Fight it Out
I am swimming with strong, vigorous strokes, cool water all around me. I'm flying through the clear water, like a human torpedo, which is funny because I'm really only capable of a leisurely breast stroke. The crowd is screaming and clapping while I glide along my lane and then a hand pushes on my upper back. It pushes again, shaking me.
"Suzie...Suz...the dog wants something. He's downstairs."
"hm? wha? I'm winning."
"Suz.Berkley wants something"
Shit. Now, I'm awake.
"Well, he's not breastfed! Why am I awake for this?" Icalmly asked.
"I got up with him 2 hours ago."
"Really? Maybe he's got the trots, maybe he's really sick!"
"Nah, I just took him by the collar and brought him back to bed"
I roll out of bed, step on a f**king lego piece, and head for the stairs. I find Berk in the laundry room, growling and groaning at his bone-dry water dish. I fill it for him and he drinks like he's been dying of thirst for, oh I dunno, maybe 2 hours?? Once he's satisfied, I have to turn on the light for him to navigate the stairs back to bed because he's an old gentleman and he doesn't feel like wrecking himself in the dark. Turning on the light makes me even more awake. I don't even feel groggy now. No, actually I feel pissed right off. I'm walking up the stairs thinking 'Tim couldn't have managed this 2 hours ago?'
I walk into the room and hear Tim ask "He ok?"
'Wait. He's talking? He woke me up to deal with this and he's not even sleeping? Why do we both need to be awake? If you were going to be awake anyways, you could've turned on the tap. How is He? HOW IS HE?? Well, he wanted water 2 hours ago but his delinquent master snubbed him so he's been dehydrated for hours, that's how he is!! You cornhole!'
"He was thirsty." I hiss and climb back into bed. Tim puts his arm over me but I wriggle out of it, claiming that I'm hot. I seriously consider pressing the sweaty soles of my feet against his lower back and donkey kicking him onto the floor. It takes me at least an hour to fall back to sleep while Tim snores contentedly beside me.
The next morning, Tim's all smiles and I'm squeezing the toothpaste tube like it owes me money. He asks me if somethings wrong and I totally let him have it, ending with a vehement "You should have at least had the basic decency to FAKE that you were sleeping when I came up!" He looked at me and the corner of his mouth turned up, he was going to laugh. Now I feel like laughing too and that only makes me angrier because, damn it, I have a good point here and I intend to stay mad. He promises me that he will never wake me for the dog again and that, if he's ever ballsy enough to try, he will earn an Oscar with his fake sleep. Then he gives me the same totally exaggerated, obnoxious bear hug that he lays on the kids when they're being silly, whiny brats. That hug that you know is designed to shake you out of the funk you are hellbent on staying in. Works every time.
I've heard people say that they rarely fight with their spouses. Ok, either they're deluded, lying or they're missing out on something. The occasional little spat is genuine, honest and something we can withstand. Our little tiffs about which vacuum attachment to use or what can and can't be flushed keeps us strangely connected and gives us something to laugh at later, when the kids are in bed and we hit the couch with a beer. Some of our longest running inside jokes have been thanks to a ridiculous squabble 10 years ago. So go ahead, fight about it, eh?
"Suzie...Suz...the dog wants something. He's downstairs."
"hm? wha? I'm winning."
"Suz.Berkley wants something"
Shit. Now, I'm awake.
"Well, he's not breastfed! Why am I awake for this?" I
"I got up with him 2 hours ago."
"Really? Maybe he's got the trots, maybe he's really sick!"
"Nah, I just took him by the collar and brought him back to bed"
I roll out of bed, step on a f**king lego piece, and head for the stairs. I find Berk in the laundry room, growling and groaning at his bone-dry water dish. I fill it for him and he drinks like he's been dying of thirst for, oh I dunno, maybe 2 hours?? Once he's satisfied, I have to turn on the light for him to navigate the stairs back to bed because he's an old gentleman and he doesn't feel like wrecking himself in the dark. Turning on the light makes me even more awake. I don't even feel groggy now. No, actually I feel pissed right off. I'm walking up the stairs thinking 'Tim couldn't have managed this 2 hours ago?'
I walk into the room and hear Tim ask "He ok?"
'Wait. He's talking? He woke me up to deal with this and he's not even sleeping? Why do we both need to be awake? If you were going to be awake anyways, you could've turned on the tap. How is He? HOW IS HE?? Well, he wanted water 2 hours ago but his delinquent master snubbed him so he's been dehydrated for hours, that's how he is!! You cornhole!'
"He was thirsty." I hiss and climb back into bed. Tim puts his arm over me but I wriggle out of it, claiming that I'm hot. I seriously consider pressing the sweaty soles of my feet against his lower back and donkey kicking him onto the floor. It takes me at least an hour to fall back to sleep while Tim snores contentedly beside me.
The next morning, Tim's all smiles and I'm squeezing the toothpaste tube like it owes me money. He asks me if somethings wrong and I totally let him have it, ending with a vehement "You should have at least had the basic decency to FAKE that you were sleeping when I came up!" He looked at me and the corner of his mouth turned up, he was going to laugh. Now I feel like laughing too and that only makes me angrier because, damn it, I have a good point here and I intend to stay mad. He promises me that he will never wake me for the dog again and that, if he's ever ballsy enough to try, he will earn an Oscar with his fake sleep. Then he gives me the same totally exaggerated, obnoxious bear hug that he lays on the kids when they're being silly, whiny brats. That hug that you know is designed to shake you out of the funk you are hellbent on staying in. Works every time.
I've heard people say that they rarely fight with their spouses. Ok, either they're deluded, lying or they're missing out on something. The occasional little spat is genuine, honest and something we can withstand. Our little tiffs about which vacuum attachment to use or what can and can't be flushed keeps us strangely connected and gives us something to laugh at later, when the kids are in bed and we hit the couch with a beer. Some of our longest running inside jokes have been thanks to a ridiculous squabble 10 years ago. So go ahead, fight about it, eh?
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