Full Metal Jacket in the Laundry

A few days ago, I said that laundry is an excellent opportunity to exercise the golden rule, but I've seen where that gets me... Today, I went out to check on some towels I'd left in the washer & dryer. When I'm doing clothes, I set the timer and don't leave anything sitting, but I figure when I'm doing towels--those are used by everyone in the house and so we should all be able to share the responsibility of washing and drying them. So, I went to bed with a load in the washer and a load in the dryer.

In the midst of our argument the other day, Todd "promised" (tone of voice dripping with resentment and venom) to bring laundry he takes out of the dryer in to the house, rather than leaving it on the freezer. He said it in such a way that made me say, "Don't bother if if it's SO hard--if you can't do it with a better attitude."

Well, when I opened the dryer to take out the towels today, I found a load of Todd's socks and underwear. Wow, I thought, he took care of all those towels... then I opened the washer and found the towels I had left in the washer--wet and stuffed back in the washer. He had carried the towels from the dryer in and piled them on a love seat in the family room (which I do appreciate), but instead of putting the next load in the dryer while his underwear was washing, I guess he just took it out and set it I don't know where while he did his laundry... then he returned it to the washer. (To me that seems like more work than just drying the towels, but I guess it did help him in keeping his promise to bring in what he takes out of the dryer.)

This got me thinking... maybe I have this golden rule thing all wrong... maybe I've been projecting the way *I* would like things done too much and not examining the way *he* likes things done enough. So, as hard as it was to do, when I took his socks and underwear out of the dryer, I left them on the freezer lid. I know I don't like it done that way, but apparently he does... so, in an effort to please my husband, I left his stuff on the freezer... and when I go out to get something for dinner from the freezer, I may not have time to assure that none of it falls behind the freezer, but I'll comfort my OCD tendencies with the assurance that "this is the way Todd would like it done."

The war is on, Todd!

I just finished watching FULL METAL JACKET (not exactly my kind of flick, but it was an "assignment" for a project I'm working on). Maybe I've been treating Todd like a girl too long... I need to recognize a sniper as a sniper.

. . . well SHOOT! (Not literally) Todd came home for lunch so he went to get something from the freezer before I had a chance to . . . and that means he brought in his underwear before I had a chance to be accidentally petty and vindictive.

Thievin' Joy Thieves

I choose joy.

Today.

I choose joy today.

Tomorrow,

I will choose again.

Joy.

Thieves will come.

Thievin' joy thieves.

What shall I do with a joy thief?

That is my choice.

Will I set him a seat at the table?

Will I give the thief a key?

Will I open the door and ask him in?

It's really up to me.

(I rhymed--cute, huh?

...that's what joy can do ;)

I chose poorly long ago.

Yesterday.

and other yesterdays.

Yesterday is not today.

Today is the day of joy.

I will fling open the shutters

and let in the breeze,

but I will not open my door

to the thief of my joy.

Dirty Laundry

I mentioned in a response a few days ago that I was going to blog about an ugly altercation Todd and I had. At first, it was too raw. When I get shook up emotionally, it’s hard to function. That’s how this was-- the worst in a long time. It was familiar ground. I guess it just goes to show that just because something is repeated doesn’t make it any easier. I’m coming to think that if there were an illustration in a dictionary of phrases for the term “irreconcilable differences,” that illustration would be a picture of Todd and me.

When one looks at the little things that can “set us off” in isolation, it’s easy to label our differences petty. Oh, is that all?

This was a laundry room quarrel. I’ve heard newly weds bump heads over “little” things like him leaving the toilet seat up or her putting a “weird” spice in the quiche, but usually those things get worked out over time and are looked back on as silly. Compromises have to be reached in order for people to live together well, and these things are wonderful opportunities to show concession and respect. Some pet peeves are nothing more than miniature cases of OCD, but others are indicative of deeper problems. Tell me if you think I’m being petty here...

We have our laundry in the garage. Right next to the drier is a freezer (the chest type). It’s the perfect height and location for folding the laundry as it comes out of the drier. The freezer is heavy and difficult to move, but how often does one have to move a deep freeze?

Todd and I don’t mix our laundry because I like fabric softener and he doesn’t, so he does his and I do mine. That’s really not a problem, because it means we each get it done the way we like it. I do the household loads (towels, sheets, etc.) and the younger kids’ clothes, and the older kids do their own. That means the laundry area is shared by at least five different people, which I think is good practice in getting along and being considerate.

