one up, one down
Tuesday, January 12, 2010 at 3:54AM Here’s an interesting relationship-related phenomenon that I wonder if other folks have observed. When Father Bird and I have a difficult decision/task/anything coming up, one that we have some time to think about, we alternate between hope and despair about it. But not only do each of us alternate, we almost always alternate in…alternate directions. So I’ll be excited and brave about (insert onerous task here) one day, and he’ll mope around, offering the every-cloud-has-a-black-lining point of view. The next day, or the next hour, we’ll have switched completely, and he’ll be trying to cheer me up as I wallow in self-pity over it. It’s useful, almost, because if I feel one way, I can usually predict how he’ll be feeling. And I wonder, is this strange, or not? (This is what I wonder always, are we, am I, strange or not? We don’t know enough people to create an effective test group and find out.)
But, you notice, I said usually. Maybe 80 percent of the time we do the back-and-forth thing, about 15 percent we spend both being optimistic about things, and the remaining five, well, are like last night.
Now, as you well know by now, Father Bird and I are being forced, more or less, to sell our beautiful home in Georgia and move back to California. There are at least a couple of ways to view this. We can look at what we’re leaving behind or we can look at where we’re going. And so we do, and so we have been doing, he and I, for months now. I’ll drag into the room and say, “But we have five ACRES here…” and he, looking at real estate listings there, will say, “Ooooh, this one has five AVOCADO trees!”
He grew up in California, and I grew up in this area, so naturally our reactions are a little skewed because of that. But this week is the week we’ve decided to do it, to get the whole thing done, to pack and leave and not look back, so this is the week that reality has hit us both. I got up yesterday morning, ready to tape boxes and pack, but got a little distracted and spent hours working on my children’s patterns. I looked up as Father Bird was driving up the driveway, and with computer-dull eyes saw the golden light of sunset washing over the big pines at the front of the property. Had I packed? No. I’d been using my computer like a drug, escaping from cardboard-and-tape reality, trying not to see the empty cabinets and bare walls.
At this point I very much needed Father Bird’s sunny point of view. I needed to hear about avocado trees and the beach. But he didn’t have it. He’d come home to get my optimistic counterpoint for his own low mood, and I was, well, as I said. He sat down next to me at the dining room table and the two of us just sat, staring blankly. Then we both got up and paced, up and down our house. We tried not to look out the windows, tried not to reach out and touch the walls.
Somehow we made food and ate it, somehow we got the children ready for bed. We took a bath, drank a cup of peppermint tea, and read in bed for an hour, always trying to escape from one of the worst funks either of us can remember. I woke up this morning, peeled my eyes open, grabbed my Blackberry and began reading my email, and realized it hadn’t worked for me. I was still at the bottom. But, thankfully, I also knew how Father Bird would feel. And sure enough, he leaped out of bed, took a brisk shower, and said, “I’m pumped! Let’s do this thing!”
And at least things are back to normal.
~MB~
Reader Comments (9)
That must be a standard in relationships because Adam and I have the same thing. And USUALLY I appreciate it. The night before we our comfortable life in Logan, he was a mess and I was the rock. And that was good. But then we drove our Penske out of the Valley and I mistakenly looked back and broke down only to look to look over at Adam, who was practically singing, "There is sunshine in my soul today!" Usually, I'm grateful for the trade off but in that moment, I wanted to pummel him.
Wow, I should proofread before I comment. Sorry about the peppering of grammatical errors in that last one. Oh, and just to get you back: WOMB. W.O.M.B. Womby-womberson. Womb for days. WOMB.
I feel better now.
Wow, am I ever glad you got that one off your chest! Can I say chest? I'm still laughing every time your blog emails me another comment on that post. OH, man. So much fun. Thank you for providing a high point in these idiotic stupid days that I hate. Priceless.
BTW, I've decided you and I should start a company, just because we could call ourselves Big-E/little-e and that would be the coolest. Or just Ee. I have no idea what this company would be about, but I have the name, and that's the important thing.
~E~
Don't thank me. Thank Adam. He's your partner in crime. I don't say such words as "chest". :)
With a name like "Big E/little e", how could we NOT start a company? We should be professional bloggers. Or at least sell children's patterns. Oh wait....
Nah. I just read that professional bloggers don't even get dressed in the morning. Ick. (Yeah, THAT's why...)
It's good that you are on opposite ends. My black mood seems to always bring Newel down to my level. He jumps up singing the Cougar Fight song, and a well thrown pillow can stop that sucker in his tracks and make him every bit as irritated as I am! Yes, you can say chest -- though in my last post, I took out a comment about a cat chasing tail even hough that was correct, because the female he left for had a tail.
Great! I better go get dressed.
Unless you're a professional blogger. Then hey, don't bother! I love that Newel sings the fight song. Jess always sings country songs. So next time you hear the fight song, know that it could be worse.
I'm sitting here at my desk cold, hard desk with my fatty-ole hips smooshed into a pair of black Editor Pants wearing 70 inch heels and have been since 8:00 this morning. Wearing my jammies all day is looking pretty good right about now.