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April 9, 2006
As Promised
You wanted the Asshole! Martyr! story, and I'm a helpless people pleaser. Yes, I am. Yes. I am. Damnit. Shut up.
All right. By popular demand, the Asshole! Martyr! story as mentioned last week. But it's not that great a story, which is why I fought Fish on telling it last week. Don't say I didn't warn ya.
Okay. So, go back in time about 4 years. I'm not saying literally, because of course, that's impossible. And if it wasn't, I'd be hovering somewhere around 1991, because I was thin and cute and slept until 10 every day. Yes, when you have young children who wake up at 6am every day, those criteria do make up a lifetime highlight.
Anyway, you only have to go back to sometime in mid-2002. Around that time, we were living in Alaska, near Fish's family. Who are lovely, lovely people, and I'm not being sarcastic. I moved to Alaska for them, that should tell you how freakin' great they are. Anyway, I don't know if I ever told you this, but Fish's family? Lots of kids. Between the merged Brady Bunch that started it all and the kids Fish's mom and stepdad had later, the count totals 10.
Yes, they're crazy. But I still love them.
Anyway, take, oh, say, six of this family, and put them in our living room in Anchorage. We didn't have a big house, but we were next to the airport, so whenever anyone flew into or out of Alaska to visit, everyone convened on our living room floor. Sleeping bags, futon, bodies strewn like a warzone. It was a one-level ranch, so with the living room full of people, there wasn't much opportunity for privacy of any sort. Everything in this house was within earshot of everything else in this house.
No, we didn't do that. Jeez. What kind of people do you think we are?
So. It's, I don't know, probably about one in the morning. If this was a typical family gathering, we stayed up drinking and went to bed around midnight. So, Fish and I finally get in bed, and I'm drunk and happy because it's his family, and he's slightly tense because it's his family (seriously, you want to see a people pleaser, get Fish around his family) and suddenly, Light starts crying. Neither Fish nor I particularly want to get out of bed, but neither of us wants Light to keep up the rest of the Family, either. Because we lurrrrve the Family. So, I think there was some kind of variation on Rock, Paper, Scissors which I probably lost, but wasn't willing to accept.
I'm a people pleaser, just as long as People ain't Fish. And you must understand. The baby was 8 months old, so for 98% of the nights during the last eight months, the midnight calls had been for me. But as I'd recently stopped breast-feeding, these calls had become equal opportunity, which Fish wasn't quite willing to accept. Those of you who have been there are nodding your heads, and you totally understand. Those of you who haven't been there, do two things for me - trust me, and thank your lucky stars.
So, in Light's bedroom, there is crying. In our bedroom, right next door, there is fighting with harsh whispers, so as not to disturb the guests who surely can hear everything because, as I said, one-level ranch.
Me: You go get her. I haven't had a full night's sleep in a year. A year, Fish!
Fish: No. She wants you. When I go get her, she just keeps crying.
Me: Because you don't want to be there. And she knows it.
Fish: Of course I don't want to be there. It's the middle of the :::expletive deleted::: night!
Me: See? See? She knows that's your attitude!
Fish: Good, so you go get her!
Me: No! You!
Fish: You!
Me: You!
Fish: No. I'm not going.
Me:
Fish:
Me:
Fish:
Me: (throwing covers from the bed with a level of violence usually only occuring with Force 5 Hurricanes and reaaaaalllllly pissed off women) Fine! Fine! Once again, I will go! You stay here and sleep nicely, you lazy :::expletives deleted. Lots of expletives deleted. As a matter of fact, I believe this entry would have probably take you another hour to read if I didn't delete all these expletives. You're welcome.:::
Fish: (hopping out of bed) No! If you're going to be like this, then fine! I'll go!
We proceed to elbow at each other as we make our way out toward Light's room, where she's still crying, although her cries have taken on a slight, "What the hell is wrong with you people?" tinge.
Me: No, don't worry about it. You're tired. You go to bed, like you do every night, because every night you get to sleep.
Fish: No. I said I would do it. I will do it. You go back to bed since it's where you want to be!
Out in the hallway now, voices at full level.
Me: Asshole!
Fish: Martyr!
I go into Light's room and slam the door. Fish goes back into our room and slams the door. I take care of Light, who goes back to sleep pretty easily. Then I slink back into our room, shut the door behind me, and we both start laughing hysterically. To this day, whenever a fight gets really stupid - which happens in pretty much every fight - one of us will typically yell "Asshole! Martyr!" and the other one will start laughing and then we start to talk like rational people.
