Yesterday was an emotionally charged day, as one might expect, with the funeral and all. Today we are all doing much better, Geoff has returned to work and Gage is at school. For the best, really. This way their minds will be on something else. Exactly what they need.
Last night during best and worst at dinner my eulogy actually made Geoffs best of the day, which shocked me to the core, not quite as much as the whole Jon and Kate thing, but nearly as much. Usually he does not reference me at all in his 'best' except perhaps in a roundabout way 'my best is eating this dinner with my family' which is actually, usually his way of saying "I got nothing", which usually happens to coincide with slow days for sports. I was pretty happy that my eulogy had made his best. And really, I was quite proud of it myself because A)it isn't easy to eulogize a freaking bird, but I think I did pretty good given what I had to work with and B) it was completely off the cuff. I hadn't prepared for it at all. Geoff confessed later that he was trying very hard not to laugh, as the children actually seemed to be taking it all very seriously. He then remarked something about "Paytons first funeral" which kind of caught me off guard because it left me with the realization that their would be others... not the least of which, someday, would be our own. I added "and hopefully her last" although I knew that that was wishful thinking at best. He just gave me a sidelong glance and we both agreed (silently) to let the matter drop and pursued a topic of whether we should leave the plants in the garage over night again, as they were calling for rain/snow.
Even a bird funeral had got me to thinking about my own mortality. We are, after all, merely elaborate houses of cards. In any instant, it could all come crashing down. Obviously, this is not something I like to think about. Or write about, really. So I will change the topic now.
The candle that Geoff got me for mothers day, as it turns out, was not a Glade candle but some cheap dollar store rip off. It's supposed to smell like hazelnut, but in all actuality, it smells like ham. I'm not kidding. Last night, I lit the candle in the evening, for some ambiance. An hour later I was like "WTF, it smells like ham in here" and Geoff was like "ya, it does" which I couldn't figure out because I had made meatloaf for dinner. And then I realized it was the candle. I was like "you got me a ham scented candle for Mothers day??" He was like "Well, I didn't know it was ham scented. And besides, you like ham, don't you?" And I was like "ya, I do, but I don't necessarily want my entire house smelling like one." Frick.
And then this morning. He's getting ready for work, and then he's all like complaining that he a) can't find his belt and b) has no clean clothes. And even though he didn't out and out say that I had dropped the ball, I felt that that was precisely the underlying message as he opened and closed his drawers in vain, sighing heavily. It was on the tip of my tongue to say 'this isn't MY fault. When I worked, I made sure that my clothes were clean and hung on Sunday night. I didn't pitch a fit when someone else didn't do it for me.' But I just helped him look for his belt, (which I wanted to say to him- what is the point of this 'belt' charade, anyways?? I think your pants are going to damn well stay on perfectly fine as it is thank you for much, if you know what I mean) which I found in the top dresser drawer- I had put it there as he had left it sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Like, excuse me for putting things where they belong. And then I went downstairs and retrieved some clean clothes that had been left in the dryer. I realize that somewhere along the way, the laundry had become my full responsibility. When I went on mat leave, though we had had no overt discussion on the matter, I think it was just kind of assumed that I would become the 'traditional' housewife, which, truly, it only makes sense that I would, although from time to time I do feel like 'I'm not your mother or your servant". But it's just like me in my passive aggressive fashion to when the going gets tough, rather than have an honest discussion about that, just let it pile up and then when he grumbles about not having any clean clothes I just tell him to fuck himself and that he knows where the washing machine is just as well as I do, which as it turns out, does not help matters very much at all. It's no wonder that our marriage is in a shambles-- just like the laundry (which I am trying to get caught up on right now-- the laundry, that is). All the time on TV they say that communication is the cornerstone of a successful marriage, and it seems so blatantly obvious-- like how on shows about saving money they say things like 'don't spend as much'--- Gee, thanks, I never would have thought of that. But really, communication is harder than it seems. In Calgary, I had talked to Nadine about my feelings of burnout-- that the housework was getting to be too much, etc, and that Geoff doesn't help out as much as he should- er, really, ever at all if I'm honest with myself. And she suggested that I broach the subject along these lines "I feel (owning my feelings- not blaming him) that I'm struggling to keep up with all the housework. What would you feel comfortable doing around here to help me out?" And this way, he chooses what he wants to do, rather than me nagging him about petty things. I LOVED the idea. I thought it was basically brilliant and fail proof. Except for one thing. Upon returning home, I completely forgot to have that convo with him, until today when the laundry was piled up and he was already late for work and we were both in bad moods. I guess I shall have to do that.
As for blogcasting our dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively, I guess its maybe not the best. But I guess, the reason I feel okay to do so, is that underneath it all, I know that the marriage, despite the fact that I grumble and groan about him all the time, is going to be okay. The thing about making a marriage work is that--- it's not that we never have bad times, it's that we stick it out despite the bad times. That's why, I guess when people get married they say "for better or worse," not for "better or better" Truth be told, marriage is more about compromise than love or lust or romance than I ever would have believed going in. All that stuff ebbs and flows, especially with three children (one of which that sleeps two feet away from our heads, keep in mind) , three cats (four right now- temporarily, I hope) and a dog, busy jobs and busy lives, but what remains constant is our commitment to each other and our family. We have three beautiful children between us, and that's a bond that cannot be broken, no matter how much the laundry piles up or how ham scented the candle is that he bought me. And really, in the scheme of things, if the biggest conflict we have right now is over the laundry and an ill chosen ham scented candle, I think we're doing all right.
Anyways. I guess I'd better go. Do the laundry.