Men are Overgrown Children - and I am Fed Up

Let me tell you about me: I like to come home in the evening, get into pajamas as soon as possible because I hate clothing, and relax in relative quiet, reading or doing my thing. There aren’t many evenings a week I can do that, because Chewy is in school 2 nights a week, and I have errands, food shopping, swimming on Tuesdays, etc. So I cherish and look forward to the one or 2 evenings a week when we can just relax together.

Chewy likes to watch TV or movies with the sound up REALLY LOUD, all the freaking surround sound speakers screaming for attention from various points in the room at the same time, to “enhance” his “entertainment experience”. We have painfully worked out a system where Hubby can watch his assorted uh, stuff, with headphones on, so that I can, in blissful relative peace and quiet, sit next to him and read, and both of us are content and able to chill - together.

I need to add here that we live in a small apartment, with a small communal living/dining area. This is an important thing to mention, because if we are in an argument, or there are too many people around, there is nowhere to go. Someone has to stake out the living room and the other person is exiled in the bedroom. So yeah, it’s small.

I am mentioning this because the crux of my current throw-my-hands-up-in-the-air-and- give-up-exasperating-issue hinges on these 2 facts: 1) I like my quiet time and space in the evening and 2) there isn’t a lot of space to go around.

Now, in my humble (and probably idealistic) opinion, any husband worth his salt would already KNOW this about me, and take it into consideration when opportunities pop up. In our latest example of the childish selfishness of men, Chewy wanted to have 2 people over to watch the opening season Ballgame. It doesn’t matter who they are, (though Chewy thinks it does because he doesn’t trust me and his mind always thinks the worst of me and assumes the most outlandish and offensive motives to me – yet another irritating trait I hope he grows out of one day), my hesitation was SOLEY on the basis of feeling invaded in my sanctuary and being overrun by loud, noisy activity that will exile me to the bedroom for 3 hours.

He asked me can they come over and watch the game Monday night… I said I have to think about it.

Then I made a mistake.

Chewy said – what’s on your mind? And I should have said “World peace, the AIDS crisis in Africa, the rising costs of gasoline and would it be too much to watch all three Pirate of the Caribbean movies in a row?” Instead, I said, “well, you have a doctor’s appointment early Tuesday morning, the game is 3 hours long, and I will be totally displaced, what am I going to do with myself?”

So, though Chewy started with a great communication question – it degenerated into him being in a pet about not getting his way and thinking I am evil. And me being annoyed at his spoiled brat act and his lack of sensitivity to me.

Ladies out there – take it from me, DON’T BE HONEST with your childish, immature men. In cases such as these, the best answer is “I am wondering - do I have enough beer to go around?” and let them run off happily to go play in the mud, where they are happiest and in their element.

The most annoying part of this is that Chewy is now giving me the silent treatment, wasting a whole day of being married to me, and his energy being angry and it was started ALL ON HIS OWN. He created this negativity, not me, and it’s ruining his day. And he will probably come home later and bawl me out for starting it!! Really!

If he hadn’t assumed the worst of me, and gotten impatient and short tempered, then he probably would have ended up with a solution we both can live with. That is the reward of GOOD communication.

If Chewy were more of an ideal husband, he would have either let me think about it and NOT pressure me, or let me talk out what I was feeling and NOT get upset but let me process it, and in general NOT make assumptions and throw a fit when he doesn’t get his way. I might add, that he would have anticipated my hesitation, knowing how I feel at the end of the day and the issue on space, and either offered a solution or prefaced with, “I know it will cramp your style but this is special because it’s opening day, could you make an exception?” or something along those lines. I am not unreasonable; you just have to know how to talk to me. Here’s a hint – show some understanding and respect for how I feel, even if you don’t agree.

Pesach Reconciliation

Okay. For the past couple of years I have been complaining about how much I hate Pesach (Passover) and the laundry-list of issues I face (along with upset stomach and a general feeling of malaise) leading up to this holiday. The part of it that’s a real shame is that I *love* this time of year! My favorite season is Spring, with Fall a close second. I like summer ok, but winter I can do without totally. I keep telling Chewy that we need to move to a location that’s near enough to the equator to mean no winters…

Back to Pesach. So this year, I am once again dragooned into a “family gathering” for the whole week. Last time that happened, 2 years ago, it was absolutely traumatic. I bitterly complained to my siblings, husband and laid the law down to everyone involved who would listen - which will probably be ignored - including all my requests for space and some extra booze.

Now it’s time for tactics. I have tried running away, “forgetting” that’s its Pesach, stocking up on comfort foods to get through, and feigning illness to get out of chol hamoed activities.

This year it has GOT to be different. At the very least, I need a break from the tiring exercise of getting out of spending time with The Family.

However, this year there are other variables which may be changing the situation as well. Extended family is coming, too – grandfather, aunt, uncle and cousins – more people! And this is the first Pesach that Chewy and I are married – so it also means we split meals between the families, which would mean a forced change of scenery.

Also, with nieces and nephews older and more Little People than Little Alarm Clocks, it changes the dynamics of our outings. Can you believe I am actually going to a circus?!

Dare I hope that this year we pass the tolerant mark and even hope for a “good” time?

Actually, the more I think about it, the more I am cautiously optimistic that it will be a decently enjoyable holiday.

Next issue to tackle - we have GOT to work on the food…Ugh.