A MESSAGE FROM MARILYN (the brunette, in case you forgot): A woman posted a message the other day requesting others to tell about their weird husbands. Apparently, she had heard of a story from her friend whose husband climbs trees and spies in on a nudist camp. How irritating. We women love to do the "one-ups-men" on each other . Caryl will tell me something Len did that really made her mad and I'll listen, laugh with her, give her the proper irritated response, then I try to one-up her. My sentence usually begins with, "YOU! Well, one time Richard left the kids......etc." We all do that as some kind of venting therapy. Once in a while we actually help each other by reminding ourselves that it's only another "cycle". Here's a little chapter from our book, The Mother Load, to show you what I'm talking about.....
The key to a long and successful marriage is knowing that it's all about cycles. There's the Honeymoon Cycle, the Irritated Cycle, the Baby-Time cycle, the Kids Come First Cycle, the I Come First Cycle and the When Is It My Turn? Cycle. Some cycles bring you up and we all try to stay there for as long as we can, but we also know the inevitable "down" cycle is just a burnt dinner away. If we can keep our perspective and anticipate the next round of cycles, the loving feelings and intimacy will still be intact when we're finished with another "downer".
I wish I had had that knowledge when I first married Richard. It would have come in handy that day in 1980 when he spent our last twenty five dollars on a perm. Instead, I took it to be a serious infraction of our vows and fashion in general. That time the "down" interval lasted about two months, which was the number of days it took for the perm and me to soften.
A "down" cycle is a sly entity. Sometimes it begins its lap almost quietly, certainly covertly. It can show up right in the middle of a sentence and last for weeks. Sometimes it will blast in like a cold wind through the front door and then disappear just as quickly and dramatically. Other times it will slip in through a dream. Richard hates it when that happens. We go to bed perfectly snugly and happy, then sometime before dawn, I dream that he's late, irresponsible and a philanderer. I wake up and give him a disgusted look. He then knows that I either had the recurring dream or my period came.
Once a "down" cycle has begun, it takes over my every thought and action. Like the flu, once you feel that first tickle in your throat, there's no stopping it from running its course no matter how much Echinacea you take to ward it off. There is no sex during a "down' cycle.
Here's an example of how it can sneak into a perfectly happy moment: Richard and I were doing some yard work on a warm summer afternoon while the kids swam and the birds sang. He was clipping the trumpet flowers and I was sweeping the deck when he asked me what I wanted for dinner. Grateful of his offer and trying to support my latest overweight consciousness craze, I said I thought fish would be good. I told him I'd like shark. I said it had been a long time since I'd had shark and asked him if could he fix it like he had done last summer. He said he'd like to try a new dill sauce on it this time. I said I'd make some rice pilaf. It all sounded really good to me. I began to hum Free Bird as I finished sweeping.
As the sun began to set, I could hear Richard humming, "Our house is a very very nice house" while he was preparing our meal. I noticed, however, that there were two kinds of fish in his famous lemon/olive oil/Italian parsley marinade. And looking back, I know I should have used the word "why", even though it was implied when I asked, "You have two kinds of fish?" He answered with a simple, common "yes".
Are you still with me? Because here's where that slippery little "down" period starts to take off. (I have seen intelligent, insightful psychotherapists fall into this trap. No one escapes from the "down" cycle!) The Men are from Mars thing began to do its little dance. A woman would have given a sing songy explanation of why there are two kinds of fish in the pan and even given some extra, albeit useless, information about other fish choices and what finally influenced her decision. A man answers the question literally. "There are two kinds of fish?" "Yes." No one is at fault here. It doesn't matter though, because at this point we all know what's in the immediate future.
My subconscious may have picked up on the "down" clues, but I paid them no attention and went about my business of setting the table while he tossed the salad. He gave me a little wink. We both started humming, "When the Shark Bites".
Candles were lit on the patio and Ray Charles was playing on our outdoor speakers while Richard set the garnished plates in front of our respective seats, each with a different kind of fish. On his was the shark. Looking at mine I asked, "What's this?"
"Bottom Fish."
"Bottom fish?"
"Yes"
Then I asked suspiciously, "What are you having?"
With the tiniest bit of defensiveness he said, "I was in the mood for shark."
For a whole minute, I didn't know what to say. This happens very rarely to women. I was actually stumped as to which way to go with it. Do I let it go? Do I remain confused? Do I call him an idiot? Although it's not very nice of me, the latter seemed to be a first choice.
I didn't want to fight. Not now. Not with the candles and everything. But I was tingly all over and my brain was electrified with emotions that I didn't know how or where to stuff. The words "you idiot" kept floating around in my head. Feeling grateful I'm not afflicted with Tourette's Syndrome, I knew I needed to purge. I was ready to explode. I thought maybe I could save the romantic moment by quickly dashing inside for a speedy call to Caryl to quietly complain for just a minute, saving all the details for the next morning. I know calling him an idiot is a real bone of contention, but before I could excuse myself I heard my mouth say very tersely, "I wanted shark, too."
Like Jenny Jones' breast implants, I think that "you idiot" tone might have leaked out because he countered with, "You NEVER want shark. You should have told me you wanted shark."
"I DID tell you. REMEMBER?" The tone coming on stronger. I know because no doubt about it, I was definitely thinking, "What an idiot. What an idiot. What an idiot."
By the time we finished with the "No, you didn'ts" and the "Yes. You dids" we were clearly, almost willingly spinning into a "down" cycle. Voices were raised, accusations were flying, worried children were looking out to the patio to see what's going on, no one was eating shark and Ray Charles was singing "It's Cryin' Time Again". We both started spewing details of where we were when one of us said, "I like shark" versus "I don't like shark".
The truth of the matter is : I do like shark, but I also like all kinds of fish and I was touched by his effort and I noticed that it's such a nice night out. But all of this was lost. When you've stepped into a "down" cycle you don't want to notice nice nights.
For the next few days everything he did irritated me. His everyday habits took on new, sinister meanings. He selfishly moved the car mirrors so he could drive better. This meant that I had to move them back to their original positions at a great inconvenience to me. He fell asleep right in the middle of First Wives Club. He drove too fast when we were trying to find a new street address and painfully slow the next time when we were running late. My jaw began to ache from days of clenching.
Time eventually passes and the "down" mood wears off, but it's our sense of humor that can speed that process right up. A couple of days later Richard found a toy shark in the kids' room and when the table was set that night, everyone had spaghetti on their plates but me. I had rubber shark. I chided him that even our own President wore a hearing aide and before we knew it we were flirting again. We were lucky that time, it was a short cycle.
I don't think there's anything you can do about those times except maybe acknowledge that the cycle has begun. Hashing it over and over again is futile because sometimes it's not the actual event that causes the fighting, it's the natural cycle of life that does it. Before you get all crazy and start to plot your escape into the Land of the Thin and Divorced, remind yourself about the ups and downs of any relationship. That same fish episode could come up in the middle of an "Up" cycle and we'd both be cracking up over how he didn't hear my request. Well, maybe not cracking up.