I’d venture to guess that anyone who has ever shared a laundry room in a dorm or apartment building has dealt with the people who leave their stuff in the machines too long so it has to be moved for the next load. I remember observing at college how different people reacted to such inconvenience. Some would get mad and intentionally wad the clothes that were in the way, others would carelessly wrinkle them, and yet others would take the extra effort to lay the clothes out in a manner that would prevent wrinkles. Laundry room inconveniences, it seems, offered golden opportunities to exercise the golden rule.

When I choose to spend the extra minute or so to treat the laundry of another as I would like mine to be treated, I don’t feel like I’m great, kind, noble or anything like that--I just think I’m doing a decent thing--something that I think should be expected of me as a person who believes that people have value.

Todd has a habit of taking other family members' laundry out of the drier and leaving it on top of the freezer, only to go out to the freezer later and open the lid without moving the laundry, causing some to get trapped behind the freezer. I have repeatedly expressed how much this bugs me as it means clothes get lost, wadded, and dusty, and have to be re-washed (wasting both time and money.) When Todd leaves his laundry in the machines (which he does all the time--much more frequently than I do), I smooth out his shirts and fold his pants and carry the neat stack into our room and set it on the bed. It really doesn’t take that much more time than it would have to have thrown it on the freezer and left it there. I’ve told Todd that I really don’t care if he folds the clothes as long as he brings them into the house when he comes back in. He could just toss them on the couch for the kids to deal with.

Our daughter was getting ready for a dance recital the other day, and she couldn't find the clothes she had left in the drier (her costume). We thought her sister had brought it in the house, but she couldn't find it anywhere.

Todd suggested that maybe it had fallen behind the freezer.

I asked how that could happen. He said, "When you open the lid, it just slides back there."

"Who would open the lid with laundry piled on it?" I asked (knowing full well the only one in the family who does that).

"I did several times today," he answered.

Our daughter was running late, others were depending on her to be at the theatre on time and in costume. I ran out to the garage and checked behind the freezer. There were a few missing socks and wash clothes and things like that, but no costume.

When I rushed back into the house, I didn’t tell him the costume wasn’t there--what did he care anyway?

“I just don’t understand why a pile of laundry would be left on top of the freezer in the fist place.”

“Maybe I didn’t have time to deal with it,” he objected.

“But if a person is coming back in the house anyway. How much longer does it take to throw some laundry on the couch?”

“Well, maybe my hands were dirty!”

“Your hands dirty? When you were just putting your own clean laundry into the drier?”

He came up with one excuse after another. What it boiled down to was “I’m busy,” and “My time is too valuable for that.” I can’t even remember all the excuses, but they were so ridiculous I finally said, “Do you hear yourself? Do you even hear yourself?” I said it, firmly but calmly, without judgment but rather as if pleading for an answer, an answer that was not to be had.

“Do you hear yourself?” he mocked back at me. What, I thought, did we just time warp back to junior high?

When I mentioned that I didn’t always “have the time” to smooth out his shirts, but I did it because it’s the decent thing to do, he retorted in the most sarcastic, and even venomous, tone I’d heard in a long time: “Well, aren’t you wonderful? I guess I’m just not as wonderful as you are.”

I can’t remember all he said after that, but he kept drilling it in like a knife, without mercy.

The emotional torture has never felt so much like a physical beating. I wasn’t going to be the doormat, though... I was thinking about what some of you have been telling me: Call it out. Let him know when his behavior is not acceptable. Make sure he knows so he has the opportunity to make a right choice.

He insisted that he didn’t have time for such things, to which I replied with something about how if he didn’t have time for such simple consideration then maybe he didn’t have time to live with other people at all. That really set him off, but I don’t regret saying it.

I could have said, “I can’t talk to you,” as he has said so often, but I knew that never went anywhere--that did nothing but encourage him to go on a faux pity party (I call it faux because if he really believed the self depreciating things he would say at such times, he would do something to change, but rather his words dripped with sarcastic mockery that really said, “You’re wrong. My time is worth more than yours. My opinion is worth more than yours.”) All he could utter was justification for him protecting his time from inconvenience.

“I’m sorry that the children and I are such an inconvenience,” I said.

Did he answer with, “No, you’re not an inconvenience, Sweetheart. I love you”? Of course not. Instead he just repeated my words in a mocking tone.

I walked away. I just walked away pondering the words, irreconcilable differences. My chest hurt. Hours later, when we were in the car together, going to our daughter’s show (and I was only going with him because I had already ordered the tickets--otherwise I would have made an excuse to go to a different showing than him), my chest still hurt. This is going to kill me, I thought. This is really going to kill me. And he acted like nothing was wrong in the world--like his venomous words had just evaporated into thin air instead of drilling deep into my chest.

