The first time I saw our oldest daughter, I saw a bald head and heard powerful lungs. She was a loud noise at one end and no responsibility at the other. It was scary. Now I know why they say, “Hold the head.” It’s the safest part. I knew this baby was going to change my life when I asked my mother-in-law to stay over a few extra days just to help us. I didn’t know what to do with my new daughter. By the end of the first day, I was so completely helpless, that I just took her to my mother-in-law. “Here’s your problem,” she said. “This baby’s in serious need of a diaper change.” Looking baffled, I said, “But the package says it’s good for eight to ten pounds!”
Angela had colic so she woke up and cried almost every night. Now what do two mature people, one being a psychologist, do when the baby cries at night? First of all, we would both lie there as long as we could, pretending to be more asleep than the other. She was thinking, “If he were a good husband, he’d get up.” And I was thinking, “If she were a good wife, she’d get up.” So we played that game for a while until we finally had to do something. Obviously, Angela wasn’t just crying, by now she was screaming. Then Penny, because she’s more mature, said something like, “Do I hear Angela crying?” That didn’t mean, “Do I hear Angela crying?” She knew she was crying. That really meant, “Get up and see about Angela.” I knew what she meant but resented her telling me. She reminded me that the night before I had said, “I’ll get it the next time.” I said, “I didn’t mean the next time the baby cried; I meant the next baby.” So we fought over who was going to take care of Angela while she was still crying. We had to learn to communicate.
We had to learn to communicate about Angela, and then we had two more daughters, so we had to get a plan. For the first two, I would get the baby and bring her to Penny. She would change her while I went downstairs to heat the bottle. Then I would bring the bottle to Penny. She would feed her and when she was asleep, I would put her back into the bed. That was a great plan, but Penny nursed our last child so I didn’t have to mess with the bottle. I just had to get the baby. Then we decided since Saturday was the only day we could sleep, we would take turns sleeping in on alternate Saturdays. Of course we had a few misunderstandings about who had slept in the previous Saturday. Since men have amnesia when it comes to remembering anything that doesn’t involve athletic statistics, and Penny can remember not only what time she got up last Saturday but what outfit she was wearing, I think I put in a few more Saturdays than I had coming to me. The bottom line is, we decided to work it out instead of have it out. We decided to talk about it instead of fight about it.
Why is communication so difficult? Consider this: When you were a baby, you had needs that you couldn’t articulate so you didn’t communicate in a positive way. You didn’t say to yourself, “I’m hungry. I’m going to smile when mother comes by and maybe she’ll know I’m hungry and feed me.” Likewise, you couldn’t tell your mother that your diaper needed to be changed. So, when you had a need, you just screamed, and the louder you screamed the quicker she came. You learned that when your needs weren’t met or when you were frustrated, you could act bad, and the worse you acted, the quicker people met your needs.
The same thing happens in marriage. When you are frustrated you provoke the people around you as much as you can so they will meet your needs. You sulk, pout, make cutting remarks, and think that surely someone will come and meet your needs. That’s how infants behave. Let me give you a little rhyme. Before you have a baby in a carriage, you’d better deal with the baby in your marriage. Why? Because two babies married to each other – and then having a baby – make one big mess.
http://www.freecomicbelief.com
Showing posts with label communication. Show all posts
Showing posts with label communication. Show all posts
Monday, June 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Cornbread and Buttermilk
My wife and I are from different backgrounds. Her father is from up north, and my family came from way down south. Also, Penny grew up wealthy, and I grew up poor. Her swimming pool wasn’t heated, but it was a different world. She had four baths, and I had four paths. One year our bathroom caught on fire and we were excited because it didn’t reach the house.
These differences affected our relationship even in what we ate. I didn’t know what I was eating the first few years of marriage, but men will eat most anything. I got nostalgic for my childhood and the foods I ate when I was growing up. I started thinking about cornbread. I wanted cornbread. A man’s ego is very big and he has a hard time sharing his needs. If I asked, “Honey, would you make me cornbread?” she might say, “no”. Men don’t handle rejection well, so I did what most men do. I dropped subtle hints.
We’d go to the grocery store, and I’d hang around the cornbread. I was sure that when Penny found me she’d know I wanted cornbread. But she didn’t know what I was thinking, and finding me she’d ask, “What are you doing?” I’d say, “I’m looking at cornbread.” She would just walk on by. I’d then say, “My goodness, look, Aunt Jemima Cornbread. She makes the best.” She had no respect for Aunt Jemima. I’m thinking I want cornbread! When a cornbread commercial came on the TV, I’d say, “Look, Honey, that’s cornbread,” which she ignored. Finally after about five or six years, I knew the only way to get cornbread was to ask for it.
One day I had one too many Diet Cokes and was a little carbonated, so I got up the courage to say, “Penny, would you make me some cornbread?” She said, “Sure.” That ticked me off because I had waited so long. Then she asked something that scared me. “What is cornbread?” I thought, “I’m in serious trouble here.” She did get my mother’s recipe and made it that day.
