop hints, go all "nudge, nudge, wink, wink" and such to people who have less than the average 1.89 children?

Large families have to bear horrid comments. "You know what causes that, right? Hardy-har-har!"  and "Are they all yours?"  are two common refrains.  I am outraged that that happens.  I even err on the side of saying NOTHING AT ALL about children (except maybe "What cute kids!") to people who have 3+ children because I'm so terrified of causing offense.   Large families are a great way to raise humans.  The world would be a better place if more kids grew up in large, bustling, happy families of 4, 5, and up siblings.

But teasing someone who has just one child about having more when you have absolutely no idea why they have only one child is just as insensitive as making comments about the sex life of a mom with six kids under the age of twelve.

You have no idea why that woman has only one child.

She may have suffered many miscarriages and be terrified of another pregnancy.  She could be desperately trying to get pregnant and be unable to.   She may have a mental disease that puts her at increased risk of severe postpartum depression.   She may be in very poor health in ways that aren't immediately obvious. She may have no health insurance. 

Not only do you have no idea, it's none of your business, just like it's none of my business how many children you have. 

Those of us who have an only child thank you for extending to small families the same courtesy that I work hard to extend to large ones.  

P.S.  Ditto for the various assumptions made about only-child families. Let's stop the stereotyping on both sides, shall we?  Some of my "favorites," culled mostly from Christian blogs and forums:  "They only care about money.  She's vain. She doesn't want to ruin her figure.  They think music lessons, travel, expensive toys are more important than siblings.  Her child is that way because she's not used to sharing her toys.  Her child is spoiled. Her child isn't used to other children."   And last but not least: the assumption that all people who have less than two children somehow have it in for larger families.   Puh-leeze.

Bullying.

My friend Cheryl wrote a post on bullying the other day.

I was bullyied, too, in fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth grades.  Seventh grade wasn't as bad as the others. Eighth grade was horrible because I was dropped as a new kid into a school where everyone had known each other since 3rd grade.  I had it to a lesser degree again in 11th grade, when I returned to the United States after two years overseas. 

I'm thankful I was never physically beaten up, but the ruthless teasing was pretty bad.   What's more, instead of my middle school addressing the bullies, the school handled things by sending me to the school shrink.  It only took a couple of weeks before the whole school and led to even more ruthless teasing and humiliation.

During fifth grade, people would get up and move fifteen feet away if I sat down to eat my lunch at recess.  

My first "time of the month" came during the early years of middle school, and of course, the bullies caught on - how, I have no idea - and told my entire class, most of whom proceeded to make loud comments all day long.

I felt completely left to the wolves.   I felt like no grown ups believed how bad it was. 

Someone once said to me, "Well, you survived, didn't you?"  Yes, I'm alive.  But I carry scars, and I can't think of one single thing that I "learned" from the experience of being bullied.  I couldn't hit back, which might have solved a few things, but gotten me in grave trouble.  Grownups didn't quite believe me, and I was terrified to talk to the teachers in too much detail for fear of retaliation from the bullies.  I was sent to a counselor, which had the net effect of convincing me that there really was something wrong with me. 

The experiences of those years did not teach me how to deal with difficult people.  They taught me that when people say they like me not to trust them because they're likely lying.  They taught me that I was ugly and worthless.  Those years taught me that there was something fundamentally flawed with me, and that the kids who called me names were probably right to do so.

It took years to undo that mess in my head!

Parents, do let your kids problem-solve on their own their difficulties with their friends.  But if your kid is coming home in tears every single day, pay attention.  If you kid tells you she's getting called names, believe her.  Don't write it off as "all kids tease." 

Kids need to know someone's got their back in this world.

 

The Four Stages of Adult Life.

1. I want to be needed.

2. It's so nice to be needed.

3. I'm really tired of being needed so much.

4. Nobody needs me anymore. (This can be a good thing. Or a bad thing.)

Stage 2 and stage 3 have a lot of overlap and they flip-flop back and forth more than John Kerry making pancakes while wearing summer beach sandals.  Today, I'm in stage 3.

Real Men, By The Numbers.

If half the men twice his age were one-quarter the man he is, the world would be a much better place for women and a much safer place for children.

He's less an aberration than he thinks, although he's got more courage than most.  Most who feel the way he does find themselves plunging along the free-fall of hook-ups and privileges taken for no recompense, arms flailing, and give up, beaten and defeated by the beastly horde, only turning to look at the wreckage when years have winged by and nothing can be changed.

