"How Would You Like That Cooked?"

By now, most people are at least aware of the concept of "Love Languages." It's the idea that each person values something as the most important component of a relationship, so they will try to provide it for their partner. People who value financial security and/or gift giving will work extra hours in order to give expensive gifts. But, if their partner values time spent together, they will be disappointed that their partner chooses to stay longer than necessary at work instead of come home to them, and they will view gifts as a failed attempt to "buy" their affection.

I was truly unaware that there are so many other instances in which the idea people think they're presenting is not what others see or hear - ordinary instances of everyday words or actions. I'm still often taken by surprise - when someone tells me that my definition of the word "evolution" is the "wrong" definition, for instance. (I mean, I always figured that the dictionary had the final say on what words mean. Now, people tell me that "popular usage" is the most important thing, but that changes extremely frequently, by location, etc. That's almost like having no definition at all.)

It makes living with other humans, even in a community, much less in a shared home, difficult.

Allow me to demonstrate with an argument about: steak. Sincerely; bear with me.

I've mentioned before that when I was a newlywed, my husband had a really hard time with the way I prepared food.

"I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!

(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")" "The Right Way," July 2013)
I found it bizarre and unfathomable. If I'd insisted on making his food the way I liked it, I'd understand, but this was my own food.

My husband loves steak. If he could have only one meal, for the rest of his life, it would be steak and eggs, medium rare, over easy, with wheat toast.

Quite often, the way he cooks his steak looks, to me, like there's nothing "medium" about it, and it's straight up rare. I do not like rare meat, even medium rare meat. I don't need it to be all the way to "well done," but I can't stand it raw looking or tasting. This really disturbed my husband. Not puzzled, but sincerely upset him.

He kept trying to get me to "just try it" his way, and I kept repeating that I had tried it, and that's how I know that I don't like it. Then one day he said, "You just haven't ever had a really good cut of meat, properly prepared." Well, OK, maybe there was something to that. Money was tight when I was growing up; expensive cuts of meat were not on the menu. So, my husband went shopping, bought (ridiculously expensive) steaks, and cooked them, and proudly served me dinner. "You'll see," he said.

He was so delighted with his dinner. "Isn't this great?" he kept saying. "So tender! Doesn't it just melt in your mouth?"

NO. It did not "melt" in my mouth. It was not "tender." It was like chewing rubber bands - the chewing did not actually change the size, shape, or texture of the meat. My teeth just kind of bounced off of it. And the longer I chewed, the more it seemed that the meat actually absorbed my saliva, and got larger and larger. This might be OK if I just loved the taste, but I didn't. It tasted bloody, like when you've just had dental work, or accidentally bite yourself. It was barely edible. I knew this from previous experience, but this was particularly bad, as he'd left it so rare that I expected it to still moo.

I tried to respond without hurting his feelings, but finally said, "I just can't eat this. It's barely even cooked." I got up and tossed it back on the pan. When it was done, I happily ate the whole thing, and complimented his seasoning and choice of steak. "That was really good."

"Yes, it was good - and then you ruined it."

Well, I expected a bit of a huff, since he felt that I'd criticized his cooking.

I also expected that to be the final word. We were done now, I was sure. We'd tested every hypothesis, and I just do not like rare meat. Now we could quit discussing it.

But we, apparently, could not. If anything, he wanted more discussion, and he got more and more agitated.

I'd order my meat medium well at restaurants, and he'd say, "You're offending the chef. They don't like it when people want the meat well done."

I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, now you're psychic?" but said, "He's getting paid the same, no matter how I want it. He doesn't care. Besides, I didn't ask for well done. I asked for medium well."

"The chefs hate that. And they don't give you the good cuts then. They give you the old stuff or the tough stuff that other people won't eat."

"So, they'll be happy I'm using up their surplus, and paying the same as you are. And I'll be happy, too." I could not imagine that there could be a down side to this.

He did not see it this way. He was sure that I was being "rude" by ordering my food the way that I liked it; I could not imagine how that was possible.