His family still insists they never heard a thing. Can you see why I love these people so much?
But anyway - there you have it. The "Asshole! Martyr!" story. And now that you've heard it, I have to say, I think everyone has an "Asshole! Martyr!" story. What's yours?
Posted by Lani at 7:27 AM | Comments (20)
Comments
Lani, as per usual, is playing fast and fancy-free with the truth of our past...
Here is the gospel version of the "Martyr-A**hole" story...
Flash-back to 7a.m. on the day in question. My family set to arrive later that afternoon...
Lani: "Honey, I'm exhausted can you take care of Light this morning?"
Fish: "Yes, dear."
(Keep in mind that ever since Lani stopped breastfeeding, I was working full 10 hour days at work and taking care of ALL the overnight feeding-changing sessions for Light. Working on even less sleep than my darling wife.)
Lani: "While you're up can you pour me a glass of wine?"
Fish: "Honey, are you sure? It's awfully early."
Lani: "Oh My F*ing God! You try carrying a child in your womb for 9 painful months and then having it cut from you, while 20 student doctors look on. I havent been able to have a drink for over a year and If I want a little 'breakfast wine', I deserve it!"
Fish: "Yes, dear."
Flash-forward to about noon on the day in question. I have taken care of Light and cleaned the entire house, in preparation for our family's arrival.
Fish: "Honey, I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine. Would you like a fourth refill?"
Lani: "You'd better not start drinking! You promised me you'd do the shopping, anyway I just finished the bottle. I printed out a shopping list for you. You'd better hurry you still need to do the laundry, after the shopping, the guest bedspread needs to be washed before your family arrives. Can you grab me a bottle of Strawberry-Blonde on your way out?"
Fish: "Yes, dear. I love you."
Flash-foward to the night in question. My family had decended upon us, like a plague of locusts. Lani was seriously sloshed after enjoying more wine with our family while I did the dishes from the meal I had prepared for us and the locusts. I had just gotten the family all situated and the living room and was about to pass out from exhaustion, when our sweet child Light began to cry.
Lani: "Get your lazy butt out of bed and take care of our daughter. It's definitely your turn and my head is spinning."
Fish: "Ok, honey. Just give me a second I just..."
Lani: "Oh My F*ing God! Do I have to do everying thing in the house. You try carrying a child in your womb for 9 painful months and then having it cut from you while 20 student doctors look on."
Fish: (the exhaustion finally kicking in) "I just need a second to gather myself. I'll take care of ..."
Lani: "It's too late. I already had to get up and I'm just sick of having to take care of everything when your family comes to visit."
Fish: "Get back in bed honey. I'VE GOT IT!"
Lani: "It's too late. I already had to get out of bed. I'll take care of it as usual."
Fish: "MARTYR."
Lani: "A**HOLE!"
So, there you have it. A true recounting of the events on the day in question.
Posted by: Fish at April 9, 2006 10:02 AM
Okay. I pretty much think Fish's comment post speaks for itself, but I do need to say just one thing. SOMEONE is confusing the VASECTOMY conversation with the "A**hole! Martyr!" fight.
And, considering how this SOMEONE has such a tenuous relationship with reality, I think it's forgiveable.
Just barely. But forgiveable.
Posted by: Lani ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at April 9, 2006 10:17 AM
I was laughing so hard at this post that DD#2 had to get up and come over to see what was so funny! Oh lord, I TOTALLY relate! My DH never got up with either of our daughters--EVER! You at least got a clue and quit breast-feeding Light at 8 months. I kept on with DD#2 until she was 18 months--I know what it feels like to NEVER get a full night's sleep! I did try to make DD#2 sleep through the night by ignoring her crying--once. DH and I started fighting about it and he finally got so mad at me that he went in and got her! (Mind you, WE were still up at the time) I was SO angry, because DD#2 is VERY stubborn and he always told me "Just give her what she wants so she will shut up!". To this day she is a pitbull when she wants something and no one has the wherewithall to stand up to her! *grin* Can you tell I still have some issues about this?!! Whenever he starts to complain about how stubborn she is, I just hold up my hand and tell him "Uh uh uh! Remember--'just give her what she wants so she will shut up'" and he usually bows his head and walks away defeated. Yep. We all got one! And thanks for the two versions, by the way--great way to start out my morning! Glad I waited to make coffee until AFTER I read this! ROFLMAO!!
Posted by: Sheri at April 9, 2006 12:35 PM
Fish, I totally believe you. All the way. Every last word.
