Jack Has Always Been a Giver...

I recently learned that my good friend Bill’s little sister is expecting quadruplets. That’s FOUR babies at once – and with no fertility assistance whatsoever. Apparently Bill’s sister is just naturally outrageously fertile. Anyway, as Jack and I were driving to visit his parents the other day, I mentioned this news.

“Quadruplets….that’s FOUR, right?”

“Yep,” I confirmed.

“Wow, that’s a lot….I mean, what if they didn’t want a family that big?”

“Um…too bad, I guess? I mean, it’s not like they used fertility treatments or anything. Maybe they were just meant to have a big family?”

Jack really hadn’t even been listening. He just sort of picked up where he left off – “…like, do they have to have them all? Or could they maybe have them all and then pick the 2 they wanted and give the others away?”

“WHAT? Give away two of your babies?? And keep two?? How would you decide which ones to keep??”

"I’d give away the girls, and keep the boys. That's what I'd do."

Of course at this point I was livid, because whenever Jack and I discuss how scary it will be to someday raise children, he always says he hopes he only has boys, because raising daughters would be too difficult. Like most men, you see, Jack points to the fact that he “knows what teenage boys think about all the time” - and therefore wouldn’t want his daughters around teenage boys. Best to just GIVE THEM AWAY, I guess?

As soon as we got to Jack’s parents’ house, I had to tell them this story – that Jack planned to give away the girls if he ever had quadruplets. He got a good talking-to about that.

I think my work here is done.

Oh, and the illustration above? That’s me crying because Jack is FORCING me to give away my daughters, whilst happily clutching his precious sons. RUDE!

Getting Our Zen On! (Sort Of)

Hi, it's me, Jill. I'd like to tell you a little story about last night. Sometime last week I asked Jack if he would be up for going to a meditation class with me. I have always wanted to try it but just never done it (that's what she said). Since he is pretty adventurous, he said yes. So last night was meditation date!

A couple things you should know: Jack and I are not very patient people. It hasn't really been a problem in our relationship so far because a) it's not like we're impatient with each other (usually), and b) we're both quite aware of the fact that we could improve ourselves in that regard, so I think we both make something of an effort. His parents are routinely asking me how I manage with his lack of patience, and honestly it hasn't been that bad except when he's behind the wheel of a car. Then WATCH OUT. One time, we were behind a woman in the left turn lane, waiting to turn left onto a one way street. You can turn left onto a one way on a red light, you see. But this poor woman didn't know that. I thought Jack was going to lose it for the 15 seconds we sat there. After the turn, he actually pulled up next to her and had her roll down her window so that he could tell her "you know, you can turn left on a red light there because you're turning onto a one way". Her English seemed limited, and she just said "no, no, no", and drove off. Jack felt like he had performed a public service. I felt like I should duck and hide from embarrassment.

Anyway, because I would like to work on my patience, and because so many people recommend meditation for those of us who are Type A (him) and moderately insane (me), I decided this would be a good thing to check out - for both of us. Jack agreed to go, but afterward, he definitely disagreed on the benefit of meditation in helping him build some patience. "That is the WORST way I could try to improve my patience. I sat there frustrated the whole time. I mean, when he said look at the floor but un-focus your eyes, what did that mean? It's physically impossible."

"Well, I think you missed the point, honey..."

"Point? You think there was a POINT to that nonsense? Was the point to BE DRIVEN INSANE?"

"Um...no. But I actually meant that I think you missed the point on the not focusing thing. You know how if you focus on something your eyes will start to hurt? Well, they don't want you to do that because it sort of defeats the purpose of relaxing, you know?"

"But how am I supposed to NOT focus my eyes? They're MADE to focus. That's how I can SEE."

At this point, honestly, I was losing my patience with dear Jack. I mean, he just refused to admit that maybe you could look into space and NOT focus, but lots of Buddhist monks everywhere would disagree with him. And I was disagreeing with him because I am disagreeable.

The moral of the story is that Jack won't be going back to the Zen Center any time soon. Instead, I think he'll just continue to enlighten people on traffic laws where ever he goes. Because if he doesn't, WHO WILL?

Did You Just Say That I Don't Listen?

* Black text = Jill; Red text = Jack *

_____________

Jack has been upset with me lately. He claims I don't listen to a word he says. He got this (mistaken) idea because I may have asked him several times why he has a scar on his abdomen; I tell him I like his shoes and ask if they are they new even though apparently he's worn them around me many times before; and because I say things like "I'm sorry, were you talking again?" with regularity. I don't get how you take all that and add it up to "Jill doesn't listen to a word I say", but apparently that's what he's done. (Editor’s note: Jack had a few suggestions for improving this paragraph, but Jill wasn’t listening to any of his suggestions.) This is troubling for me. You see, I have always prided myself on being a good listener. (Please tell me you’re joking. That’s like Jeffrey Dahmer priding himself on always being a good nutritionist.)

The problem, I think, is not that I'm a bad listener - I think it's more that my memory is what you might call "lacking". (Actually, the problem is that you’re a bad listener. But you’re probably not listening to me right now anyway.) Well let me revise that - my memory is what you might call "selectively lacking". For example, if Jack were to tell me my ass looked "huge in those jeans", I can guarantee you I would never, ever, ever, ever forget that. But when he tells me about the time he had The Appendicitis, it takes a few times to sink in. You'd think I could just put 2 and 2 together (scar on right side of abdomen about the size of an appendix = he probably had appendicitis), but I also tend to open my mouth and yap before I really think anything through. "Heyyyy, what happened here? Why do you have a scar??" This is usually met with "Are you serious? You don't remember? I HAD MY APPENDIX OUT! DON'T YOU LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY?"

(The scar is what triggers your memory?!?! How about the STORY? My parents were up North and I was under the care of an irresponsible older brother? Said brother responded to my cries-for-help by accusing me of drinking a bottle of vodka and telling me that it was “normal to have an upset stomach”? Said brother later refused to bring me to the hospital to prove a point about the dangers of underage drinking? He then left me lifeless on my bathroom floor doing face-down snow angels in a pool of my own vomit? Is any of this ringing a bell? How about the part where the doctor who was performing my ultrasound started bulging his eyes in amazement when he saw how close my swollen appendix was to exploding?!?!?! How do you forget a story like that – especially after it’s been told to you a handful of times?) He gets kinda cranky, if we're being honest. (I get cranky when you forget about my near-death experience. You get cranky when I don’t notice which specific strands of your blonde hair were highlighted blonder.)

To remedy this situation, I have been trying extra hard lately to remember things that he says. He suggested carrying around a notebook, and while I considered that, I think it might be insulting (not to mention tedious) to write down everything he says as he says it. My suggestion was that he should just say much more interesting things, like "Jill, you are so beautiful!" and "Jill, you are like the sunshine in my world; without you, everything would be pure darkness." (Just to clarify…your suggestion is that I start lying?) Those things would be easy to remember, you know? In addition, I have decided that when I see him wearing shoes that I think are new, I'm going to keep my trap shut. This might get me in trouble at some point when he's actually wearing new ones and wants me to notice, but I'm willing to take my chances. (I will never, ever, ever “get cranky” if you fail to praise me for my fresh kicks. But if you ask me one more time about the scar on my abdomen…)

(By the way, your ass looks huge in those jeans.) [Now Jack is in trouble. BIG trouble.]