Muhahua! I’ve actually been having a few days of cackling gallows humor over Matt’s post, “Poor Meal Planning Can Ruin Your Marriage.”
The post is well written and poignant, it is not that, it is just that I am such an extreme case of absolutely devastating epic fail on my family’s part to recognize the importance, the emotional significance of allowing a woman to have some control of her kitchen. It is not entirely their fault, we have had extenuating circumstances.
We have had so many extenuating circumstances, events seem to have organized an entire battalion against me and left me flattened out like a bit of collateral damage, muttering incoherently and making snow angels on what is left of my kitchen floor.
I have to laugh, because she who laughs lasts, and I am so far beyond the struggles of simple meal planning or men who don’t help with household chores, so over the edge and off the cliff, I am a bit like the Road Runner now on a permanent plunge into the abyss. It is so ludicrous as to be downright cartoonish and all I can really do is run about going “Beep, Beep,” and hoping Wiley Coyote is not hiding around the next corner.
My kitchen situation is one of those life issues that I cannot change, I cannot accept, and I cannot adapt to. That is how we survive, we either change it, accept it, or adapt to it. When you have a situation where none of those solutions will work, you have a real problem.
Marriage is often just one act of forgiveness after another. Then there is the acceptance that things are not always going to turn out exactly like you pictured them. Then there is the adapting which often involves finding other ways to get your needs met.
Did I mention the importance, the emotional significance of allowing a woman to have some control of her kitchen? Yes, I probably did.
I now have no kitchen of my own, it’s very small, more like a hallway to the kid’s rooms really, so a high traffic area already, one that is often in the process of some form of remodeling or another. It is completely owned by others, often my son, my daughter, their friends, my husband, my mother. It is such a hangout, sometimes I feel as if I should knock before I go in there.
Our kitchen is also like a black hole, a quasar for power and control and dominance, like people playing king of the hill. Like anyone vastly outnumbered in a game of tug of war, I did the only thing I could, I simply dropped the rope and walked away.
It’s a tough one, I have to tell you. Did I mention the importance, the emotional significance of allowing a woman to have some control of her kitchen? Yes, I probably did.
The hardest part is my husband’s desire to keep the peace when I really think he should have backed me up. He did not. My husband doesn’t understand, he said, “it’s just a kitchen, let it go,” but it wasn’t just a kitchen at all, it was my status in this household, it was my position, it was my territory, it was how I showed my family love.