If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em

As I mentioned in my last post, my husband and I were having some disagreements lately.  I had assumed I would tackle these issues as I always have:  beat him over the head with my point of view until he is bows in submission.

I kid, I kid…kind of.

Well, I have really gone about things differently this time.  To begin with, I set up a bar crawl for him and his three closest friends.  No girls allowed!  (Not sure how thrilled the other fiances/girlfriends were with me for this one.)

I thought this would fix what seemed to be my husband’s early mid-life crisis.  I even offered to make them t-shirts.  “We are not old, douchebags.”  or, “We are not old douchebags.”  Methinks thou doth protest too much.  Okay, no t-shirts.

So, they went out for like 9 hours of drinking in Brooklyn.  They made their own shot glasses (yes, obviously duct tape was included in this project),

they stumbled (I’m assuming.  I wasn’t trailing them.  I swear.) from bar to bar, they ceremoniously shattered said shot glasses at the end of the night,

they were all sick the next day.  It was pure male bliss.

Sigh.  Problem solved.

Err, not quite.

One week later there was another lapse in judgment that I think again grew out of my husband’s current confusion about his age and place on the responsibility scale. (It’s a real thing.  Single 18-year-old male at one end, 30-year-old married parent at the other.)

So, I tried alternative medicine again.  This time I set up a night out for me.  I thought it was just going to be  dinner and a drink with my best friend.  But then, something happened to me once I was out.  Like, something akin to a lobotomy.   I mean, if I was going to experience this whole ‘I am carefree and can do as I please, thankyouverymuch.’ thing, I might as well really do it up.  Right?

So, long story short, mommy came home at 4 am.  Yup, FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING.  It was insane…insanely FUN, that is.  There were Skinny Girl margaritas (actually, this place called them the ‘Flaca’), dive bars, frat bars and even what seemed to be a ‘pop up’ bar.  We were pretty sure we were going to come by in the daylight and that last bar would not actually exist.  It was an odd little place.  And then, after a tequila shot (or 5) we  even did Karaoke!  I asked the DJ what the most obnoxious, overly requested, someone shoot me in the head, song was.  So we got up there and belted out some, you guessed it:  Journey. (Actually, I thought it was going to be Madonna or Jon Bon Jovi.)

Dooooon’t stop.   Belieeeeeevin’…Hold on to this feeeeEEeeeeling!

So apropros.

Around 3 am we headed to Amy Ruth’s for some amazing soul food.  Way better than the 3 am pizza we used to order in college.  I have really matured.

And then I headed home.  “Here we go,” I thought, “He is going to be so worried that I was out so late without calling.  Now he will understand what it feels like.  Ohhhh yeah, I got him right where I want him.”

Is that? Do I hear snoring? Baby?  Are you pretending to sleep?  I’m home. Hey! Hello!  Did you hear me? I am home safe.

The next morning:  So, what time did you get in last night?

4 am!  You didn’t notice I wasn’t home earlier?  You didn’t picture me in a gutter somewhere?  Really?

No, I trust you.

Um, it’s not about trust…weren’t you worried about my safety?

No, you’re smart.  You wouldn’t put yourself in an unsafe situation.

Grrrr.  This is not going how I imagined…

Okay, so I tried giving him what I thought he wanted and sending him out for a debaucherous night with his friends.

I tried giving him a taste of his own medicine and staying out with my friend.

I am starting to feel like Goldilocks.  Let’s try option number three.

Let’s go out and act young and carefree together.

Yes, this one fit juuuuust right.

The next night we both went out with my best friend and his sisters. (His mom was in town and watched the boys.)  You know what?  It was a really fun night.  Like, really fun. And things between us seemed good. Like, really good.

(This is the only photographic proof I could find so that you believe me that we actually went out.  I had to crop my husband out though, because he does not want his name or photo used on here.  He is a business – man.  And no, he is not the one with the skinny jeans and a vest, although that is the person responsible for buying dapper vests for Carlos Eli.)

Okay, so we still need to have a serious conversation about some stuff, but honestly,  things are a whole lot better.  The truth is that we both were probably sitting too far out on opposite ends of the spectrum.  And I was ready to just tell him how he needs to reel himself in and come sit where I am.  I have to say though, that going out every once in awhile is probably pretty healthy for us as a couple, which makes us better parents.

I am totally setting up a date, just us, for next Friday.  And he totally came straight home from class last night.

We can do this.