Milk Man is a passive-aggressive competitor, and he can rationalize his way out of any situation. He'd make an excellent politician. My first exposure to these less-than-endearing qualities was while we were dating. He traded me in order to better his chances of building a winning Pictionary team. Love is blind, however, and God is the Greatest comic.
"Married life is very frustrating. In the first year of marriage, the man speaks and the wife listens. In the second year, the woman speaks and the husband listens. In the third year, they both speak and the neighbors listen." -From The Ten Commandments of Marriage
Thirteen years later, we're still together and I've helped him multiply "mini-me's." Case in point, he and I are reading the morning newspapers while big brother is bickering in the den with the princess. They're holding their own Olympic Games on green play mats. Big Brother is representing the USA, of course, and the Princess is playing for Switzerland. She starts to cry and next they're rolling around on the floor, wrestling. "I want to be the first one, " she whines. Big brother tells her she can never be first at anything because he was born first. Princess screams.
I summon big brother by his full name and he enters the kitchen knowing he's in trouble. I give him a lecture about doing the right thing, not always having to be first or best, etc. I tell him that I've decided that from now on he will make it his business to make sure all contests, races and other games with the princess result in a tie. He boils over this idea for a moment, pumping his fists in the air, obviously frustrated, as his father and I look stern. "Okay, Mommy, but first the princess has to be as fast or smart as me to have a tie...and I don't think that will happen today." He runs out of the room, to avoid hearing my rebuttal. I look at Milk Man and shrug saying, "This is your mirror, not mine. It looks like your Olympic task is to tone down big brother's competitive nature. "
My husband agrees and sternly calls big brother back into the room. He leans down into the little boy's face, then cracks a smile, saying, "Mini-Me, You complete me." Big brother kisses his nose and runs back into the den, laughing.
"What are you doing," Milk Man asks, as I'm tightening the cap on my Gatorade bottle. I hurl the drink at him and he ducks. It hits the wall. "I'm angry at how you just handled that situation and I feel like pouring this on your head right now, but I don't want to clean up the mess. Good duck, guess you got lucky this time." He thanks me and gives me a score of "10" for marital communication. We both continue reading the newspapers.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.