My husband doesn’t know that I blog. I mean he does, but I think what that means to him and what it means to me are two different things. We have this chronic issue between us – Girl Brain versus Boy Brain. Blogging is one of those things that are involved in that fight. We’re like a science experiment, gone awry.
To him, blogging means the MLB hotstove rumors and political commentary on the Huffington Post. To me it’s a mental exercise and exorcism.
Girl Brain and Boy Brain fight a lot. Not in a marital discord way, but in a vying for a strategic win sort of way. As a matter of fact, Girl Brain V. Boy Brain has prevented marital discord on occasion. A little argument starts about something trivial, it escalates and then – Wait a minute, this is a Girl Brain/Boy Brain thing.
Then we move into dissecting the difference between the two thought processes and we move through our differences. Here’s a recent, minor example:
“Can you snap out Quinn’s clothes before you fold them?”
“I don’t want to send him to school with wrinkled clothes and I’m not ironing at 6:30 in the morning.”
“Who cares if his clothes are wrinkled? He’s a little boy. He’s covered in dirt within 8 seconds anyway.”
“I’m not worried about the dirt, I’m worried about the wrinkles. It looks like we don’t care.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do, Can you please just snap the wrinkles out before you fold them? It literally takes less than a fraction of a second.”
This is the type of exchange that could escalate in some households. But he stopped.
“Wait a second, is this one of your Girl Brain/Boy Brain things? You don’t care if he’s dirty, but you care if he’s wrinkled. Why, oh-great-and-logical-girl-brain, would that be?” (We speak in sarcasm a lot, too)
“I get the Bad Mom badge if he’s wrinkly. We’re responsible for caring for him, and if he’s wrinkly, he looks unkept. And that means I’m unkeeping him. (We also make up words) I’ll be That Mom again. I hate being That Mom. If he’s just dirty, that’s fine. It means I’ve been letting him play, be a kid. That is points in my favor. And even if it isn’t, there’s plenty of justification – He’s dirty because I’m not so anal as to prevent him from being a kid and playing in the mud, as opposed to, He’s wrinkly because I’m too lazy to iron. Or snap out the clothes before folding them.
If one of us can bring it back around to the original point that neatly, it’s a win.
He stared at me for a second, processing my Girl Brain Logic with his Boy Brain. Then he snapped out the pants he was folding and neatly put them in the dresser.
But sometimes Boy Brain wins. And that is why boy doesn’t know that I blog. Girl Brain feels the need to mentally purge, and to get some of the random that’s rattling around up there out, to make room for other stuff. Sometimes it’s almost like thinking out loud. But I’m rarely passing along fascinating baseball rumors or encapsulating what is wrong with society within a carefully constructed nest of witty remarks.
So, Girl Brain is a bit of a coward. And at some point, She’s going to have to put on her big-girl panties and share, because that’s what we do. If I could just figure out what he’s going to think . . .