Studies have shown that men who are married live longer than their unmarried peers, while the opposite is true of women who are married. If other marriages are like ours, that makes sense.

Kate Middleton married her prince last week. I’m not a huge Royal Wedding fanatic, but I do hope that it will work out better for them than it did for Princess Di and Prince Charles. I know that fairytales are not true--that we have to work for our happy endings... There comes a point, however, when one has to acknowledge that the work is getting them nowhere. I’m thinking when every argument is a déjà vu, it’s time to stop the cycle and deal with the laundry.

Inner Child Neglect

I'm usually skeptical of those who try to attach too much blame on childhood events for their present-day choices. Living in the present, it just doesn't seem all that helpful to dwell on the past. We've got what we've got--here and now. Some of us have been lucky and some of us have been dealt a lot of crap (AND some of us have dealt ourselves a load of crap). And the correlation between then and now is frequently the opposite of what you might expect. Those who were "lucky" as children can become complacent and lazy and make choices that really mess things up. Those who are less fortunate in childhood can buck up and with grace and resolve make a pretty sweet life. There are enough of those reverse examples to lead me to believe that it's more about what we make of the raw materials we have than it is about the raw materials.

That said, (in the words of one of my favorite lyricists) I've been "playing Cabbage Patch dolls with my inner child" lately. It's part of my patchwork self-therapy. Looking for the holes that need to to be patched in order to keep my soul from leaking out into a useless puddle.

I've been praying that I will recognize those things in myself--primarily faulty thought patterns that are shading the way I interpret my situation. What's come to my attention is the way in which my childhood does inform the way I respond to financial trials. I could say, "See! I can't help my reactions to this stress. It's all part of who I am." I could say that, but I refuse to be trapped in patterns born out of hurt, need, or insecurity. That is not the way of life I choose, so those patterns do not fit.

So, I've decided to "go there" -- to go back to my childhood and dig up the roots of my insecurity and fear -- not in order to wear them as an excuse, but rather in order to deal with them so that I can move on into joy and freedom.

The final nudge that prompted me to rendezvous with my inner child was an Easter blog post from a friend who alluded to how our childhood experience can affect our perception of God:

"...the way we view Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit speaks volumes of your enviornment that you grew up in and your view of men in general.... calling God father can often be an issue with many as it psychologically conjures up, often unbeknownst to us, our view of our own father and/or father figure(s). If we had a very strict father we may see God as a Legalistic Punisher expecting only perfection. If we had a father who was aloof and not emotionally there, we may see God very much the same. If we had a father who was caring and understanding perhaps that is how we see God as well...."

This came right after interviewing a man who, in his 50's, still struggles with the fact that he never knew his father. It was evident in the interview that the absence of a father figure early in his life still served as a template for how this man viewed himself all these years later. On some level, he still functions like an abandoned child--how he viewed himself, I said, not how he viewed others.

My friend's Easter blog post went on to pose this question about God: "He is what we need Him to be, don't ya think?" based on the assumption that "It's imperative that you view Jesus in a way that's helpful for you."

When this friend asked for my response, I was reminded of the scripture in which Jesus quizzed Simon to see if he really knew who He was. Jesus wasn't satisfied with Simon rattling off the company line, so He pressed on, "Who do you say that I am?" Simon's answer to Jesus' question wasn't, "I think you're ___," or "I need you to be ___," or "To me, you are ___." His answer was a very confident:

"You are the Messiah. The Son of the Living God."

And Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven." (Mt. 16:17)

As I typed these words right now, I got to thinking that, since actions speak louder than words, another way of applying Jesus' question to our lives today would be by asking:

"Who does my life say that He is?"

Then I thought of the musical, Jesus Christ Superstar. When the Mary Magdalene character sings, "He's just a man," some Christians run the other direction in terror, fearing that such blasphemy might be contagious. I, however, found the raw, honest questioning of the lyrics--rather than luring me away from an orthodox faith--set up the very sort of questioning that allowed me to be open to the answer.

It's not really who HE is that is negotiable... but rather who I am in relation to Him...

This may seem like a tangent, but it really does connect to this whole inner child discussion. If the Father in heaven had not revealed to Simon who Jesus was, Simon wouldn't have had the confidence to assert his faith so boldly. Conversely, the identity of his dad had never been revealed to the man I interviewed, and the result seemed to have affected this man's perception not so much of his father as of himself. Our early relationships provide a template for how we view ourselves, and what we expect from subsequent relationships.