Stand for something, men.  If you can't stand for at least this, how can you expect any woman to respect and love you?

My Mommy-Brain: Rationalization Mode On.

What I was supposed to be praying:

I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Thy dear Son, that Thou hast graciously kept me this day, and I pray Thee to forgive me all my sins, where I have done wrong, and graciously keep me this night. For into Thy hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Thy holy angel be with me, that the Wicked Foe may have no power over me. Amen.

What I said instead:

I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Thy dear Son, that Thou hast graciously kept me this day, and I pray Thee to forgive me all my sins, where I had to go wrong, and graciously keep me this night. For into Thy hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Thy holy angel be with me, that the Wicked Foe may have no power over me. Amen.

"I'm sorry, Lord, I just had to do it."  Good grief! What kind of Freudian slip was that? What's really sad is that I didn't even realise I'd said it wrong.  We finished the prayer, and Sparkle Kitty and Mad Musician started laughing their ungrateful, insensitive heads off while I was looking around confused, asking, "What? What did I say?"

(By the way, if you're not familiar with Luther's Evening Prayer, you should learn it.  It covers all the bases better than anything else except The Lord's Prayer itself.  There is a morning version as well:

I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Thy dear Son, that Thou hast kept me this night from all harm and danger; and I pray Thee to keep me this day also from sin and all evil, that all my doings and life may please Thee. For into Thy hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Thy holy angel be with me, that the Wicked Foe may have no power over me. Amen.)

My Weird, I Mean Amazing, Family.

My family of orgin is a group of non-traditionally talented people.  Which is funny, because we're a really, really, really traditional family.  Highlight with your mouse for the answers.

There's a potluck lunch scheduled for July 4th. Who makes the potato salad to bring?
1. Me.
2. My brother, Evan.
3. My mom.

Answer: Evan makes state-fair-blue-ribbon quality potato salad. No, you can't have his recipe, because there IS no recipe. He's that good.

Who built a Mission-style coat rack for me a few years ago?
1. The older of my two younger brothers, Peter.
2. My dad.
3. My sister, Laura.
4. I built it myself.

Answer: My dad AND my sister. Out of reclaimed pallet and crate wood.

Who printed a picture of a unicorn off the internet and turned it into a decorated cake for my niece?
1. Her daddy, my brother Peter.
2. My mom.
3. I did.
4. The bakery lady.
Answer: My brother Peter. Isn't he awesome?

Who can run the sewing machine well enough to stitch a hem or fix a torn pocket?
1. My sister, me, and my mom.
2. The above, plus my brother Evan.
3. All 6 of us: my mom, dad, me, both brothers, and my sister.
Answer: All of us!

Who is the best cook?
1. My mom.
2. My brother Evan
3. My dad.
Answer: Evan. Sorry, Mom!

Who watched the mechanic replacing the starter in their car and said, "I'll bet I can do it next time."?
1. Me
2. My brother Evan
3. My sister, Laura.
Answer: My sister.  And I'm sure she could too, if she could borrow someone's tools for the weekend.

Answer! to the Quiz On Sparkle Kitty.

At what point in this ad did Sparkle Kitty nearly asphyxiate herself from laughing so hard?

1. "You hate going to work."
2. "Your co-workers don't respect you."
3. "You always wish you were somewhere else."
4. "You cry constantly."
5. "You daydream of punching small animals."
6. "You sit next to THIS guy."

"Oh, dear!" it seems that a lot of you are just as sick as me and Sparkle Kitty.  My dear sister in law, Tlotliso, called it the The Three Stooges' Australian Outback Adventure.  I thought this ad was brilliant.  The coffee cup in the koala's hand was a nice touch.  But the Pepsi "Refresh" spot was my favorite.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.  Yay, USA!

Do Not Like!

With permission from my sister, I'm sharing this picture of my niece, who has recently had her first birthday.  I guess this little girl has gotten her daddy's take-it-or-leave it attitude towards sweets and deserts.  My family's share of this little sweetie's genetic pool sure never turns up any of our German peasant farmer noses at something like a chocolate cupcake!

Things Boring Married People Like

1.  Early bedtimes for people under the age of 18.
2.  Extra money in the checkbook at the end of the month.
3.  Sofas big enough for two people, two beers, and two plates of food.
4.  DVDs watched at home instead of wasting money at the going out to the movies.
5. Having a conversation without being interrupted.

6. Food cooked by other people.

and finally,

7. Staying home on New Year's Eve and not waiting up for the stoopid ball to drop.