I took to ordering chicken; I was informed that this, too, was "offensive." "You should always order the specialty of the house. The chef hates it when people come to a steakhouse and order chicken."

Me: "So, the chef will be angry if you order literally half of what's on the menu? Why does he work here? And how do you psychically know what he's thinking?"

Him: "Because that's what most people think."

Me: "WHAT?" Now he can read the mind of not only the chef, but "most" of the population? And I still didn't know, even if he could, why they got to choose my meals. I wasn't choosing theirs!

At home, I took care to cook his steak the way he liked it. Mine, of course, I cooked the way I like it. I was sure that my husband would be happy that I was being considerate enough to remember what he liked, and make it for him. I felt like a very attentive wife. I was therefore very puzzled when he was not happy, and did not consider this behavior to be considerate, but instead insisted that I was being self centered. "How can giving you what you like possibly self centered?" I wanted to know.

"Because you know how to do it right, and insist on doing it wrong."

"'Right' is however a person likes it!"

"Most people like their beef on the rare side."

"I am not cooking for 'most people!' I am cooking for specific individuals, not random passers by! And I am making sure that each person gets what they like, not what strangers might want!"

It made no sense at all to me.

I also could not understand why this was a big deal. Statistically, we were supposed to be arguing about money, sex, in-laws, chores, child rearing - and we're stuck on food. FOOD.

After literally years of this, I finally discovered a few things that finally shed some light.

One, my husband did not see this as a disagreement or a misunderstanding. He was positive that I knew exactly what he meant, and why, and my insistence on making my own food outside of what he considered to be the norm was a posturing attempt to dominate, control, and assert that I was the Alpha in the relationship. Holy cow. I never would have gotten that interpretation, not in a million years. I did, however, think that his behavior was controlling. (I mean, who tells people how they should like their food? Also, I think that if you have an Alpha in the relationship, it's unhealthy.)

Two, he was sure that if you disagreed with someone (about anything, really), you thought, and were saying, that they were stupid. ("If you thought they were smart, you'd agree with them.") He therefore felt criticized and judged - ironically, exactly how I felt.

Three, he was sure that there was only one best way to do anything, and that people should be concerned with doing anything "right," so individual tastes were irrelevant. Saying, "Bob likes it this way, but Susie likes it that way" was the same as saying, "We're doing a really mediocre job, and encouraging chaos and selfishness." It didn't matter how you liked it, it mattered what was right. And if you liked things the wrong way, you should be embarrassed, and should stop doing it wrong, no matter how you felt. Who wants to be wrong? And if you point out to someone that they're wrong, you're being helpful.

Wow. This was not how I was raised:

"I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal... The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality." ("The Right Way")

This was not a matter of morals or physics, and therefore, to my mind, there was no possible way to be "wrong."

Four, the fact that I kept using the word "I" confirmed to him that I thought my opinion was the only thing that mattered, and I was therefore, by definition, being selfish and self centered. When I said, "I like it this way," he heard, "I do not ever need to consider anyone but myself."

On the other hand, I had studied communication in school. Plus, I'd approached marriage the same way I approached anything, by reading voluminous amounts. I knew that making "I" statements is what psychologists and relationship experts advise. It tells your partner what you're thinking and what you need, and avoids inflammatory, blame placing statements like, "You make me so mad."

Five, he thought that he was being a considerate partner by looking beyond what I was saying to try to figure out what I "really meant." He also thought that being vague avoided putting people on the spot, or hurting feelings. I thought that I was being a considerate partner, and avoiding misunderstanding, by being clear and literal, and taking what he said at face value. I thought that he'd appreciate my lack of game playing, and avoiding infuriating behaviors like, "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." I find vagueness infuriating and unhelpful.

And you can be sure, all of this affected far more than our discussions about steak.

Holy. Cow.

So, now knowing these things, are we living in perfect harmony? HA HA! You're so cute! No. But understanding is indeed the first step.

What we try to do is consider our partner's style. It's not a case of, "I'm right, you're wrong." Intent is important.