If confidence comes from God, as I believe it does, then our image of God is utterly important. Comparing Him to a human father, or a mother, or a brother, or a buddy... all of these things fall short. I think certain aspects of who God is can be revealed to us in comparisons with things that we have an understanding of in the physical world, but I also think that there is a temptation that needs to be resisted to build God in the image as we would like to see him... and that is so limiting.

Looking back over the years, there have been times when I've doubted, but in retrospect, I can honestly say that I've never had a legitimate REASON to doubt. There have been times when my concept of God has been majorly screwed up, but He has remained constant. If I try to form an image of who He is out of my own needs or desires or observations, that is likely to be a false god.

What I need is for Him to reveal Himself to me... and when I ask and seek, He is faithful. The bigger question then becomes, "Who do I say that He is?" Who does my life say that He is--in relation to me? Do I know how to love Him? Can I let down my guard enough to be truly loved by Him? to be changed, truly changed? Who am I because of Him?

As I pondered these questions in relation to my childhood environment, my family of origin, and my earthly father, I began to realize how intrinsically tied up all of the relationships of our lives become. Maybe that's because relationships run on on tracks called "patterns."

I remember coming to a surprising realization sometime after high school graduation, when I first moved out on my own and attended churches where my daddy wasn't the pastor. I realized that growing up a P.K., I experienced role confusion with this first man in my life--my dad. When I needed a pastor, I had never really felt that I had one because he was my dad. When I needed a dad, there were also times when I didn't feel that security because he was a pastor. Being a pastor meant he was often busy shepherding others, and it also meant that he received a very low salary and we were poor. Although I don't blame God for our financial state, on some level there is an equation of the spiritual to physical lack. My practical relationship to God as seen through the template formed by my relationship with my dad/pastor could be described as "It's complicated."

I've stated before in this blog that I don't really have so much of a problem living with Todd not making a lot of money. I learned to live a relatively simple life growing up because of my dad's lower income and the influence of having older parents who still remembered the effects of the Great Depression. We had a black and white television that my parents had rescued from a dumpster when they were first married. Even though everyone else had colored TV's there was no reason to replace our old set as long as it was still working. We were that frugal, and we survived just fine. I even remember my mother using an old wringer washing machine, doing a lot of laundry by hand, hanging it out to dry on a clothes line, and darning our socks when they got holes in them. Most of my clothes were either hand made or hand-me-downs. I wouldn't have said we were poor--that was just how we lived. My parents didn't complain about the things we couldn't have, and they seemed to enjoy the things we did have. I look back on those early years as being almost charming because they provide such unique memories for someone in my generation. Few can identify, so it is a history that is uniquely mine.

It did become a bit of an embarrassment when I entered middle school, though. That's when I became aware that my clothes weren't cool, and that I was one of the poor kids who had to stand in a special line at the cafeteria because of the free or low-cost lunch program my family was on. Those things were irritations, but I learned how to adapt and retain a joyful youth: I learned how to sew and made outfits I saw in fashion magazines before they even came to our small-town stores. I skipped lunch altogether to avoid the cafeteria line issues, and enjoyed having a little extra free time in the middle of the day.

From that experience, I learned that having little didn't have to mean being miserable. Todd may have had a very different childhood. Maybe that's why he places so much value on having the right stuff, and he has great difficultly adapting to lean times, but rather keeps spending at the rate of his want rather than the level of need.

The insecurity I seem to have carried with me into adulthood is the fear of loss of home. In my growing up years, my family never owned a house. We moved from one parsonage to another, usually moving every three years. The houses were not bad, but they were not ours to decorate as we wished, and there was always the question in the back of my mind: How long until we move again? The sense of impermanence took a toll on my sense of security. Even though I learned not to put down deep roots, I yearned to feel connected to a place an a people. Our longest stay in one place stretched out to seven years--just long enough for me to finally start settling in, making plans. Then, right in the middle of high school, we moved two states away to an ugly house decorated by a group of colorblind church ladies, with discarded (out dated) wallpapers and carpets that I've never seen anywhere else (I suspect they came from some Twilightzonish parallel universe in which the sun never shines and dogs drag their tails about in an attempt to scratch the itches caused by fleas trying to eat their way out of the miserable world). As if the house wasn't bad enough (did I mention it was haunted, too?), the community was even worse. The town was smaller than small, and whoever said small town people were friendly must not have ever moved into a small town from outside.

