You reach a certain point in marriage where words aren’t needed to express to your spouse how you are feeling or what you are thinking about. All that is required is a simple look. This trick comes in handy, especially in social settings, with many couples using this non-verbal awareness to their advantage.
Take for instance when one gets caught in a dull conversation with a close talker that has no clue they are about as engaging as watching paint dry. A quick glance over to their significant other and they can be assured that relief is on the way. As soon as their eyes lock, their spouse knows instantly that the time has come to switch into superhero mode by rescuing them with the classic “the babysitter just called” line. Or take that same party where a wife suddenly gets a whiff of a not so pleasant smell. The smirk and wink coming from her husband lets the wife know that in this case the one who smelt it did not actually dealt it.
Women, much more then men, have learn to harness the glance to its’ fullest potential. With a single ‘look’ your wife can deliver a message loud and clear that not only sends chills down your spine, but also makes you ponder what important event occurred on this date, what chore you forgot to do or whether you put the toilet seat down in the middle of the night.
Then you experience moments where with a simple glance you are capable of looking into each other’s soul. Today was one of those days. There was no need to explain the tension we were both feeling. I could see the worry in Jenn’s eyes. We were taking our daughter Madison to meet with specialists at Duke Medical Center in hopes of finding answers to issues that have plagued her for far too long.
It’s a weird dynamic you are working through as a parent when your child is in pain and no doctor can seem to explain why. You certainly don’t want anything serious to be wrong with your child, yet the hope for a diagnosis, any diagnosis, means you finally know what you are up against and can start battling it. Hope for some clarity finds itself mixed with worry over what the doctors might say.
The CR-V was all gassed up. Strawberry Shortcake was queued on the DVD player. Baby Emma and silk blankie occupied their normal spot next to the car seat, snacks were stocked in the cooler and the coloring books and crayons where ready to go. All that was left was tying up a few loose ends at the office.
In the midst of my mental haze of obsessing over all the possible outcomes, I failed to notice another dark haze that suddenly appeared in the sky. I paid no attention to the raindrops that began appearing on my windshield. A loud rumble of thunder that made me clench the wheel in fear finally interrupted my thoughts. A storm was not brewing. It was already percolating. Dodging traffic I raced home in hopes the girls would be ready to go and we would stay ahead of the storm.
Silly me, I should of known better by now. My glance was directed upwards, but not to see the path of the storm. While staring at the clouds, I shook my head and let out a frustrated chuckle: “Are you kidding me, Lord? Seriously? Of course this is going to happen…” We could be heading to my parent’s house in Maryland, picking someone up at the airport or going on vacation. The destination was irrelevant.
All that mattered was when the wheels of our vehicle touched the interstate marking the beginning of an important trip. At that very moment is when God’s sense of humor kicks in and he sends a storm of epic proportions our way. As you can tell, I don’t find the Creator of the Universe all that funny.
These storms are not of the annoying rain cloud variety. I’m speaking of a flood where you regret putting money into your 401K and not towards a down payment on an ark. Not only was it raining cats and dogs, but also lions, tigers and bears oh my! Growing up my folks use to tell me that the angels were bowling when you heard thunder. If this is the case, then the angelic bowling league had matches taking place with Gabriel rolling a perfect 300. The only thing that would make me want to reconsider our trip more than listening to the actual thunder roll would be the CD player going haywire and having Garth Brook’s “Thunder Rolls” playing on repeat for the entire 3 hours we are in the car. You get the picture. It wasn’t a pretty sight on the open road. If it were, I wouldn’t of known anyway because I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.
Understanding the fear and apprehension their girls were experiencing, the average husband would be calm, cool and collective by not allowing their frustration to show. Unfortunately, if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know I am far from average. The anger I wrestled with internally over the storm manifested itself outwardly in frantic worry when I entered the house. Everything that didn’t go according to plan put me on edge with the storm to end all storms currently occupying the number one spot on the list. In my mind, these storms always had a way of setting a bad tone for the trip. However, the glare I received from Jenn while in the kitchen made me realize that was not the case. My demeanor sets the tone, not only for the trip, but my home as well. Message received loud and clear or should I say silent and glaring.
