Marriage and the Tribe

I recently read an excerpt of Committed, the new book by Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat Pray Love) on how a laughing Hmong grandmother made her question her expectation of marriage and its ability to single-handedly fulfil you and offer you everything you need in life.

I liked it very much, but I’m not going to quote her verbatim (because now I can’t find the damn thing!!). Basically, whilst contemplating her second marriage, she asked other women about their marriages. She just happened to be in a Hmong village in northern Vietnam, where life is lived in pretty much the same tribal fashion as thousands of years ago. You know, the way our brains are still programmed to think.

So she began questioning a group of women, particularly a lovely grandmother, on their marriages, and when they knew that their husbands were the love of their life. As they were laughing their heads off at her, Elizabeth had an epiphany. Perhaps, whilst their marriages were an important part of their lives, these women relied on more than just one relationship for happiness. Marriages in this part of the world are far more practical than romantic. Maybe they had their need for connection, fulfilment, support, commiseration, empathy, and child-rearing assistance met in other ways... by each other perhaps. By their tribe.

I am a big believer in this. Whilst I love my husband, and he is a great partner, father, provider etc., I don’t rely on him to fulfil every facet of my life. My happiness is not solely his burden. Apart from the responsibility we must take for ourselves to be happy, I do think human connections are essential for happiness, at least for me. But how can we possibly rely on one person, no matter how wonderful (and usually of a different gender no less), to single-handedly raise us up? So I have a wide circle of family and friends who all offer their gifts. Don't get me wrong, my marriage is very important to me, but it's not the sole source of my happiness.

Then I read Thea’s latest post at Do I Really Wanna Blog about friendships and the different styles of friendship different people have to offer. This too resonated with me. The individuals in my group of friends, not to mention my family, differ wildly. There are introverts, extroverts, religious, spiritual, atheist, drinkers, teetotallers, parents, smug married, singles, real, imaginary, 2-D , old, young, in-between, country, city, gay, straight, bubbly, melancholy, optimist, pessimist and everything else you could think of.

Each have something different to offer to me and their other friends. Different styles of friendship as Thea puts it. The thoughtful, always-calls type, the do-anything-you-need type, the fun-to-go-get-loaded-with type, the wise one you take your problems to, the ones who inspire you, hell, even the ones who kick your butt and get you back on track. All different, all just as valuable as the others.

I think it’s like this – people need a tribe; a big group of people around you, partner if you have one, family, friends and especially girlfriends to give you all the aspects you need – you don’t expect your husband to spend hours trawling the shops and drooling over the men of Desperate Housewives do you??

Advice for Husbands

In the spirit of inter-gender relations, I would like to share this ancient text, scribed by the Venutians for the benefits of poor misguided Martians everywhere...

Martian Survival Guide for Successful Co-Habitation with Venutians

1. Thou shalt not wander into thine own kitchen and wonder out loud where anything is kept. This is your domain, your kingdom; become familiar with it.

2. Thou shalt not refer to caring for thine own offspring as ‘babysitting’.

3. A smart Husband remembers his True Love’s birthday, but forgets her age.

4. Thou ist not ‘helping’ when performing household chores. Unless you live in the yard, this is also your castle to maintain.

5. If thou wishes the carriage to be driven to thine exact wishes, kindly drive the cursed thing thineself.

6. If thou cannot make a decision, thou hast no right to complain when one is made for thee.

7. When thine True Love states she is “Fine”, throw chocolate at her and run for the door.

Memoir Monday - The Honeymooon is Over

Alrighty, it's that time again, where I jump on Travis' bandwagon at I Like to Fish.

So this weeks Memoir comes from my honeymoon trip to Daydream Island, romantic paradise for starry eyed lovers. Well, except me of course, instead of ending up in a blissful loved-up state of newly wedded ecstacy, I ended up in hospital. Welcome to my life (and that of my long-suffering husband's!).

The trip started off well, the morning after our awesome wedding, we grabbed our pre-packed bags, left the luxury hotel and jetted off to our island paradise. Champagne on arrival, and minimal bitching to get moved from the room right over the kids pool to the suite overlooking the ocean. Score!

The first two days were spent pretty much as you imagine the first two days of a honeymoon might be. Then came DayThree.

Day three involved a catamaran cruise around the surrounding islands and reefs. Lovely. As we boarded, I was vaguely aware of an officious sounding girl warning us all to remember that sharks are bitey and to re-apply our sunscreen. Pfft! I thought, I'm not going anywhere near a scuba mask, and sure, those pasty Poms over there might need to worry about re-applying sunscreen every 10 minutes, but I'm a Gold Coast girl, I never burn!! I had put some 30+ on that morning, so decided I was covered. Tra la la.... where's my mimosa?