That is the plight I was so delighted to spare my kids of when we were finally able to buy a house. It was with such joy that I picked out tile for the kids' rooms and drew out the pattern I would use to lay it. Then when we were able to add on a family room, I designed it myself with a certain flair created by angles that weren't typical. I selected colors for a faux finish that took four of us working in tandem to accomplish. Now when I sit in that room, it is the most comfortable place I've ever been. Like the parsonages I grew up in, it's a modest house... but it's ours. Beyond the house, the community has become home. We've lived here longer than I've ever lived anywhere--pretty much for all of my kids' lives. I've finally relaxed and put down some roots, and my kids are so connected I doubt they'll ever leave this area if they have a choice.

Having been relatively poor growing up, I learned to conserve--to hold on to things that still served a usable purpose--partially because things were not easy to replace. So, I take that pattern into adulthood, as we're living in a house with a mortgage significantly lower than what we would have to pay to rent a similar place almost anywhere in the country. Without a pension or retirement plan, I look at this house as our retirement plan. It's from that perspective that I'm looking when Todd comes along and reveals his retirement plan as moving back to his dad's house where he can get stuff for free. Now, to be fair to Todd, I must say that his dad's house is the house he grew up in. His parents built it, and I'm sure it is full of many pleasant memories of better, carefree times for him. I can see why he might wish to go back there. He did know when he married me, however, that I absolutely hated the climate of the state he grew up in, and that I had no intention of ever living there.

Now, faced with the possibility that his dad will not be moving back into that house and that the house will have to be "dealt with," Todd has voiced his intention to hold on to it. I tried to bring up the subject of how we would be able to afford the property tax and upkeep on a second home when we're barely making it with the first, but as is customary, he ignored the question. We could be months, even weeks away from being faced with decisions about the property, and my inner child is trembling. Is it selfish for me to expect Todd to choose our home over his parent's home? Am I making an idol of this house? Should I be willing to go where ever he chooses to go, even if it is a clear violation of the spirit of our vows years ago, when he knew I didn't want to live in his home state? Has clinging to this house made me unwilling to leave Todd for fear that I'd lose the house in the process? And because I've stayed and continued to enable Todd's irresponsible behavior by not being bold enough to issue an ultimatum, has my love of this house actually contributed to Todd's worst characteristics?

I don't want to play the victim. I know I am strong. I also know I am responsible. I'm not going to take my childhood woes and use them as excuses. I'm not going to blame my parents, God, the church, or even Todd, for the path I travel. I want to see clearly, act wisely, and speak the truth boldly in love. I wish Todd would want the same, but that's his deal. For now, I pray that I will continue to improve my sight when it comes to identifying my own shortcomings and strengths, my own responsibilities and possibilities. I pray that I will somehow be able to rediscover that inner child who was happy to run about in hand-me-down clothes in the fields on the edge of a remote prairie town, playing with sticks and rocks and home-made paper dolls instead of fancy toys. That child who was happy. Not because of stuff, but because of security in her parents' love. That child who had not yet learned to withhold herself from connections for fear of having to leave once again.

From the Steve Taylor masterpiece,

The Lament Of Desmond R.G. Underwood-Fredrick IV

Ah, the news of my impending death
Came at a really bad time for me
I was far too young to depreciate
When they read me my expiration date

I'd built Iron Man stalls in the northern wild
I'd played Cabbage Patch dolls with my inner child
Now I'm getting sealed bids for a granite vault
And I'm pretty sure this is my parents' fault

Desi Ray, if I may be so blunt
Galahad, bag your agnostic front
Underwood, hire a good undertaker
Freddie, get ready to meet your maker

Ah, the news of my impending death
Came at a really bad time for me
When they cancel your breathing policy
Tends to steal a bit of the old joie de vivre

I'd just found the lost key to my mythic life
So I bravely shook free of my kids and wife
I had seminars booked as a second career
Until a still, small voice screamed loud and clear.

Strength from Safety

I've been fluctuating a lot this week. The past has shown me the damage that can be done by impulsive action, so, even though an accusing voice in my head calls me weak for not "doing something," I think where I am right now is searching for clarity. Seeing clearly is essential if I am to make wise decisions, and presently there is too much confusion.