He has to try to remember take what I say at face value, without looking for ulterior motives. I have to try to remember that he may not actually be saying everything that he wants me to know.

Of course, he still thinks that the way I like my steak is weird. I think it's weird that the way I like my steak concerns him. But we've learned how to avoid arguing about it.

You know when you hear that someone's getting a divorce, and one partner says, "I was completely blindsided. I had no idea my spouse was unhappy," and the other says, "My spouse knows perfectly well why we're divorcing! S/he knows that I'm unhappy, and that I've been this way for a long time! This cannot be a surprise!" I understand now how that happens.

What you think you're saying may not be what other people are hearing.

Staying At Home

Maybe it's because my youngest child just graduated from high school; maybe not. I've had several conversations lately about how people view, and speak to, stay at home parents, young parents, and especially, heaven forbid, young stay at home parents. It's often not pretty.

I got married at 20, had babies at 20 and 21, and was a stay at home mom. To make matters, in many people's eyes, worse, we lived in small, rural communities for close to 10 years.

Many sincere, well intentioned people had feelings that fell on a scale from puzzled to horrified. It was - it is - a struggle for me to understand why.

I mean, they had reasons, they told me their reasons, but I couldn't quite make out what those reasons had to do with me, personally.

Sometimes, those reasons were phrased as concern for my mental and emotional state. "Wouldn't you feel better about yourself if you were bringing in money?" No. I'd still have the exact same IQ, abilities, knowledge, skills, and talents, no matter what I did with my days. I'm really unclear on why people expected the way I felt about myself to depend on factors outside of myself. I was certainly aware that some people thought that anyone who married young, had children immediately, and dropped out of college to be a stay at home parent couldn't possibly have two brain cells to rub together; I just didn't care. It's not as if that opinion actually lowered my IQ.

Sometimes, the wording was slightly different: the clumsily worded, "Wouldn't you feel better about yourself if you were contributing to the household?" Those people got a chilly, "I am contributing."

My responses usually led to an earnest attempt on their part to explain the query that just, from my perspective, dug the hole deeper. Insisting that the way others viewed me mattered more than what went on in my own household was an impossible task, because I will never believe that. Insisting that I "could be doing so much more" led me to point out, "Different does not mean better." If I'd decided to be a doctor, I wouldn't be a practicing lawyer. If I was a teacher, I wouldn't be an accountant. Choosing what you do with your time always means eliminating other possibilities. That's a good thing, not a bad one.

What really made me angry was people who kept pushing, getting into the idea that some jobs are "better" than others, and this makes the people who do them more valuable to society. That just smacks of Third Reich thinking. The Reich started out with policies against criminals, prostitutes (even though prostitution was legal), and Gypsies. Then they moved on to the mentally and physically handicapped. "These people don't contribute to society, but they use up our resources." After a significant portion of the population believed that some people were just lesser beings, the Third Reich had less trouble both expanding the groups considered undesirable and getting people to condone the killing of the country's own citizens. After all, those people weren't as valuable as other people. Any attempt to convince me that a person's worth lies in their employment skill set or employment status will fall flat.

Sometimes, those reasons were a reflection of how they felt about their own lives. "I just feel like my brain cells are atrophying." I never felt that way. I did sometimes crave adult company, but that's because children make no sense. They're irrational little beings, with little in the way of logic.

For instance, one of my daughters had a thing about wrapping up every bump or bruise in blankets and towels. She'd watched some show or movie where someone tore strips of gauze to tie around a wound, and became convinced that wrapping in fabric was the way to treat any injury. She further theorized that keeping a wound warm meant that it wouldn't hurt. I explained, over and over, that fabric strips were bandages, or held bandages in place, when you didn't have store bought, pre made bandages, but she refused to believe me. It was about wrapping to keep warm, she was sure. She'd insist on wrapping an entire blanket or bath towel around her hand, or wherever else she's been scraped or bumped. She'd often howl about how, "It hurts! It hurts!" until the wrapping was done, then tell you how, "Oh, now it doesn't hurt. I feel so much better." Then she'd walk around with a ridiculously mummified hand, until she had to unwrap it to, say, eat, then howl again about how being without the blanket "hurts!" Sometimes, she'd want 2 or 3 blankets wound around it at once, because more is apparently better. This went on for years. Irrational, and resistant to new information; that's the definition of childhood thinking. Sometimes I just needed to speak to people who made sense.

