Are You a Lizard or a Yak?

We have both species living in our house. As a lizard, I could happily lay in a California desert sunning myself on a rock. My husband, on the other hand, wants to start opening the windows when it is 55 degrees out.

Our children have species preferences, also. Ben would like to wear shorts (or nothing at all) through the year and has definite yak tendencies. Jake on the other hand, leans toward the lizard side, snuggling under blankets if his clothes or pajamas are too thin. To be fair we added another category, the Lizaks and the Yazards, for those who fall somewhere in the middle.

Why do these species differences matter? Ask any yak-lizard couple and they will tell you, it is just one more cultural difference that needs to be negotiated in this  Happy-to-be-Stuck-With-You journey.  

And it’s just not yaks and lizards. Another species conflict comes when night owls marry early birds. John could happily go to sleep every night at 9. I actually have a sleep specialist’s recommendation NOT to go to bed before 11-11:30. Even that is early for those most entrenched in the night owl tradition! 

What about you? Are you a yak or lizard, night owl or early bird, or maybe you have your own species delineations needing to be crossed.

On a previous post, Dianne commented that marriage is “more like a business than anything else.” We actually negotiated the bedtime dilemma. John agreed to stay up until 10 if I agreed to go to bed then. Fortunately we didn’t sign it and make it legally binding. I am thankful for my husband’s patient grace, because I regularly renege on my end of the deal! 

I agree that marriage can be more like a business, but it makes a difference if your partner doesn’t hold you strictly to your part of the deal and if you let them slide on a few things, too.

This all came up because our wood stove is still not working. In this snowy weather, the lizard in me declared that I was not going to get out of bed all day. The boys were welcome to come up and watch tv, play games and read with me, but I was not planning on leaving that warm, snuggly goodness for our cold, poorly heat managed environment. 

My husband promptly tried to get the stove going, smoked up the whole house and I had to take action to get Jake (who has asthma) bundled up, out of the smoky air and playing outside in the snow (which he really wanted anyway, not truly being a full-grown lizard). 

Good thing we hadn’t written out a snowy day clause, granting me warm, snuggly bed privileges, because I might have had to call a lawyer.

When Husbands are away, Wives will...burn the house down?

OK, not burn it down necessarily. Just fill it with smoke. All three floors, so that you can see the sun's rays shining in every window of the house and I thought about calling the fire department. Briefly. I didn't manage the wood stove well, so when I came home from running errands it was like a San Francisco fog had descended upon my house. All cleared up now, but shwew!

John is the keeper of the flame in our house. Also the keeper of the plumbing and electricity tools, as well as the deep-voiced, "Knock-It-Off!" authority for three boys aged 7 to 14.

When he travels, I assume those responsibilities and pray that nothing too major happens. I have told him frequently that if anything goes wrong with our water filtering system (5 tanks, 15 valves, countless switches), I am turning it off, calling the plumber and we'll drink bottled water until he comes home.

I'm not always upset when he leaves. All you husband-traveling wives, please attest to the fact that I am not alone in this, before everyone else thinks I'm a bit heartless. John and I have different opinions on just about everything from where the sponge goes to the second coming of our Lord. So, sometimes it's a little easier to go it on my own and get to do everything my way. The adjustment when he gets back is a little hard, but that first night of feeding the kids cereal and staying up later than I'm supposed to feeds my inner teenager a little bit, I think.

Add to that my questions about our marriage. It seems like any little thing can spur a 'passionate discussion'...and not the ooh la la kind of passion, either. Sometimes we're just not compatible. I want to have deep theological, emotional conversations and he wants to cut and stack wood. I want to go out and dance and be in crowds and he's happy staying at home - in the middle of the woods - watching the military channel. He recently told me his ideal place to go live is in Montana, on a large property, and do what I don't know. For a California-born, extroverted lizard like me that seems a bit extreme.

Then, Smokageddon happens - along with a non-stop running toilet upstairs and three rowdy boys wanting my attention all at once - and I'm sorry he's gone. Is that cold and selfish? Purely utilitarian?

When my sister-in-law, Fran, was trying to get me to date John, one of my hold-ups was that he is a 'Sensor' in the Myers-Briggs personality indicators. That means  his five senses are the primary way he takes in information. I had dated a lot of "S's" and really wanted to date an "N" (someone who quickly takes in sense information and than thinks abstractly about it - often missing little details like time and distance, etc.). I happen to be the more abstract one. When I told Fran this (who is married to Harry - an "N"), she said, "You know, sometimes it's nice to have an 'S' around the house." She was right.

I don't know what the answer is...my idealistic self wants to hold onto my image of marriage as two souls united at all levels. The kind of marriage you read about in the self-help books and hear about on talk shows. But still we need help, don't we? Someone who's good at the bills if we're not. Someone who will mow the lawn while the other does the dishes (no gender claims to either one, by the way!). The practical, two people needing each other to survive and manage is an important part, too.

Today I am thankful for my husband who is the CEO of our house maintenance and Leader of our boys. I may have a fit about him not 'getting' me tomorrow, but then maybe I'll smell the smoke-infested couches, pillows, and clothes and remember that it's not all about the touchy-feely stuff.

I think I'll take a smoke-filled towel and put it in a ziploc bag just to remind myself! ;-)