Monday, June 23, 2014

Agree to Disagree


I am worn out. Utterly, completely exhausted. So much so that I am unable to fall asleep.

We went out of state this last weekend for our son's baseball tournament. Since we were gone for four full days I had our eldest son come over to house and dog sit. Even though The Hubster knows that #1 son is perfectly capable of taking care of everything, being in his mid-thirties now, my husband worried non-stop.

Not only did he worry about everything at home, he worried about every little thing that I did, Manlet did, and our entire schedule away from home.

Sometimes I really wonder if it is genuinely worth it to take The Hubster with us. He doesn't like sports, and although he doesn't seem to have any set schedules in his own life, he hates being away from home, away from our dogs, and away from his projects in his shop.

And he argues about everything!

As an intelligent, adult woman, I realize that Steve and I will never fully agree about absolutely everything in life, but that doesn't mean that we can't agree to disagree. Or at least I think so.

My spouse is differently minded.

If I have an idea or plan, I try to run it by Steve first. This, on the surface, seems to be a good, solid method of operation. 

Except that it normally takes Steve longer to think about it than I am willing to wait, so I go ahead with whatever I'm wanting to do when he doesn't respond to my inquiry.

Big mistake.

"Why are you always trying to control things?" roars my Mate.

"Sweetie, we talked about this two days ago. I explained that we were staying at the same hotel as the rest of the team, but that our plans outside of the tournament games would be totally up to us. The boys all wanted to go to dinner together, and Manlet has his own money, so I thought you and I could go elsewhere to eat. There are many nights that you don't eat dinner with us."

"Well you never let me decide what Manlet should do!" barks The Hubster.

"What is your objection to him going to the burger place with his buddies?" I query. 

"You didn't ask me if he could!" Steve is working up to a real brouhaha. I don't wish to engage.

"Sorry dear. Do you want me to have him ask you next time? Is it possible for us to make the decision together?"

My hubby is now beyond talking. He huffs off to who knows where. Hopefully he's out walking to let off some steam.

I settle down with a book. Manlet is probably chewing his way through a triple sirloin bacon and cheese burger and a basket of sweet potato fries. He played hard today and will burn off all those calories in tomorrows games.

Meanwhile, I will attempt to talk this through with Steve again when he is calmer.

Perhaps next year? lol

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

DON'T hop on Pop!

I've always loved Dr. Seuss books. I've loved reading them to my kidlets. My kids have always loved hearing them, as well as learning to read those jolly stories themselves. I never grew tired of hearing them read those musical tales aloud.

My kids believed Dr. Seuss. They knew from an early age to avoid green eggs with ham. They never wanted to stay alone for fear The Cat in the Hat would show up and ruin our home. Some of my kids are actually named after characters in those books.

And some how, regardless of how much their dad loved to play with them all, they knew that they were never, ever, ever allowed to hop on Pop.

As much as Steve joins in with the kids' hide n go seek games, pirate games, cowboy games, air soft and paintball games, crazy variations of baseball / football / volleyball / croquet / ladder golf games (mainly because my spouse can't seem to remember any of those rules), he can NOT tolerate people jumping on him or touching him. 

He avoids being 'tagged' as you or I would avoid the bubonic plague or leprosy.

This has been confusing to me, for The Hubster was an instant hand holder with me after we met. He usually snuggles too closely to me in theaters, at restaurants or on our huge couch for my own comfort. 

"Steve, please give me some space - I can't breathe!"

I wonder if the unwaivering avoidance of tumbling, poking, prodding, and jumping-upon has to do with his abhorrent dislike of unexpected contact with others. He seems fine if he initiates the contact. However, if he isn't expecting it, he goes bananas, literally jumping out of his skin.

This seems to be a fairly standard reaction in many Aspergians. I was reading about this on the Wrong Planet Discussion Board recently.

As with most human preferences and behaviors, this negative reaction can vary from Aspie to Aspie, but it is something I really have to work on as I am an instant hugger from way back. I have to watch myself when exuberant as I need to ascertain that The Hubster is anticipating and conducive to a hug before latching on or even brushing up against him.

Sooooo, as for me and my house, we will NOT hop on Pop!