Maybe that's why it was so frustrating when other adults didn't make sense. And, why it was so frustrating when they wanted to critique my life and choices.

When my oldest children were young, I did a lot of work with a university theater company - it was my comfort zone - and that meant spending time around people who were close to my age, but thought that my life was unimaginable, and/or that I was doing things all wrong. Sometimes, they'd snark at me.

I lived 45 minutes away from the theater, (across two county lines) in a small farming community. (Yeah - you can see already that I'd be winning friends on a university campus, right?) Rehearsals or shows often ran until 11. That had me getting into bed no earlier than midnight. Even before I had kids, midnight was LATE to me. I never watched a live episode of "Saturday Night Live." I never saw "The Tonight Show" live until I had nursing babies who were hungry at that hour.

One night, some of us were talking, and somebody groused about how hard it would be to get up for work in the morning. (Her day went work, then school, then the show.) Several of us who had school or work in the morning chimed in. I said, "Tell me about it!" Most days, I dragged through the morning, anticipating nap time after lunch.

One of the young men in the group looked shocked. "What are you talking about? You don't work!" he said.

If you have a Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Parent (and if you don't, consider it!), put this comment on it.

"I have kids!" I said. Kids don't care how tired you are, how much sleep you got, how you feel, what you have going on.

"It's not like you have responsibilities!" he said. Seeing my face, he scrambled. "You don't have, like, obligations to meet or a schedule to keep." (That Handy Dandy List? Yeah - you know what to do.)

There are certain sentiments that one might find on a bumper sticker or T-shirt to which I wholeheartedly subscribe. One is, "Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time, and annoys the pig." Explaining life to this guy was looking like the equivalent of trying to teach the pig to sing - an exercise in futility. But, I simply cannot let certain kinds of ignorance stand.

"What happens if you have a bad day at work?" I asked.

"What?"

"What happens if you have a bad day at work? Do you get written up, maybe get a demotion, get docked pay?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"If I have a bad day at work, people die." Most of the 20-somethings worked retail (the most talented guy in the group at the time was a grocery store bagger). To think that a retail job was more responsibility than taking care of human lives was an astonishing and inaccurate judgement.

He looked shocked. "Isn't that being a little overdramatic? I mean, it's pretty much babysitting."

(Pig! Singing! Handy Dandy List!)

"Why do parents hire babysitters?"

"Because they want to go out to dinner or whatever."

"Yes, but why do they need a sitter? Why don't they just leave the kids alone?"

He stared at me.

"Because a babysitter's entire job is to keep the children alive. If they are left alone, they may not survive it."

I did not point out (pig! singing!) that a parent's job is indeed NOT babysitting. Sitters might, occasionally, be asked to serve a meal or give baths, but their entire purpose is indeed to keep the children alive. Happy is good, fed is good, amused is good, but alive is a must. Plus, their job has a start time and an end time. Parents are constantly (even when the kids are with a sitter) responsible for the children's health, nutrition, character, cleanliness, manners, education, chores, and relationships. They are legally, financially (and occasionally, morally) responsible if the kids break any laws. It makes me just crazy to hear a man refer to staying with his own kids as "babysitting." Nope, Pop - you are a parent. You can babysit other people's kids, but not your own.

"Have you done much babysitting?" I wanted to know - because it seemed pretty obvious that he'd spent very little time around children.

"Some."

I thought, uncharitably, that he might have spent an afternoon or two plunking kids down in front of the TV, so they don't "bother" him.

"Well, you might want to do some more. Overnight, or maybe even for a whole weekend. Then tell me how easy it is. Then think about the fact that I do that every day."

