Love, War and Wings

Tim-“I want WINGS with sauce.” Sam-“Oooohh Gross!”

It’s not easy to get in a good argument at church, especially when you’re Mr. and Mrs. Pastor. You snipe when no one’s looking and then smile when someone appears, get in a good dig and then pretend all is happy for the crowd.

“La La La …you peanut butter bone head.”

But yesterday, my husband and I even didn’t have the strength to play the happy Christian poser game.

It’s never a good idea to argue with a sick and hungry man (i.e. BIG CRANKY BABY) but I forget who I was dealing with, possibly because it seems like my husband is sick all the time (thanks to our germy toddler) or maybe because I had zero sympathy for the man who has a perennially runny nose.

Just as my husband was accusing me of never wanting to go his favorite restaurants (which I do all the time even though his idea of a good meal is how many sauces are offered) a darling woman from church approached us.  Normally, I would feign gaiety but this time I turned to her and blatantly confessed, “Excuse us; we’re fighting right now.”

She looked slightly stunned and then laughed. “Well can I interrupt your fight?”

Tim and I looked at each, snarled, and then turned to our friend and nodded our heads in agreement.

“I just wanted to say hi. What are you fighting over?”

“Where to go to lunch,” we said in unison.

“I have an app on my iPhone for that. I just shake it and it gives us the place to go.”

Tim and I looked at each and laughed. Maybe she was on to something.

I just wish there was an app that went further and got to the root of the problem. You could shake it and it would translate Mars to Venetian-like a mini-mobile me counselor.

When Tim says Sam never wants to eat his food he really means “I’m feeling sick, cranky and needy right now. I want to be taken care of and babied. I want you to want to eat wings and sauce, or maybe you could make me Top Ramen like my mom used to and then I would feel really loved.  I’m grumpy because I have a paper for seminary due tomorrow and I’m already exhausted before I even start the darn thing. Waa Waa.”

When Sam says she doesn’t want to go to Wild Wings she means-“I’m feeling overwhelmed and I can’t stand wings because they have 1900 calories before you add the sauce.  I don’t want to go home and make you Top Ramen because you will then turn on the football game and I am so sick of the NFL I can barely breathe. (If the tables were turned and you had to watch ten hours a week of chick stuff you would poke your eyes out too)  I have two huge writing projects I am working on and since you’re already overwhelmed I can’t even ask you for help, but I guarantee you will assume that I will care for the children while you do all your work, and oh, by the way, I still have to get my work done and I guess I will write in my sleep because clearly your crap is more important than mine. Waa Waa.”

It’s never really about “where we are going to lunch?” The fight is always about ten layers deeper than what you are bickering about and it has far more to do with feeling understood, empathized with and cared for.

And the truth is, when our bucket is full and we feel understood, we’d eat just about anything or anywhere (even Wild Wings) and watch endless hours of football for our beloved (remember dating?)

So, where did we go for lunch?

We went to Nordstrom’s Café, (where I wanted to go) and then we came home and I let Tim study. It was a compromise and that’s what we do in marriage.

But it would have been really fun to shake the phone.

 

Comments

  1. Well said, Sam! Sometimes when I am working with single young adults I think about how different they are going to be on the other side of a few years of marriage and a lot of dying to self. Ha ha! Marriage refines us in a way that few things can or will.

    • No doubt! I never knew dyeing to self would involve so much football! I love football, just not twenty hours a week of it. But I do remember dating and I would do anything just to be with Tim. I rode in a tractor, camped in the wild, went crabbing, and generally did all sorts of things that I’m either nuetral or not that wild about.
      But thank God, I am wild about him-so I’m willing to suck it up occasionally!
      Blessings,
      Sam

  2. Years ago, I was admiring the new kitchen countertops in Tim’s MD bachelor pad. He offered me a drink and opened up the fridge, revealing a plethora of homemade concoctions bubbling out of various containers. “I like sauces,” he said nonchalantly, in his Tim way. It seemed like there were more sauces than food products in there. “Wow,” I said. “You sure do.” Truly, the man’s love of sauce is a deep and abiding thing. To love him is to love his sauces.

    • David,
      I call him “Saucasouris” and it took ages for me to be able to fit food in the fridge due to the Costco size vats of condiments. My husband is the most precious quirky dude ever! And yes…he loves his sauces. He would probably tell you “to love Sam is to love looking at the back of her Kindle, since her nose is always buried in it.”

  3. No — it is seldom about where to eat . . . I thought back to the earlier days of our marriage. My husband was a police officer . . . I have this “thing” about authority so I would wait until he had gone and changed clothes before talking to him. Now we laugh at this but it created a few difficulties for us on occasion . . .

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