Okay, now, back from fantasy land...
That sounds SOOOO familiar. And what is even funnier is that you two can "fight" about a fight later with such a sense of humor.
Posted by: Cate at April 9, 2006 12:49 PM
Fish: I am sure that is exactly what happened.
As I have said before, I think the LC husbands need to band together on a weekend retreat and talk about the trials and tribulations of being married to a writer. And then you guys could watch porfessional sports and look for stuff with metal detectors and drive your golf carts down to Home Depot.
Posted by: Beth at April 9, 2006 2:53 PM
I'm sorry ladies, I just can't help myself and have to respond to all these estrogen tainted comments ;)
Lani: You're my wife and I love you, but you are the fiction writer with the "tenuous relationship with reality". You know in your heart-of-hearts that my version of events is much closer to what actually took place.
Sheri: I'm glad you enjoyed both versions of events. However; judging from the content of your post, I'm guessing you lean a little bit towards believing my wife's skewed version of events. And if we take a closer look at your post I think we can all see that your logic is being overrun by the estrogen chemicals so obviously coursing through your veins:
"My DH never got up with either of our daughters--EVER!"
...
"... he finally got so mad at me that he went in and got her!"
Looks like DH did get up with one of your daughters. ;)
It's OK, it's not your fault it is just the estrogen. But I would love to hear DH version of events. I'm sure it would be quite different and much more likely to be closer to a true version of the story ;)
Cate and Beth: Was all that sarcasm really necessary ;)
And Beth, what's up with throwing all men in the sports/golf/metal detecting category?
I'm not much of a sports fan. (I have however been lusting after a metal detector for 5 years! But we can get full seasons of 'Gilmore Girls' (Honey, It's a tax write-off), but no metal detector for me ;)
Anyway, thanks for reading. Trust me, my version is much closer to reality.
:)
Posted by: Fish at April 9, 2006 3:22 PM
And once again, a post that pretty much speaks for itself...
Posted by: Lani at April 9, 2006 3:25 PM
Fish--
The professional sports are for Eileen's man, the golf cart is for mine, and Home Depot is for Alesia's. Here I thought you'd be thanking me for the metal detector and instead I get accused of rampant stereotyping? You wound me. This ain't helping your case here.
We need to add some stuff for Whitney and Michelle's guys though. Perhaps George could have an intensive, hands-on lesson with a Flowbee for the next time his toddler needs a haircut...
Posted by: Beth at April 9, 2006 4:00 PM
Dear Lani,
It is fun bickering with Fish. Please have him back as guest blogger soon. I'm sure you'll have some good debate topics come up during the move. Nothing like packing and unpacking your entire house to bring a couple closer.
Thanks in advance,
Beth
Posted by: Beth at April 9, 2006 4:07 PM
Oh, how funny! Thanks for the laugh! And I totally relate to the post-breastfeeding adjustment period. Unfortunately for my poor husband, he made a rather lousy deal. On one of those nights when the baby is crying so often that you literally can't see straight when you open your eyes, he took pity on me and promised to do all of the middle of the night wake-up calls after I was finished breastfeeding. A nobler, kinder person might have let him off after, oh, say a year or so. And I DO sometimes take a turn... particularly if I fear impending violence :-), but six years later, I'm still occasionally known to mumble, "But you PROMISED!"
Posted by: Stephanie at April 9, 2006 5:41 PM
I can't stand it, why do you need a metal detector?
Posted by: Terri at April 9, 2006 8:48 PM
Oh, Terri. Dear Terri. Don't get him started on the metal detector thing. Please. We'll all be sorry...
Posted by: Lani at April 9, 2006 10:14 PM
Oh Lani, we really are living parallel lives!
That brought back such painful memories of my seven months of breastfeeding, when I was working at home and my husband the college professor argued that since he had to drive to an actual job in the morning, he couldn't get up at all during the night, even to help change a diaper. At all. Even when I cried and said it would be beyond wonderful if just ONCE when the baby cried, he'd say "That's okay honey, I'll take care of it, and give him a bottle." He said, "Hmmm, no."
When the baby was seven months old, I took a full-time editing job outside the house, and hubby was on summer break from teaching. So the night before I was to start work, I said, "So I guess this means you'll handle the baby all night, right?" To which he sputtered and said, "um, but, well... no." Now at this point, baby was waking only 1-2 times per night, compared to 200 times a night in the first few months.
When I (not-so-calmly) asked hubby to explain his completely lopsided attitude, all he could come up with was, "You're the mommy."