It still astonishes me when people who are not parents think they know what it's like. I don't care if you've worked day care for 20 years, you have no idea what it's like to be a parent unless you are a parent. And yet, non-parents are so often just sure that they know as much, or more, about it than parents do.

A couple of years later, someone again voiced one of those opinions that was so egregious in its inaccuracy that I had to speak up. In fact, I fairly ripped the guy's head off, verbally.

Again, we were in rehearsal for a show. It was early in the process, and there was some "getting to know you" stuff going on. Someone asked, "So, what do you do?"

"I stay home with my kids."

As usual, there was some surprise, and some tepid smiles. One man, probably mid-20s, said, very jovially, "Oh, gosh, great hours on your job!" Seriously? Parenting is a lot of things, but the hours are not great.

"No, not really," I said. "I don't work 8 hour shifts, or even 12 hour shifts - I work 24 hour shifts. I don't leave my job at the end of the day, and go home to relax - my job is at home. I get no days off - no weekends, no holidays, no sick days, no vacations. If I want to take a vacation, my job goes with me. If I ever want to leave my job, for even 15 minutes, I have to find someone willing and competent to do it, and I, personally, have to pay them, even though I, myself, do not get paid."

He looked stricken. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's not about me being offended. It's about accuracy."

I don't care how people feel about my religion, my job, my family, politics, world news - I do care that their opinion is based on facts.

The poor guy, to his credit, tried, from then on, very hard to be very nice to me, so I didn't feel shunned. I tried hard not to make him feel judged; but man, I hoped he'd never make that mistake again. (Handy Dandy List!)

I hoped that my children, having been raised in my household, would not make those same mistakes in talking to others. That hope was, apparently, in vain. One of my kids in particular has informed me repeatedly that I "never worked." She also has often said, "You got to take naps!" as evidence of how "easy" my days were.

Sure, parents get naps - if their children are sleeping, or are old enough to avoid death or injury if they're left relatively unsupervised for short periods of time. Our culture considers it perfectly normal, acceptable (and even beneficial) for people to go out drinking alcohol "to unwind" after a day's work. I absolutely will not feel bad about sleeping, in my own house, with my kids at school or in the next room.

I never really expected my kids to fully understand adult concepts while they were kids, but I certainly expect other adults, including those to whom I gave birth, to have a better handle on things.

A couple of years ago, my daughter was again telling me that I had no perspective, and I'd had an easy life, because "You never worked!"

"I was a full time parent. When I was your age, the age you are right this minute, I had a first grader and a second grader. I also had two extras (my niece and nephew were living with us), and I was pregnant. Do you want that job? Do you want to wake up tomorrow morning and do that job, instead of going to work?"

"No." (This is the child who still says that parenting looks like "no fun.")

"Then don't ever tell me that I didn't work." Honestly, it's more aggravating to have my child say this than to hear a stranger say it, because I know what my kids have been told. "And if you're going to measure everything by money earned, I had a second job. When I worked it, I made $100 an hour - and that's a discount rate for the industry." For my entire adult life - actually, starting when I was a teen - I've been a self employed photographer, shooting mostly weddings. Back in the days of film, my husband and I charged by the roll of film shot. When we went digital, we took the average number of rolls we'd shoot in an hour, and used that for the hourly rate. That price has gone up since I was in my 20s, and I'm still less expensive than the industry standard. And you know what - none of that equals my worth.

You know what? The more that I think about it, everybody needs The Handy Dandy List. In fact, we need two - The Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Parent, and The Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Stay at Home Parent. I just watched somebody (who thought they were being funny, I'll bet) snark at my nephew online the other day, because he's a stay at home dad. I grew up with my dad staying home, and my mom going to work. I knew it was age related - Dad was retired, and not very Mr. Mom - but I also knew it was a perfectly reasonable way to live.

Go ahead! Get out your phone, or your notepad, or whatever you need, and make lists! If you get stumped, I'll volunteer to help.