“In men, keeping quiet during a fight didn’t have any measurable effect on health. But women who didn’t speak their minds in those fights were four times as likely to die during the 10-year study period as women who always told their husbands how they felt.”
Talk about timing - I just blogged about this same thing - a quick synopsis: stupid argument over money and rather than talk-out our anger, we didn’t speak and even slept in separate rooms, Thursday night.
Color me another disappointing statistic - let’s see, how many rules
of engagement…er…work-out your marital spats did I break on that one,
Unfortunately, my post had nothing to do with research.
It happened to me. In real time. In front of the kids. In contrary to everything that I’ve ever taught my children and, at the cost of sounding like an absolute simpleton, I left my comments here and still stick to my decision.
The kids were ready to celebrate the weekend, it was nearly 8:00 o’clock in the evening - Friday night pizza and movie night, you know - and Garth (not his real name) usually gets home about now.
“I dunno…but, we can’t wait any longer…EVERYONE IN THE CAR!”
My oldest daughter invited a friend to sleepover - yes, she asked first and I thought…feh…WHY NOT, what’s one more!?!? - and I was waiting for Garth (not his real name) to get home, so I could, you know, leave.
“Do we all get to pick a movie?”
“Wow, good thing we got room in the car!”
“Are you sleeping with Daddy, or us, tonight?”
“Now, what would make you think that?”
“Well…Daddy slept in the living room, last night…and he said it was because he was more comfortable on the couch.”
“Nope, you guys get the couch!”
Oh, the things I could have said…or, at least can think to say…but, don’t…NOT out loud…or, in front of the kids, anyway…because, I am supposed to be, you know, the grown-up!
“Daddy can sleep in the shed!”
In theory, anyway.
“Look, Daddy’s home!”
“Let’s surprise him and tell him that he gets to feed FIVE kids, tonight!”
Yes, kids can say the funniest things - don’t look at me, they get their sarcasm from their mother - and I have no illusions about hiding our emotions from children…they see…hear…and do, in fact, know exactly what’s going on.
I, however, had no idea about Garth (not his real name) or, what he was thinking, coming home so late - it was nearly 9:00 p.m., I think - and leaving me with the children. Having to explain myself, again. One of them wasn’t even his, for goodness sake! I was soooo tired of talking, already.
“Mommy rented us a bunch of stuff!”
We’ve punished each other enough, yes - I mean, he couldn’t even look at me - so, I just walked into the kitchen and felt…well, I really don’t know how to explain it…just sort of numb, I guess.
I asked him what the flowers were for and when he explained that they were, indeed, for me, I couldn’t help, but wonder…HUH?
“I read your blog, today.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t so angry…anymore - not that I agree with makeup presents, much - and we’ve managed to get passed another rough patch and, yet again, perhaps leave a whole new group of self-proclaimed experts, dumbfounded - or, not!
This time, it was better to just walk away….and blog it.