Now, had I stopped for just a second here to contemplate that reasoning, I may have saved myself a boat load of pain and suffering. But nope, I knew better. Sure, when I was 21 and living off the generosity of the Government, partying every night and cruising the beaches of the Gold Coast every day, I did indeed have a righteous tan, and never did burn, a lucky inheritance of my Dad's olive complexion. I had, however forgotten that in the interim, I wised up, got a job and spent the next 7 years inside an office. Problem.

But back to the catamaran. Mimosa in hand, I clambered out onto the big slingy thing made of trampoline material, assumed the "lady of luxury" pose, and began sunning myself. We then set off on the 2 hour trip to Whitehaven Beach, where, being the water-babe I am, I decided not to wait for the little dinghy to shuttle me to the beach, but to follow suit with all the other people who simply dived overboard and swam to shore.

For those who live in less sunny climes, water washes suncreen off. Especially salt water.

Tra la la... we frolicked on the beach for a while, then all swam back to the cat to resume the cruise. The cruise on which I spent the rest of the day with my legs hanging over the side, catching the sun and sights of the Whitsunday Islands.

When we got off the catamaran and headed for our room, I noticed my legs were a bit pink. I said to newly titled hubby, "No worries, I'll just slap some moisturiser on and they'll be lovely and golden by morning... just like the old days, watch and see."

Indeed....

Later that night, I awoke in agony. My legs were throbbing, searing hot and so sensitive that the cotton sheets moving over them felt like razor blades. I inched my way off the bed and sat up, putting my feet on the floor. OOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!! I felt like my shins were going to split open. I tried to wake hubby, but those Crown Lagers may as well have been morphine, the guy was out to it. I hobbled to the bathroom, ran a lukewarm bath (the best temperature for treating sunburn, I remembered), and sat in it. No relief. Then I ran a cold bath. Nothing. Then, inspiration struck... I wet some towels, and put them in the bar fridge in the room, one even got wedged in the little baby freeezer in it. Then, I got back in the bath and after half an hour, added these towels to my about-to-self-immolate legs. By this stage, the rest of my body was shaking with chills.

So here I spent the night, the top half of me wrapped in towels to keep from shaking like a bloody Chihuahua, and the bottom half feeling like it was aflame. Glamourama, huh?

The next morning, hubby was dispatched to the island pharmacy, with strict instructions to bring back either something that would fix me, or a gun to shoot myself with. After buying nearly every sunburn treatment they offered, and applying them all, still nothing, I was in agony.

Poor hubby spent the remainder of his honeymoon nursing me through that day and the next night, til the ferry came to take us back to the mainland. Well, not so much nursing me as asking me why was I carrying on so much, it was only a bit of sunburn for goodness sake. In his defence, he's from New Zealand, and has very limited knowledge of the sun's effect on human skin. He honestly didn't get how much this hurt.

So we get to the mainland, pick up our rental car and before we set off on our road trip home, I convince him it might be worth popping into the local medical centre to see about my legs, which are still red raw, throbbing and feel like they are about to split open every time I get vertical. The woman at the medical centre takes one look at me and sends us to the nearby regional hospital. With much eye-rolling and comments about hysterical old nannas, hubby takes me.

We arrive at the hospital, and hooray for being out in the sticks, I am the only person in the ER. We get seen straight away. As the Doctor is fussing over my poor, swollen, lobster-red legs, hubby pipes up with a question about surely this can't be all that serious, it's just a sunburn for Heaven's sake.

The Doctor shoots him an incredulous look. "Tell me, would you be at all worried if she had tipped a pot of boiling water on herself?"

Hubby looks horrified, "Of course, that'd be, like, a major injury!"

"Well, this is just about as bad. Imagine the water was just about to boil instead. Your wife has second-degree burns on about 20 percent of her body. She is in extreme pain, has lost the ability to regulate her temperature, and, as the blisters worsen, is vunerable to infection."

"Holy shit!"

"Indeed."

"Does this mean I can get some some pain meds now?" This last comment is from me.

A few hours later, after an application of industrial-strength salve, the begged-for pain meds and a list of care instructions, we set off on the 3 day drive home. By this stage, I am laughing like a drain (the meds, remember) at my ability to un-romanticise any given occasion, even my own honeymoon. Hubby is shell-shocked and babbling apologies about not taking my melodrama seriously.

The trip home was actually pretty fun. I had my drugs and salve, and hubby and I have always been good at road trips. My legs healed quickly and I still have fond memories of sitting in a steamy shower in a motel in Bundaberg, peeling long strips of skin off my legs, completely grossing hubby out. Hee hee.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

So, a quick update on the whole sleeping situation.

Well, not the whole sleeping situation of the world, just the bit of it going on at my house.