I've been praying for wisdom. While researching a project, I stumbled upon an article on divorce that seemed to verify the sense that I've had of being deserted.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Love-Family/Relationships/2007/06/Let-There-Be-Divorce.aspx

I'll have to look back on the actual vows that Todd and I agreed to (even if I actually didn't say the vows, as Todd alleges, he said them... I think). I wonder if there was any mention of provision in the vows of the church we were married in. However it was worded, I think it's pretty obvious that there has been some vow-breaking in both directions here.

All that said, I don't question my right to divorce. That isn't the issue. The issue is whether or not I should assert that right.

"All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify."

1 Corinthians 10:23

The world does not revolve around me. There are others to be considered. I don't want to be responsible for causing another to stumble because of my own selfish actions. That's the bigger picture. That doesn't mean I should be a doormat or an enabler... but it does mean that I'd better be good and sure that I have examined my own heart.

I've often said that the world would be a better place if people would put more emphasis on their responsibilities than their rights. I know my rights. What I'm seeking clarity on now is my responsibility. Unlike the impression that I've gotten from Todd, I know that responsibility is not a burden, but rather a wonderful opportunity to fulfill what we are designed to do. Part of the reason Todd has been miserable for so much of his life is because he doesn't embrace the opportunity of responsibility. Living with him, and feeling neglected, I too must admit having fallen into that trap. "Todd's not going to contribute or sacrifice, so why should I?"

After my last blog posting, a dear, true friend admonished me:

I really think that the cat is out of the bag! He has not verbalized the ending to his story until now, cuz he knows that you will not be interested in it. SO he is passively leading you down the road to his ending, with no options. You seem to instinctively know the end he had in mind and in your own denial were stalling and hoping that God would save you or provide a different ending. I think you need to speak your desire out loud! You have to “call it out”! you have to speak the truth in love and tell him NO! his ending would be suicide for you…..your dream, the one you were made for has gotten off track. He is abusing you to live his dream, with no consideration for yours. I predict he will blame you with your own religion. I believe he will brow beat you with the Bible verses. You have to believe that they are lies and manipulations. I think you have been very very patient and actually enabling him all these years. I think in order to be guilt free, you have to start to call this stuff out into the open. You need some Back up plans though. I did have to leave a couple of times, I did not have a full blown plan, but I did have to call it out! I felt I had to give [my husband] a chance to make the right choice. I think you have to tell him flat out, that you are not interested in his ending. I do not think you should be afraid. I also think that you need to get a better understanding on the legal system.... [This] is a no fault state. I think you need to freeze your assets before he bankrupts you and then splits to his dad’s. DON”T LAY DOWN! Or faint!

The thing that stood out to me was the idea of giving Todd a chance to make the right choice. Calling out my desires. Let him know that I'm not interested in the ending he is headed toward. I feel like I've done that, but have I done it specifically enough and clearly enough? It's not even so much an issue of his dreams vs. mine. When I read her words, "He is abusing you to live his dream, with no consideration for yours", I thought that wasn't exactly true. It's more like he's so afraid of pursuing his own dreams that he's settling, and he's pulling me down with him.

He may have a dream of a life of ease back where he grew up, but deep down inside I believe he realizes what a fantasy that is. He knows that moving back home would mean the death of his dreams, too, but he's too afraid to do anything else. Because of this, I wonder if the "calling out" I really need to do is the pointing out of how he is throwing his own dreams away and insisting that I'm not willing to go down that path. It would be unloving for me to let him commit emotional suicide by giving up without a fight.

What if the best way to make him fight for what is important to him is to leave him? That is possible. What's keeping me from doing it?

Well, in the midst of my growing resolve to quit being an enabler and to be more proactive, circumstances have taken another sudden turn. I've heard it said that there are certain stressful circumstances during which you shouldn't make big life-altering decisions (things like hormonal fluctuations of pregnancy or menopause, grieving over a lost loved one, extreme sleep-deprivation, etc.) After the Charlie fiasco, I've tried not to repeat that decision-making faux pas. In fairness, I can't ask Todd to do that either.

A few months ago, Todd lost his mom. No longer having the "other woman" controlling his life has been a change that I can see could be positive in the long run as far as growing up goes. She was an incredible enabler--sending him checks to cover our mortgage and bills more than he ever admitted to me. His dad has helped out, too, but he's not as regular with his support, so we have been struggling more since his mom passed away. That led me to pose the question to a friend: "If it has been Todd's parents, and not Todd, who have been providing for us all these years... when they both pass away will that make me a widow?" Well, just days after asking that, Todd's dad landed in the hospital. Things are pretty chaotic right now, but one thing that is questionable is if his dad will be able to go home alone. He's just about used up his allowed time in the hospital, and will be transferring to a rehabilitation home across the street from the hospital in a few days. It's uncertain if he will ever be able to go home on his own.

