I’m not one to sit around and contemplate how Starling and
I, as a couple, compare to other couples. It doesn’t take too much thought to
recognize we are FAR from “normal.” But just how weird are we? I don’t know
exactly. I’m so used to being me, it’s hard to find my actions abnormal. But
yesterday, after the fact of course, I thought, “Yes. That was probably quite peculiar.”
I don’t know how other wives discipline/train/punish their
husbands, or if they even do. Surely they do. How else do they get their way?
But, as with every aspect of my life, I am a WEE bit unconventional. I choose
to rule by fear. JUST with my husband. I have a list of Do’s and Don’ts a mile
long. And Starling knows them quite well. I need only utter 3 little words to
get him hoppin’ like a grasshopper. My magical phrase? “THAT’s A BOOGER.”
This will undoubtedly make you think less of me, but AGAIN,
I don’t so much CARE. It works. (And I’m not bandaging a toe that ain’t broken).
Yesterday Starling decided he would purchase a vehicle to
flip at 7 pm. (We’d just purchased one the day before). I
meekly and encouragingly rolled my eyes. I didn’t ASK for the specs on the
vehicle, mainly because I couldn’t care LESS. BUT, as always, he feels the need
to CONVINCE me to WANT to do something he’s going to do rather I like it or
not. And I said as much.
“This looks like a good flip!” He said. And all I heard
after that was, “New BLA, replaced BLA, something about BLA.” And my concrete
expression of, “I.Don’t.Care.” only increased his desire to make this deal
appealing. Which, I don’t know why. I’m not going to drive it. If it were for
me I’d be all up in the business of getting informed. But, even then, all I
need to know is, can it fit my ARMY of children? Does it RUN? Okay. And if one
MUST get into specifics, what color is it?
But, none the less, he got carried away and then read
further down on the listing to find the catch. (There is ALWAYS a catch). “Oh
it overheats at umm… 80 mph.” I yawned. “Good thing you never HAVE to drive 80.”
Starling said, “Okay. Maybe it says 70mph.”
WELL. As in many households, exaggerating, lying, stretching
the truth, withholding information, etc is STRICTLY forbidden. For Starling.
And, everyone knows, at least everyone that had to learn about Pavlov and his
salivating dog every year in Psychology, that consistent reinforcement of a
particular cause and effect paired with a completely unrelated correlating
factor, will undoubtedly create an associated effect TO the unrelated factor.
PHEW! That’s a mouthful and probably makes about as much sense to you as psychology
as a WHOLE to me. In BASIC terms, every time Starling does anything on my To Do
or Do NOT list, I say the word “Booger” which strikes utter fear in him,
because that word ALWAYS comes prior to me jumping on his back and sticking my
finger in his mouth.
Now, Starling FIRMLY believes I am trying to stick an actual
booger in his mouth. THAT’s the kind of wife I am. (Probably not a good thing).
And he PROBABLY thinks that because I tell him that’s what I am doing. (Which
is quite hypocritical. I’m lying to him to train him into submission because he
had to truth check something I wasn’t even paying attention to or caring about.
But, again… I stick with what works).
So, after Starling corrected himself, my eyebrows lifted
(the first inclination that I was actually HEARING anything that he was
saying). He immediately stood up. When I asked in my loving voice, “Did YOU
just LIE to me?” He got into the running position. When I calmly, but
resolutely stated, “That’s a Booger.” He took off through the living room,
through our master bedroom, out the sliding glass doors, across the driveway,
past our barn, onto our frontage lot where cars were passing by on Oak Grove
Road.
Where was I? On his
heels. He may be “faster” than me, but
NOONE is more determined than I am to be consistent with my discipline. (AND I’m
not wasting all my breath cackling with laughter like HIM).
Meanwhile, a shirtless, giggling Brooklyn with a pink tutu
comes barreling around the corner. (She was mid wardrobe change for the 14th
time that day when she heard the commotion). She was followed by a bouncing
Brighton in nothing but his big boy monster truck undies. (Clothing is optional
at my house, so usually no one gets dressed. Besides Brooklyn, of course, that
makes it a personal goal to wear her everything in her closet EVERY day).
“I LOVE playing TAG as a happy family!” Brooklyn yelled as
she chased after me, chasing after Starling. Brighton, having NO clue what the
point of the game was, ran in circles, fell down, laughed hysterically, and ran
again. (I can ONLY imagine what passing cars thought. One of Starling’s clients
called and said he was going to stop by but it looked like we had a LOT of
PEOPLE at our house. And didn’t mention that he thought most must have escaped
from the loony bin).
I hid behind a giant bush-tree and TOLD Eric, who never
misses a spectator sport, to SHH, but he told Starling to run. (He’ll get what’s
coming to him. Don’t you even worry about that). Eventually, I wore Starling
down enough for him to stop and look around for me. That’s when I pounced on
his back. He COULD just keep his mouth closed to keep my finger from penetrating
his lips, or AT LEAST his teeth, but Starling gets so tickled he can’t keep his
mouth closed, which makes it quite simple to get a finger jab in there, which I
did, which made him all but wheeze with laughter, all the while sputtering like
a drowned cat and gagging. Granted there was nothing ON my finger, but his
BELIEF that there was, was enough.
And to top off the weird
factor, how many couples find joy in photo texting each other from across the
room just to see who can make the other one laugh harder? I always win. But
that’s because I’m more creative. (And because Starling laughs about anything
even remotely humorous or NOT humorous). When Starling was taking too long
negotiating on the phone I sent him a video of me giving him “the look” followed
by a picture of me pointing to my nose. I knew he got it when he burst out
laughing. Ahhh… It’s important to laugh around here. For sanity’s sake.
In between our squeamish fun, I got peed on, puked on, and
chomped on. I’m trying to wean Boeing (but not VERY hard. My doctor told me to
wean him because I weighed 108 on her scale this week and the last time I was
there I weighed 124. Never mind that the last time she saw me was 6 weeks after
I had my baby. She said Boeing is draining all my nutrients and yata yata. And
Starling says she’s right because I look like a noodle with a head. And the
Lasik doctor said I have to be DONE nursing to get my eyes done AND wait a year
to get pregnant. And I feel like I’m backed into a corner on getting this dude
weaned and I can’t seem to remember how I weaned my last two). Anyway- I’m
trying to wean Boeing, potty train Brighton, all the while taking antibiotics
for my throat. I hope the antibiotics ward off the inevitable mastitis that is
sure to arise. Most of the day, I just want to scream. So intermixing “tag with
our happy family” is nice. I need to sleep a month to recuperate, but that’s
beside the point.