It's been 10 days now since I impulsively decided that I couldn't cope with 2 year old GG coming in to our bed in the middle of the night and spending the rest of the night kicking me in the back, putting her feet in my face and thrashing around so much she once gave me a black eye. For an account of precisely how much hell I unleashed upon myself that night, see here.

Well, I am so totally glad that we (well, I - hubby works most nights, so I am claiming this as my victory) stuck with it. After a few nights, GG seemed to realise there was a New World Order in place and was going down reasonably peacefully, A HUGE thank you to my Aunt who suggested I stand just outside her door, answering her occasionally so she didn't feel alone, but wasn't using me as a sleep prop. Genius. Of course, I spent the days running her ragged and didn't put her to bed til she couldn't have kept her eyes open had the entire Hi-5 troupe come through the door in all their multi-coloured warbling glory.

I should, of course, have realised that anyone sharing my DNA would not go quietly into that good night. About the 4th or 5th night in, she put up such a fight that by 1am I had totally thrown in the towel and was about to just haul her into the spare bed with me, already feeling the recrimination build up, but just too damn tired and emotionally spent to care. And here is why, despite all our ups and downs, I am still married... my husband, one the one night he was not working his second job, and having to be up in a few short hours, with perfect timing, got up from bed, came down to see how I was going right when I had admitted defeat - and took over. Knowing that I'd hate myself come the morning if I gave in, he sent me off to bed, and then lay on GG's tiny single bed with her til she fell asleep, whispering and crooning to her. I dug out the old monitor (which is still hooked up at her end for the nightlight) and fell asleep to the sound of his voice soothing away all our worries away. Bless him.

Anyway, after that night, she realised that she was no match for this team of parenters extraordinaire (shut up - is totally a word) and has progressed to going to bed easily and staying all night in her bed. I also inadvertently discovered the trick to a scream-free exit from the bedroom. I annoy her. tee hee. Just a little bit, honest! See, once I have sung her favourite song, I scooch over, give her a kiss on the forehead and whisper our special goodnight, staying right in her face. By this time, she's really tired and not into displays of affection, and just tells me to go wait outside. Score!! Apparently, like men, toddlers need to think everything is their idea. Whatever works.

So now my body is slowly getting used to getting actual sleep at night, and I am feeling more energised, although not particularly so when she comes bouncing into our room at an eye-wateringly early hour, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and singing her own praises... "I leep AAAAWWWWWLLLLLL night in my bed!! Yay GG!"

"Yay GG" I echo - making a beeline for the coffee.

Return Unto Me

I am an official believer in Angels. I always kind of have been really, and I like to think there are signs and symbolism in things. I remember looking at GG on the change table when she was a newborn, and feeling the distinct "presence" of my deceased Grandma, almost looking over my shoulder. She would've be so happy to meet her first great-grandaughter, and I comfort myself by thinking that she, and my other grandparents, have had a chance to see GG.

So last night, after having a wonderful time, we came back to our room and me being me, I didn't bother to take off my makeup or jewellery. I also never bother taking my earrings out when I go to sleep, as the ones I wore were my "default" earrings I wear all the time, beautiful little diamond cuffs, that my Mum gave me for my birthday . Then this morning, after I had a shower, I noticed one of my earrings was missing. These are very sentimental to me, so I was pretty upset.

After looking all through the bedding, moving the bed, tossing the room and throwing hubby out of the shower so I could search the bathroom, I hadn't found them anywhere. More than pretty upset.

Then, when I was back in the bathroom talking to hubby about my bad luck with jewellery (more later), I was dejectedly pawing through the little zip purse I bought my necklaces, rings and stuff in. There, right on top, was my earring. I was tipsy, but not drunk last night, I DID NOT take my jewellery off, especially ONE earring.

Thank you, Angel, for my earring.

Now can I please have my wedding rings back?

Yes, you heard me. I lost my wedding and engagement ring. I had not been wearing them for a couple of months, as I had dermatitis from constantly having my hands in water or Napisan (GG was a few months old), and the rings irritated it, and I kept scratching GG with my high set engagement ring. Then one day I had them both in a case in my bag to take to the jewellers to get cleaned up, I met hubby for lunch after visiting one jeweller, who I thought was too expensive, then got sidetracked and didn't get to the other jewellers. A few months later I realised I hadn't worn them in ages, and went looking for them, only to find them gone.

The thing is, when I realised they were gone, hubby and I were having kind of a rough patch. I didn't feel particularly connected to him, and wasn't all that upset to find them gone. It sort of fit how I was feeling. I believe in signs and symbolism, see.

Lately, I have been really obsessing about them. I want them back. I am in love with my husband, we are committed to our marriage, and I am wondering why they haven't come back to me. So, I'm putting it out to the universe, and any attendant angels - can I have them back now please? I promise to treat them, and my marriage, better.