Small Strokes Big Oaks

Tim and I haven’t had a good, blow-out fight in a really long time.  That’s usually how it goes; we go for a long time in happy, coupl-y bliss and then something starts building up – usually with me – and we (ok, usually I) explode.  And then Tim explodes right back with whatever has been building in his mind.

Last night, we had, in retrospect, one of the most avoidable fights we’ve ever had.  Here’s the story: Tuesday nights, I have rehearsal for one of the school plays until around 7:00, and then don’t get home till 7:45.  He has practice for basketball, but usually gets home at around 6:30.  Usually, I’m home before him, but on Tuesdays, it’s much later.  So I came home Tuesday thinking he would have started to make the meal we had planned.  And I walk in and he’s sitting on the couch.  OK, maybe I wasn’t clear enough that he needed to make dinner tonight, I thought.  So I made some snide comments and we made dinner together.  The end.

Until last night.  He came home from his basketball game and I was both very hungry and very excited to finally spend an evening with him.  We decided to make quesadillas.  Until we discovered that no one had bought tortillas.  Plan effectively ruined.  So I’m thinking, hey, we’re going out for drinks anyway, why don’t we just go out for dinner?  And he says, “OK, I’ll go out and get tortillas.”  I suggest going out.  He comes up with a million reasons why we shouldn’t.  So the fact that I practically made dinner after a 13+ hour day on Tuesday comes up, and the fact that I make dinner every night of the week comes up and before you know it, I’m screaming, “WOULD IT KILL YOU TO TAKE YOUR WIFE OUT FOR DINNER?!  It’s like you just expect dinner to be made for you every night!  When was the last time we went out?!  Like a month ago?? Seriously??”

OK, maybe I sound like a spoiled brat here.  But for two busy people making a modest living, it seems like, occasionally, date nights could be more than a glass of wine, whatever I made for dinner (or some pizza, depending on the outcome of my kitchen endeavors), and a free Netflix movie.  I’m not asking for every weekend, here.  Just once in a while.  But when I bring it up, it’s generally the same argument: “I’m tired.”  “We don’t have money.”  “What’s wrong with the food in the kitchen?”

I know he’s tired.  I’m tired, too.  We do have money, we’re just trying to save for a house.  And, for the love of Pete, nothing is wrong with the food in the kitchen except for the fact that I have to prepare it!

Don’t get me wrong.  Tim does amazing work around the house, and I generally do the cooking because I like to do it and I’m better at it than he is.  (It sounds mean, but it’s true.)  But it just seems that he was constantly taking me out before we lived together, trying to impress me, and now that he’s got me, we’re good just sitting around most of the time.  This isn’t the case, of course, but it just feels that way sometimes.

So I cried, screamed, threw a bottle of conditioner in the bathroom which punched a hole in the bathroom door, cried some more, and calmed myself down.  He did his share of yelling, too, but he doesn’t tend to throw things like I do… Or cry.

We worked it out eventually, ended up not going out for drinks, not spending any time together, and making frozen pizza at 1 AM.  But we aired out some important issues, and that was maybe more important than going out to eat some greasy food.

Here’s the thing, though.  We fight.  Sometimes I blog about it if I have something to say about the situation; sometimes I don’t.  But I definitely do not pretend that we don’t fight, and I hate it when people feel the need to do so.  It just makes me sad when newly married couples feel as if they have to project an image to the world that they are so happy because that’s what other people expect from them.  Or, even worse, they actually don’t fight with their partner, even if they want to, because they are afraid of what might happen, so they just hold it all in.

Well, I’m here to tell you that, sometimes, wedded bliss isn’t bliss at all.  We fight, we air out our issues, and we make up and move on.  And I think that is an important part of being a feminist wife, or any kind of wife at all.  It’s vital to a marriage to be able to communicate problems, and sometimes to yell it out, and then work it out together.

So.  We fought.  We came to some solutions.  We at some food.  We fell asleep.  Today, I’m spending some much-needed time with my mom, and tomorrow we are going to go out to eat.

And, in the meantime, does anyone know how to fix a hole in a door?