I do not want my [alleged child-molester] father-in-law moving in with us, but I also don't want to move out of state to be with him, so I did suggest the idea that if he needs our help, it would be easier for us if he were to relocate than for us to relocate. He's not a very social person and he's out-lived most of the friends he had, so he wouldn't miss nearly as many people as we would if we were forced to move (including our adult and soon-to-be-adult children who certainly would not follow us out of state)... and since he's retired, it wouldn't make sense for us to be the one's moving away from schools and better job opportunities. I wish Todd could spend some time with his father, but we don't have the money for him to fly or drive out there, and we definitely can't afford for him to walk away from the work he has right now (since it's such a rarity). Our son made the comment that it's too bad we don't have more money so Daddy can just go back and stay with Grandpa for a while. He has no idea how much Mommy wishes we could afford that, too. I think him being away for a while right now might be a very good thing. He could see if he is able to find work back there. He could see if going home really would make him happy. And doing so might make the transition easier if we aren't going to make it.

I'm really not afraid of him bankrupting us nearly as much as I'm afraid of being stuck with a man I cannot respect. Last Sunday's sermon text--wouldn't you know it--came from Ephesians 5. If I'm convicted by my inability to respect, shouldn't he also be convicted by his shirking of loving me "as Christ loved the church and laid down his life for her"? The ultimatum, if it comes down to that, is that he has to grow up and take some responsibility. "I don't know what to do," just won't cut it anymore. How do I tell him that he'd better figure it out? And is now the appropriate time?

If it is decided that his dad will not be moving home, we may be faced with the challenge of what to do with his dad's house sooner than I expected. That could be an opportunity for growth. Will he try to hold on to an unneeded house for sentimental reasons while teetering on the edge of loosing our family home? (We've been waiting a long time for him to "leave his mother and father and cleave unto his wife"). Will he work with his dad to sort through the years of accumulated stuff and sell the house or rent it out? Or will he insist on moving back there so his dad can stay in the house a little longer, even if it means going alone?

If it does come to some sort of ultimatum, it will either have to be in writing, or with some sort of mediation. I don't feel emotionally safe conversing with Todd about these things. It has never turned out well in the past. Is it a sign of weakness to admit that I don't feel safe?

Not feeling safe... That makes me think of another little (slightly odd) thing that I almost blogged about last week:

There is one television show that I'm addicted to. Fringe. Anyone who follows the show knows that Peter and Olivia have loved each other for some time, but have struggled with connecting largely because of Olivia's fears. In last week's episode, Olivia was in danger because the deceased William Bell (Leonard Nemoy) had taken over her body and what was supposed to be a temporary situation threatened to permanently displace Olivia as her consciousness became "lost." The team was forced to take LSD and go into her mind in search of Olivia (gotta love Sci-Fi!) Anyway, after traveling through an Inception-like world that even included cartoons and zombies, Peter was finally able to find Olivia by figuring out the last place she had ever felt safe. Even though she ultimately had to save herself, the strength to do so came from discovering that safe place within her. When she came to, she was like a new person, free and safe for the first time in years. As I watched the conclusion of that silly little episode, a wave of emotion washed over me, and I thought, Oh how I wish I could find my safe place!

Where it gets interesting is this week, when we were watching the following episode, there was a scene near the beginning in which Olivia wakes up in Peter's arms. She is content and happy like her character has never before been. In that instance, Todd said, "They finally figured it out, didn't they?" I'm sure he would like to awaken in the bliss that Peter did, with a woman who loves and respects him in his arms. If only he could understand that a big reason that isn't happening is that with him, I struggle to find a safe place where I can be truly honest. I am like Olivia, wounded and hiding.

Why didn't you say "I do"?

Life keeps getting weirder.

Things have been very bad with Todd lately. Very, very bad.

We're struggling financially. I know a lot of people are, but for us, it's nothing new... and try as he might to pin it on the "bad economy," it won't stick--he's never been good with finances, or work.

The stress has really been getting to me, especially as he ignores bills even when he does have enough to pay them, thus racking up late fees, disconnection fees and reconnection fees until we can't afford to pay at all and we're going further and further in debt every month. Through all of this, he refuses to sacrifice anything. He rarely puts in a full day's work, and don't even think about suggesting that he pick up a second job (something more reliable than his self-employment--or "self-unemployment" is probably a better term for it) or cut back on anything he feels he's entitled to (like cable TV, iTunes purchases, fancy beers, expensive vitamins....)