Posted by: Brenda at April 9, 2006 11:53 PM
I totally and utterly believe in Lani's version. And I totally and utterly believe in Fish's version, too. Really. I do ;-)
Fish, you need to come here and play more often!
Michelle, who really wants to hear about the metal detector...
Posted by: Michelle C at April 10, 2006 8:24 AM
Brenda, we need to get you help. Seriously. Because this part? >> Even when I cried and said it would be beyond wonderful if just ONCE when the baby cried, he'd say "That's okay honey, I'll take care of it, and give him a bottle." He said, "Hmmm, no."<< would have been where I kicked his ass out of bed to the floor. :)
Yes, moving is a wonderful source of fond memories, like the week we drove 2 cars from Florida to Seattle when Princess was 3 weeks old (2 weeks out of the NICU), Science Boy was 2 1/2 and only about a month out of diapers (so we had to stop at every restroom, gas station, and roadside rest in every state in the ENTIRE FREAKING NATION, while I tried to figure out a way to breastfeed while Princess and I were both strapped into our respective seats. (Nope; pesky laws of physics and no 8-foot-long breasts, thankfully). Trust me, if I ever end up in hell when I die, I will be back on that road trip. Forever and ever and ever and ever . . .
Alesia, still cringing at the memory
Posted by: Alesia Holliday at April 10, 2006 8:55 AM
Beth - Fish will be back. Now that he's had all this fun flirting with the pretty girls, there will be no keeping him away. Don't be wounded by his brash and rude behavior. He's obviously not blog-broken yet. ;)
Brenda - In all honesty, Fish isn't that bad. He has, on occasion, gotten up to help the girls. But when I want wine? I have to get it my damn self. What's up with that?
Mesheroo - you're so sweet to believe both of us. What a diplomat! But I know, in my heart of hearts, that you know who's telling the truth here. Wink, wink.
Posted by: Lani at April 10, 2006 9:25 AM
Oh please! Metal detectors are so cool! Lani, I am totally with Fish on this one. Let him get a metal detector. Hell, I want one!
Posted by: Cate at April 10, 2006 9:39 AM
Alesia, I SO have to tell you that breastfeeding in the car IS possible, and actually was absolutely ESSENTIAL on a road trip to my FIL's many years ago. DD#1 hated the car--from the first moment we placed her in her car seat at the hospital (I kid you not!) that child hated to travel! She started crying as soon as the car started and didn't stop until it was turned off... So when DH decided he must take his firstborn to visit his father when she was 6 weeks old, we bravely embarked on the Road Trip From Hell... Did I mention that said FIL lives more than FOUR HOURS AWAY?!! I discovered that the ONLY way to shut this kid up was to have a tit firmly embedded in said kid's mouth AT ALL TIMEs!! (I can relate to the stopping at every rest stop and gas station--no, not for me, for my DH who has a bladder the size of a freaking peanut!!) The gymnastics employed in the back seat of our car would have made Olga Korbett proud, let me just tell you! And considering that anyone within a car length away had a free shot of my boobs--well, that was just a little extra I threw in there for the travelling public's enjoyment... Fortunately DD#1 has outgrown THAT particular obsession (anyone here watch 'Desperate Housewives'?) but I still shudder when I think back on that trip.
Oh and Fish? Did you happen to miss the part where I said that "WE were still UP at the time"? Yeah, I thought so. DD#2 was in the bedroom, WE were watching TV wide awake, so there was no martyrdom involved when DH decided he'd had enough of her caterwauling... But I love you anyway--you and DH should have a beer together sometime. I think you would have a lot to talk about!! ;~D
Posted by: Sheri at April 10, 2006 11:51 AM
After reading some of these comments, one thing is very clear: People who need multiple rest stops and people who have bladders the aridity and size of the Sahara should never travel together.
"You know, if you wouldn't get something to drink every time we stop so you can hit make a pit stop, we'd make much better time."
But where's the fun in that?
Posted by: ZaZa at April 15, 2006 11:35 PM
My dh and I have our very own Asshole!Martyr story. We were driving from Indiana to Tennessee, and were in the middle of a horrible, stupid fight, when he suddenly says gleefully, "Hey, look! A dinosaur!" After shaking off the non sequiter, I looked to where he was pointing, and, sure enough, there was a 50 foot plastic dinosaur next to a billboard advertizing "Dinosaur Land." So when we realize we're having a stupid fight, one of us will say, "Hey, look! A dinosaur!"
Posted by: Astrid at April 20, 2006 9:17 AM
