Couples' Therapy

Sam and I have just finished watching the first season of In Treatment, the HBO series about the clinical psychologist who ends up seeking therapy for himself. The series takes the pattern of his week, with a rotation of episodes in which he sees the same patients, ending with his own therapy session every fifth episode. The episodes are only 30 minutes long, and each of them is basically a conversation between two characters--in some cases, almost a monologue by one character. It could easily be performed on a stage set with just two chairs. And yet, even without a lot of filmic pyrotechnics, it's totally fascinating. We keep stopping the DVD to comment on the characters and their narration of their actions and motives. It has led to us talking a lot about marriage, particularly about what people (safely fictional ones) do to sustain or sabotage their marriages.

I've been interested in this because, as I've mentioned before, I'm curious about marriage, and about how to do the daily nitty-gritty of it. The abundant advice to put the spark back into marriage through the scheduling of dates and the purchase of candles or lingerie does not really get to the heart of what I am interested in thinking about. Those, to me, don't seem like the challenging issues. I mean, Sam and I really like hanging out, and we get to do so pretty regularly these days; AC is in bed by 8, and we get out by ourselves pretty much every week for at least a meal or something.

But what I wonder about are things like, how do we ensure that in five or ten or eighteen years, we still want the same things (besides parenthood)? Or, how do we ensure that--since we will inevitably want different things in some aspects of our lives--we are both satisfied and happy? I know, communication, blah, blah, blah. But I've noticed that sometimes unhappiness seems to creep up on people--the way you hear about people just waking up and walking out, having had some kind of real or false revelation. I'm not worried that one of us is going to do that, but I do wonder how you can tell how choices in the present will affect you and your marriage down the road.

For example, Sam is less satisfied career-wise than I am. Our school has a lot of resource issues that directly affect his work. He has to have regular, elaborate, time-consuming fights to get the software and equipment he needs, and he has to spend a lot of time maintaining computer labs and networks and doing things that are better supported at some other places. Me, I need basically just a room with working lights, a chalkboard, and a piece of chalk--and it would be much harder for me to find another job than it would be for him (2000 new PhDs last year, and 200 jobs). So my motivation to leave is low, and my prospects are not great; his motivation is high, and his prospects would be good. I don't want to give up my career right now; I love being able to spend a lot of time with Allison Clare and still have the intellectual and social outlet (inlet?) of working. But I also see Sam's professional discouragement as having a big impact on his overall morale and enjoyment of life, whereas I can envision multiple lifestyles for myself that I would enjoy. And who knows, down the road, how either of us would feel--me if somehow our choices led to my taking a job I didn't love as much, or Sam if he remained here and continued to feel discouraged in an area of his life that he usually loves?

This is only one of the questions that I wonder how, as a couple, you figure out. We talk and talk--we are big "communicators" and are both expressers of our feelings, ad nauseum I'm sure. But I wonder, how is it that we figure out what our particular marriage should look like down the road?

A "Win-Win" Situation

Like her daddy, Allison Clare is always pleading for things that I am trying to ration. She'll ask to watch Ernie singing "Rubber Ducky" online over and over again, or she'll want cup after cup of juice, which we try to limit since if she had her way, she would drink juice all day and eat no real food. The other day, while asking to see Elmo and Kermit figuring out the meaning of loud and quiet for the millionth time (another Sesame Street snippet available on Youtube, and a favorite of Mommy and Daddy's since we are hoping the lesson will sink in), she looked up at me imploringly and seriously and said, "Win. Win." I didn't get it, and she kept repeating it, nodding slowly while staring intently at me (another of her persuasive tactics--the slow, "join me" nod): "Win. Win." Then she held up one tiny finger. "Win. Win."

I guess that even though she doesn't actually know what "one" means, she has figured out that when I say yes, it is often followed by "Just one." Just one Kleenex for you to pull out of the box and pretend to blow your nose with. Just one cookie. Just one song. For her, "one" is permissive in some magic and mysterious way.

We've been counting with her, and she has a rough understanding of one and five, but nothing in between. If we hold up 2-4 fingers, she unfolds the rest and then announces, "Five!" But the reason I think she doesn't have a very good grasp of the meaning of "one" is that when I was putting her to bed, I asked her, "Are you ready to go to bed now?" And she said, "No no no. One. One." One what?, one wonders, and one may never know.

Teamwork

Sam's and my life together has always seemed to require a great deal of coordination. First, there was the work on the house, which meant that along with our actual jobs on campus, we were rushing over to the house before, between, and after classes to let contractors in, answer questions, buy supplies, finish up projects, etc.

Then we moved in, the work slowed down briefly, and we had Allison Clare. When I went back to teaching, we reactivated our tag-team plan of action, and between the two of us and a cadre of babysitters, housecleaners, and other students (Sam always has some helping him with one project or another), we have been getting by. And it's all good--busy, but good. This year, one of my favorite students is nannying for us for a few hours every day, and it has given us a world of flexibility so that we can both be on campus at the same time.

But still, occasionally, it all catches up with us. Last night, I put AC's diapers into the washer, ran them through a wash cycle, and restarted the washer for an extra rinse or two (the usual routine). I was sleepy, so Sam volunteered to throw them into the dryer after the last rinse. This morning after class, I went down to the basement and re-started the dryer for a few more minutes--it takes about a cycle and a half to get them totally dry, and we have it down to a science by now, so I didn't even look into the dryer.

Then before heading back to school this afternoon, I went to pull them out so that the babysitter could fold them when she first arrived (among her other angelic qualities, she has asked for chores to do while AC is napping). But when I opened the dryer--it was empty. Sam had started the dryer without putting the diapers in (because he thought he was re-starting it for the second cycle? because he had already taken an Ambien?) and run it empty. Then I had re-started the dryer, while the diapers remained in the washer the whole time.

Is life too complicated? Or are we just too absentminded for it?

Halloween Typecasting