I've been very blessed to have landed a good writing job. It's something I enjoy, but it is time-consuming. When I'm taking care of the kids: taxi-ing, teaching, and all the other tiny jobs that get undone before I can even finish them, the work I do for pay feels like a second job, and I'm left with very little time or recreation. Putting in long hours working from home, it becomes very frustrating seeing your spouse sit around watching TV. Add to that the wastefulness that causes large amounts of money to essentially be flushed down the toilet--large enough amounts that it almost feels like I work for nothing. I was fortunate to be able to avoid a huge late pay penalty this week by taking a sizable advance (almost 20% of the total pay for this project that I'll be working on for at least the rest of this year). Although I'm happy to have avoided that waste, the downside is I now have a lot of work ahead of me without equivalent pay to look forward to. Once again, I feel trapped by my circumstances.

So, in the midst of this stress, I've tried to keep my mouth shut. Every time I bring up financial concerns, it ends badly. Todd doesn't like to have his delusions shattered by pesky reality. He doesn't want anyone pointing out that he doesn't work full time, and he doesn't make any more than he would with a full-time minimum wage job, because he believes that he works hard and makes more than he could as an employee. He badmouths those he works for if they say anything about his slacking work ethic, never putting together the coincidental fact that such observations are not isolated, but rather have been repeated by countless others over the years. It's called a pattern. Todd denies any pattern that doesn't match his dream world.

I said I tried to keep my mouth shut. Tried. But then we had a little "conversation" today. I asked him what he thought we would do if we lost the house (since our mortgage is much less than what we would have to pay in rent almost anywhere in the country). I reminded him that since we don't have any savings or any pension the house basically is our retirement plan. He said we wouldn't "lose" the house, we'd "sell it and get something for it." He finally admitted that it would necessitate moving in with his dad for free rent. I said something about how we'd have to be able to afford anti-depressants and constant air-conditioning if we were to move back to that humidity. He replied curtly:

"I didn't say 'we."

That hit like a ton of bricks. He replied too quickly for this to be a new thought -- he had been thinking about this in detail. He would run us into financial ruin, sell the house out from underneath us, and then leave me to run home to his daddy... Leave me to what? I wanted to know. I guess he didn't care as long as he was taken care of.

In no time he shifted the discussion away from his work and responsibility to my wedding vows.

"Why didn't you say your wedding vows?" he asked.

I was confused by the question out of the blue.

He repeated it, and I managed to ask for clarification:

"When?"

"At our wedding."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You didn't say 'I do.'"

"That's not what we were supposed to say. We were supposed to say, 'I will.'"

"What ever. You didn't say it."

"What do you mean, I didn't say it. We wouldn't be married if I didn't say it."

"But the preacher skipped over it, didn't he? When you passed out."

"He didn't skip over--"

"Did you do that on purpose?"

"What?"

"Faint."

I was stunned and speechless at that accusation.

"You faked it so you didn't have to say the vows, didn't you?"

With that, I got mad. It's bad enough that I've been married a couple decades to a boy who thinks his cable TV is more important than medical insurance, but then to have him insinuate that I faked a medical issue that I've been plagued by my entire life. My head was reeling.

"I've always thought you did that on purpose," he continued.

"Why the f#@& did you go home with me after the ceremony then? If you thought it was a lie?"

"Well, I didn't think it then."

"You said 'always' -- that you 'always' thought that."

"Well, for a long time."

I'm still in shock. To me this is all a game changer. It explains a lot. His ill thoughts toward me haven't gone unnoticed even if I haven't been able to put my thumb on them. I've always felt that disapproval. And my always does go all the way back to the wedding (and before). I'm ashamed to admit that my self-esteem was so low as to think that feeling was acceptable. He was hot for my body and I mistook it for love. When I brought up how I've struggled knowing that I "ruined his life"--citing how he used to say that back during the summer when he had a truck, a motorcycle, and a camper, and lived at a camp ground was "the last time things were good" (and incidentally, before he met me)--he said, "Why do you always bring that up?" I guess I'm just supposed to forget every thoughtless comment he makes (on multiple occasions, comments that match up perfectly with his behavior) or I'm being unreasonable, but he can take my medical history and re-write it as some sort of game and that's reasonable???

Is this evidence that the gulf is too great to ever be bridged? I think I'm going to faint.

consent

"One can never consent to crawl when one has the impulse to soar"
-Helen Keller-