All the Other Wives

 I understand that this pandemic has put people on edge, but I must say to my husband, "Seriously, Bill?"

Everything I've read had led me to believe that my husband did not fit the vaccine criteria for Pennsylvania.  I've been vaccinated (once PA opened up to teachers).  My older daughter, as a student teacher, also got hers.  My younger daughter got hers through West Virginia University (and shoutout to West Virginia for excelling at vaccine rollout).  Bill was not so lucky.  So sad for him that he's healthy and not over 65.  

Turns out, the fellas at work (who are also healthy and under 65) were getting jabbed left and right.  Apparently, their wives were somehow finding them appointments.  I Googled about and still didn't see a way for him to get his.  He hit the Google himself and found that he does indeed qualify, because (having lost an inch due to age and gained ten pounds due to pandemic), his BMI qualifies him as obese.  To which I said, "Sorry for thinking you weren't fat."  I then was able to quickly find him an appointment at our monolithic grocery chain Giant Eagle.  

Was I deluged with gratitude?  Did I hear, "It just took me five minutes to see that I qualify.  All the other wives got their husbands vaccines a long time ago"?  The answers to only one of these questions is yes.  And, wow, is that triggering!  Flashed right back to when I was shopping for wedding gowns, and the proprietors would chide me with, "Well, all the other brides...."  And to when I was a new mom in the hospital and didn't want my newborn sleeping in the room with me (because I rightly guessed it would be my last chance to sleep through the night),  and heard from the nurses, "Well, all the other mothers...."  

I read in the Washington Post that most husbands have had their vaccine appointments scheduled by their wives.  I'm sure that no man has ever heard, "Well, all the other grooms..."  And I know for an un-researched fact that no man was ever told by a medical professional, "Well, all the other fathers...."

To be fair, Bill did later make a point of thanking me.  To be unfair, I stayed mad until the next morning.  

Mamma Mia

This past Christmas was one of the smoothest of holidays between my mother and me.  I had challenged myself to just shut up for a change, instead of lashing back at every perceived provocation.  Even my kids noticed that I was doing better.  But I guess the karma in my house requires a certain level of maternal confrontation because, as I eased up, my husband (for the first time) laid in.  Normally my husband and mother love to chatter away (most often about my failings, but who cares), and he treats her with the respect and love she has earned.  This Christmas found him irritable and rude, overall much prickier than his usual self (not a typo for "pricklier," but an adjective meaning "more of a prick").  He ended up snapping at my mom several times, even raising his voice in annoyance.  I was so embarrassed (for myself and for him) and hurt (for my mom).  On the day my mom was leaving, after my husband had gone to work, I apologized for his behavior.  She told me that he'd already done so and that they'd had a good talk.  She finished with the pronouncement, "Body of Work, Cathy, Body of Work" in which she is a true believer.  With my mom, she can forgive specific injustices if a person's overall behavior is decent.  When she forgives, as she did my husband, she forgives.  I envy her inability to hold a grudge.  She seems to think that one bad moment should not ruin an entire day, whereas I can sulk it out for an entire weekend (and I can't seem to grasp that this ruins my weekend, too).

When the whole mother/daughter dynamic starts making me a nutcase, I flash back to a moment last Thanksgiving.  (The background:  when my dad left after 36 years of marriage, she was devastated and alone.  After a few years, she began a romance with a friend whose wife had died after a very long marriage that spawned thirteen children.  As the whole email thing was taking hold, she pushed her friend to send out a daily email to his kids, just as a quick update of things going on in his life.  On occasions like Mother's Day, she would push him to mention his wife in his notes, because she's like that.  As she's said many times, "Why on Earth would I be jealous of a dead woman.")  We're sitting at the breakfast table Thanksgiving morning as my mom checks her email.  She says, "Awwww," with that face that shows you think something is sentimental and sweet, and starts reading an email aloud.  It's from her friend/partner/boyfriend/whatever-you say-when-someone's-over-70.  He writes in his note to his kids (which he also sends to friends, my sister and me, and other relatives) that Thanksgiving was his and "mom's" anniversary, and he goes into detail about their wedding day, their hopes and dreams, and their good life together.  And my mom tears up a bit.  Not because she's jealous (see:  me), but because she thinks it's such a kind and loving note that will mean so much to his kids.  That's how she is. I (and my husband and kids) should be so lucky if I became more like her.