I didn’t have to travel the globe to understand the nature or depths of my cynicism. All I had to do was sit on my couch, flip on the television and watch an hour-long ABC special on how Michael J. Fox, a man crippled with Parkinson’s Disease, looks at life every day with hope and optimism. On the other hand, I feel I am cursed with the dreaded Ripa Luck anytime things don’t go according to plan: sleeping through my alarm clock on the day of an important meeting, running into a co-worker while the girls are in meltdown mode, a flat tire on my “in town” car or missing a connecting flight.
The bad taste in my mouth has nothing to do with Alex B. Keaton, the former Young Republican, pulling an “Arlen Specter” by flip flopping politically due to his interest in stem cell research. It hurts me that I felt this way after watching the special because Michael J. Fox has had a special place in my heart ever since Marty McFly hopped into that DeLorean DMC-12. Fox was a huge part of my childhood and with me when I grew into a man. When special changes began happening to my body, I was able to narrow down the cause to the onslaught of puberty or that I was secretly a werewolf thanks to watching Scott Howard surf on a van in Teen Wolf.
The peak of my frustration came when Fox met with doctors and scientists to give us a better understanding on the nature of optimism. According to their research, they stated that some individuals are more predisposed to be optimistic. Lucky ducks. They cannot help but feel optimistic. It’s just the way they are wired. Somewhere in their DNA they have hopeful genes.
The debate eventually begins on when and where to stop for a bite to eat meaning more than likely you will be visiting your first landmark, The Golden Arches. Throwing all healthy eating habits out the window, you purge the entire trip off of fast food or vending machine munchies.
Just around the time your legs go completely numb you end up at the hotel and find out that your roommate is the guy who not only stopped at the ethnic joint for dinner but feasted upon teriyaki beef jerky and trail mix all the way down. As loud and powerful as his constant toots are, they are incapable of drowning out the constant hum of the refrigerator or the air conditioning sounding like a bomb going off every time it kicks on, which just in case you are wondering is every 10 minutes.
Already tired and constipated, I can add fuming to the list after spending a good part of an hour in the lobby of the hotel trying to find an outlet to recharge my laptop along with a wireless Internet connection that actually works. Doesn’t the Hampton Inn know the fate of the world depends on me updating my fantasy baseball team?
B-r-r-r-i-n-g!!! Class is back in session. Physically I am here, but mentally I am absent. Exhausted from the domestic duties at home, I decide to take the day off by surprising all of my Issues and Regrets with a pop quiz. Honestly, there is no point to the exam other than it gives me an excuse to zone out in front of the laptop while giving the impression I am doing actual work. 
That’s it. Some Issue or Regret wants to mess with me after I have been cooking and cleaning non-stop for the past four days? They have no clue the war they just started. Time for payback and some cruel and unusual punishment. Until dismissal they’ll be watching Scott Baio’s greatest acting performance, the 1980’s after school special The Boy Who Drank Too Much, on a continuous loop.
Anger: “FINE! Yeah, it was ME! Do you know what it’s like to sit here month after month and be ignored? IT’S INFURIATING! Ever since last month I’ve been looking for ways to get your attention. At lunch I was talking to Cynical Side and he brought up a Dateline episode he saw on Internet bullying. This is what put the wheels in motion.”
It’s hard to describe the pressure you feel as a parent when you are choosing a movie for date night with your spouse. Moments minus the kids are few and far between so a lot is riding on your decision. Pick a cinematic masterpiece then all is right with the world.
Instead the last supper consisted of vanilla wafers, saltines and Lipton’s Cup of Soup. For an extra special touch, I garnished her plate with a few slices of strawberries and pineapples from the Edible Arrangements boutique we received from friends. The meal was topped off with a tall glass of grape Gatorade to quench Jenn’s thirst. A feast completely and utterly uneventful compared to what I wanted to prepare. She ate a few bites, but that was about it.
Thanks to seeing that reflection in the mirror I feel like I finally truly understand all that is asked of Jenn as a stay at home mom. Managing a house while taking care of two wild and crazy girls is extremely difficult especially if you are trying to stay sane as well. A woman performing domesticated duties often goes without notice. Yet, when a man steps up to the plate by actually washing it, a parade is thrown in his honor. He is viewed as a hero while doing the same tasks that are expected from a female. Does anyone else find this mindset odd and a little warped?