She met me at the door with a blindfold. Women do things differently. There are two ways to handle women, but nobody knows either one of them. They like surprises, celebrations, and candlelight. We had candlelight one night and I said, “Honey, what’s the big occasion?” It was the grand opening of the grocery store. She led me to the table blindfolded. “Okay, take the blindfold off.” I ripped that thing off, and I saw the cornbread. I said, “Honey, something’s wrong with the cornbread, you killed it. It’s got red stuff all over it; it’s bleeding. What happened to the cornbread?” She said, “Well, I knew you loved strawberry jam, so I put half a jar of strawberry jam all over your cornbread.” I said, “Oh, Honey, no. You ruined the cornbread.” Then I said, “You did make the cornbread. Next time don’t touch the cornbread. I need to show you how to eat cornbread.”
About a week later she called and said, “I’m going to make cornbread.” I said, “Don’t touch it after you make it. I’m going to the store and pick up a few things. I’ll show you how to eat cornbread tonight.” I got buttermilk and green onions on the way home. I got my big glass, and she said, “I have a glass of tea for you.” I said, “Be cool.” I put that big glass down and started pouring the buttermilk. She said, “Honey, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, when you buy milk, look at the date. That milk has curdled, it’s spoiled, and it’s no good.” And I said, “Honey, that’s buttermilk.” She said, “I don't care who makes it; it’s no good. Look at the date before you buy it.” I just kept pouring buttermilk and grabbed my cornbread and attacked it. I put the cornbread into the buttermilk. Penny put her hands over my daughter’s eyes (she was about three) and said, “Don’t you look at your daddy. Don’t you look at your daddy.” I took a little bite of green onion and I took a bite of that cornbread and buttermilk, and she said, “I’m nauseated; I have to go.” She left, but it was one of the best nights of my life. We’ve made a lot of progress since then. She can watch me eat buttermilk and cornbread without getting sick. If I had not communicated with her, I’d still be mad about cornbread. If you want something, you have to ask for it. And you, too, might have one of the best nights of your life.
http://www.freecomicbelief.com
These differences affected our relationship even in what we ate. I didn’t know what I was eating the first few years of marriage, but men will eat most anything. I got nostalgic for my childhood and the foods I ate when I was growing up. I started thinking about cornbread. I wanted cornbread. A man’s ego is very big and he has a hard time sharing his needs. If I asked, “Honey, would you make me cornbread?” she might say, “no”. Men don’t handle rejection well, so I did what most men do. I dropped subtle hints.
We’d go to the grocery store, and I’d hang around the cornbread. I was sure that when Penny found me she’d know I wanted cornbread. But she didn’t know what I was thinking, and finding me she’d ask, “What are you doing?” I’d say, “I’m looking at cornbread.” She would just walk on by. I’d then say, “My goodness, look, Aunt Jemima Cornbread. She makes the best.” She had no respect for Aunt Jemima. I’m thinking I want cornbread! When a cornbread commercial came on the TV, I’d say, “Look, Honey, that’s cornbread,” which she ignored. Finally after about five or six years, I knew the only way to get cornbread was to ask for it.
One day I had one too many Diet Cokes and was a little carbonated, so I got up the courage to say, “Penny, would you make me some cornbread?” She said, “Sure.” That ticked me off because I had waited so long. Then she asked something that scared me. “What is cornbread?” I thought, “I’m in serious trouble here.” She did get my mother’s recipe and made it that day.
She met me at the door with a blindfold. Women do things differently. There are two ways to handle women, but nobody knows either one of them. They like surprises, celebrations, and candlelight. We had candlelight one night and I said, “Honey, what’s the big occasion?” It was the grand opening of the grocery store. She led me to the table blindfolded. “Okay, take the blindfold off.” I ripped that thing off, and I saw the cornbread. I said, “Honey, something’s wrong with the cornbread, you killed it. It’s got red stuff all over it; it’s bleeding. What happened to the cornbread?” She said, “Well, I knew you loved strawberry jam, so I put half a jar of strawberry jam all over your cornbread.” I said, “Oh, Honey, no. You ruined the cornbread.” Then I said, “You did make the cornbread. Next time don’t touch the cornbread. I need to show you how to eat cornbread.”
About a week later she called and said, “I’m going to make cornbread.” I said, “Don’t touch it after you make it. I’m going to the store and pick up a few things. I’ll show you how to eat cornbread tonight.” I got buttermilk and green onions on the way home. I got my big glass, and she said, “I have a glass of tea for you.” I said, “Be cool.” I put that big glass down and started pouring the buttermilk. She said, “Honey, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, when you buy milk, look at the date. That milk has curdled, it’s spoiled, and it’s no good.” And I said, “Honey, that’s buttermilk.” She said, “I don't care who makes it; it’s no good. Look at the date before you buy it.” I just kept pouring buttermilk and grabbed my cornbread and attacked it. I put the cornbread into the buttermilk. Penny put her hands over my daughter’s eyes (she was about three) and said, “Don’t you look at your daddy. Don’t you look at your daddy.” I took a little bite of green onion and I took a bite of that cornbread and buttermilk, and she said, “I’m nauseated; I have to go.” She left, but it was one of the best nights of my life. We’ve made a lot of progress since then. She can watch me eat buttermilk and cornbread without getting sick. If I had not communicated with her, I’d still be mad about cornbread. If you want something, you have to ask for it. And you, too, might have one of the best nights of your life.
http://www.freecomicbelief.com
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