Hopping on Mom is an entirely different story, lol.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Til Death Do Us Part

Communication is a vital part of any relationship. Since Steve's diagnosis ten years ago, I have vowed to him that I would speak my desires plainly to him. I sincerely try to speak my thoughts clearly, though undoubtedly not as concisely as he would like, so that he doesn't have to try to 'guess' what I am 'hinting' about. 

Reading facial expressions and body language, as well as deciphering hinted content, is extremely difficult for those with Asperger's Syndrome.

Therefore, when I gave my Hubby my marriage vows, 'for better or for worse', it was not just a passing thought.

I wonder just how much I can help along the 'til death do us part' portion?

I love this photo. Had I discovered it twenty-one years ago I would have had these cakes made for our wedding reception. It so aptly portrays our relationship.

Steve's single focus interest is cars. I too love cars. We had a car show here in town last weekend where I entered my 1946 Willys Flatfender CJ2A. It has a sweet little 289 tucked under the hood that purrs like a kitten. Or perhaps more like a tiger cub. Whichever, all I know is that when I step on the gas I can make the three mile trip into town in under sixty seconds. As long as our local police crew don't see me, that is.

As far as the communication goes, you'd think that if I make an effort to communicate precisely and directly, then The Hubster would do so also. Wrong! Witness the following texted conversation.

"Did I leave my lunch on the counter?"

I walk downstairs to the kitchen. Sure enough, Steve's red insulated lunch bag is sitting there.

"yep" I texted back.

"I was thinking about a belt for the lawn mower and a haircut."

"oh - did I hear you come back in the house before you left?"

"Yes, I forgot my keys."

"lol - forgetful day?"

No answer.

I was surprised later that afternoon when The Hubster didn't come home from work at his regular time. Even though I texted him several times to ask where he was, he did not respond. Finally, almost two hours after his normal arrival time, he pulled into the driveway as Manlet and I headed out to a baseball game.

"Where were you?" I called out my window.

"I told you!" yelled my Spouse.

"When did you tell me?" I inquired.

"When you were putting me down for forgetting my lunch!" shouts He.

Huh? Due to our time constraints, I didn't finish the conversation until later that night. Turns out Steve meant to text "I am going to stop for a lawn mower belt and a haircut after work." 

That is NOT what he said.

I tried to explain that to him by reminding him that he had recently told me he was thinking about teaching a class for summer term.

"When you told me that you were thinking about teaching, did that mean you taught that very day after work?"

"Well, of course not!" snapped The Hubster. "How can I teach a summer class that hasn't started yet?"

"In both of these cases you simply told me what you were thinking about," I responded.

"But I needed a belt and a haircut," protests Hubby. "I didn't need to teach last week!"


I think we are both much happier wandering around a car show together. I'll have to look for one this weekend, maybe even send Steve on his own, lol. I'm going to a baseball tournament!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Scrabble Bored

My daughter-in-law came to visit me yesterday. After I fixed us brunch, she helped me with some chores, and then we sat down to played cards. 

I absolutely adore playing games, with the exception of charades. For whatever reason, I am terrible at charades. 

I love playing cards most of all, dice games next, then games of strategy, followed by word games, and then any/all types of board games.
That being said, I hate playing games of any kind with my husband. Why? Simply because Steve plays to beat me. 

He doesn't play to win, and he doesn't purposely try to beat anyone else. In fact, he will attempt to lose if playing one of his extended family members.

My hubby is always competing with me.

We've, actually I have had many conversations with The Hubster about this subject and it always comes down to the same thing. He plays to beat me.

"Where is the joy of playing if you are so concentrated on beating me?" I ask.

"Why would I let you win?" says He of limited reasoning. Does he have any idea how thin the ice is that he is treading on? 

"Why do you always let your sister and her husband win when we play Risk?" I counter.

"Well," drawls The Hubster, "They are family!"

"Then what am I?" I challenge. "Chopped liver?"

Steve's mouth drops open. "You don't look like chopped liver at all! You look like..."

I throw my hands up in the air and yell, "Stop! I don't want to hear it!" 

I then leave the room, upset and frustrated.

Grabbing my phone, I sit down to play a nice, quiet game of Sudoku set on medium so I can finish that same night.

Numbers are my friends. They are consistent, they don't try to conquer me, and they really truly count.

Unlike some in our household, lol.