I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable being at home when the Brothers are. I sense - perhaps incorrectly, of course - that they think I am avoiding their company. Guilty conscience, maybe? The truth is that I have had very little by way of time to myself since the kids were born. If the telly is on at home during the day, it's not because I'm lying on the sofa watching rubbish TV, it's because I've left Babe2 in the company of Mr Tumble while I try and hoover or clean or cook or put the washing machine on. When he's not at pre-school I take him places, tots groups and the like, because he's reached that age where he demands the company of peers. This means we're not actually at home together very much - generally out in the mornings, and then after lunch and before school pick-up is when I usually get things done. I tend, at those times, to be feeling a bit tired and not very chatty and somewhat pressured by my to-do list.
During the hours he is at pre-school, I want to do at least a few things for myself. I've listed some of them in a previous post. But I've been giving a fair bit of this time to doing things like taking the brothers to the job centre, to language institutions and to glaziers and the like, to ask if they have work. And I've been researching jobs online. I don't really want to spend much more of this precious time being chatty. I like my own space and I'm also quite noise-sensitive and can't stand talking over a telly that is on full blast.
The honest truth is that I'm starting to dread coming home and finding them sitting in the front room with an expectation of me keeping them company. An even more honest truth would be that I put the key in the lock hoping it will turn which means they're out. I feel really mean saying that. I am only too aware that they don't have anywhere much to go or anything much left to say to one another. But frankly, nor do I. At least not when there are other things I would rather be doing.
I have, in moments of calm, tried to pursue conversations. But in the back of my mind is a pause button that doesn't want them to feel too comfortable, too much like they're welcome here or too much like I want my evenings and weekends given over to them. I don't want a constant need for communication with members of OH's family to be the shape of my life moving forward. Whatever patterns become established here and now may be expected to continue when they bring their nearest and dearest to join them, if things gets that far. I know this is neither a generous nor a hospitable approach. I know I am not being as warm or as welcoming as I could be. How bad should I feel about this? I am one long osscilation between acute guilt and acute stress and irritation.
Last night, having been round here since about midday, the brothers left the house soon after OH got home from work because he said he wanted to go to the gym before eating. (And they had an appointment with Mr Khan to look at their telly but he didn't show.) I put the kids into bed and tidied around. I had literally sat down on the sofa, thinking that OH and I might spend a few minutes in one another's company, when the brothers got back so that they could eat with him. Inevitably, he now has two adults instead of one looking forward to spending time with him in the evening. As well as me (sort of). And the kids.
When I got home this afternoon, after staying out a bit longer than usual because I was feeling tired and particularly uncommunicative - heaven help us when my PMT kicks in in a week or so - I sat down to ask how they are and they said they wanted to talk about Babe. DBrother then went on to say that Babe had hit him over the head with a light-saber yesterday evening when I went to his parents' meeting. It hadn't hurt at the time but when he laid down earlier today for a rest it had started bleeding and his head was throbbing. They went on to say that Babe is 'poli ziliaros' - that's Greek for 'a very jealous type' and had pushed Babe2 really hard when they were playing together. To round off, they said that 'we need to sort him out.'
AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
This made me see red on so many fronts, it was as much as I could do not to just start shouting random lexical items at the walls. In fact, I think they were trying to raise this as a 'family issue' that could be discussed and acted upon 'as a family'. I think they might have been looking for a bonding opportunity.
The problem is that every effing day since they arrived here the brothers have laughed whenever the boys jump towards them or slap their bottoms. They have allowed the boys to playfight with them in a way that I do not usually allow. I understand that this is, in part, because of a desire to bond that has to overcome language limitations, but we do have shedloads of toys and games lying around the place that they could quite easily pick up and use to interact with the kids. This playfighting has escalated into them allowing the boys to throw the cushions around the sitting room, charge into them with weapons, and jump excitedly between the coffee table and the sofas. And I have, on a number of occasions, made it really clear that I do not allow this latter piece of activity, mostly because our fireplace is very old, very large and made from cast iron and I do not want them landing on it headfirst. And - if I must justify myself - our sitting room is the one room in our not very large house that I try to keep clean and up-together.
What aggravates me even more is that we did actually have a slightly heated exchange yesterday right before I went to the parents meeting, in which I begged the brothers once again not to let the boys jump onto the table. They claimed not to be able to stop them and I'm sorry to say that in response to this I put a teddy on the table, asked them to pay close attention, and then roared 'Stop!' at it at the top of my voice. They visibly shifted in their seats. 'Please, for their safety and yours, respond like that when they start climbing onto the table,' I requested. They could also, of course, just lift the boys off.
They are not wrong to judge that Babe can be a bit mean and rough with his younger brother. He also puts up with a lot of his younger brother wrecking his games and hurling himself at him. Overall, I think they get on pretty well with one another, and I feel that a certain amount of rough and tumble is par for the course. I parent them within reasonably clear boundaries and most of the time I think we manage pretty well. I know that I can have rose-tinted spectacles when it comes to my eldest offspring, but I think to describe him as a jealous type is a) just not accurate and b) even if he was, I'm not really into attaching labels to children that might stick. Yes, keeping them on the straight and narrow is a neverending job, especially when your partner is not always very supportive, but that's just parenting, isn't it? Do we need to sort him out? No we bloody well do not, thank you very much.
After huffing in and and out of the room a bit, I tried to be sensible and asked them how they expected me to respond to what they'd said. What did they want me to do? By this time tho' they could tell I was pretty annoyed and responded that they said they were 'just talking'. No doubt if I wasn't pretty much at my wits' end, I might have just been able to laugh off their observations instead of getting so wound up.
So what is this ramble, tonight, trying to say? I think I'm trying to say that despite fairly good efforts, I am doing a fairly crap job of hiding the fact that I am feeling the pressure of having them in my house an awful lot of the time. If I were still working it might not be having such an impact. (Hum, that's not true, is it?) And leading on from my blather of last night about tread mills, I think I am going to have to come up with a time-frame for them being here or there is a high risk that I will explode. A time-frame that OH will hate me for wanting to impose and do everything he can to resist. But I really don't think I can spend all that much longer having them effectively living here for most of each day.
If they get the papers for their construction cards sorted this weekend (the bloke who does the 'training' is now not answering his phone...!) there is an outside chance they could start some work next week. As long as the receipts are considered sufficient proof of competence, as the cards themselves could take up to a month to arrive. And as long as the foreman on the site OH is working on at the moment comes good. If they don't get work next week, I am not sure how they are going to pay for the next month's rental of their room which is due in about ten days' time.
I was going to ask what my cut-off for the current domestic arrangements should be? (All they need to do is get their TV working and start using their own kitchen and bathroom and I'd be feeling a lot less pressed.) The end of October? Christmas? But there is a fairly strong chance that within a fortnight I am going to be faced with the dilemma of whether I let them come back here to live or not. I know I can't. So what then?
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A routine evolves
I have never liked gyms. I am not very sporty, have flattish feet and am quite easily bored. And as it happens I also have largish baps which are a terrible encumbrance in the sporting field. I am not a particularly sedentary type though, and appreciate the need for physical activity. Aerobics I can get into, as long as the music is ok and I don't have to do those ridiculous grapevine moves. (It's a while since I did aerobics so it's possible they've phased those out by now.) I was good at hockey at school and wouldn't mind joining a team, although the last time I played the ball seemed to fly through the air at shoulder height a lot more than I was expecting it to and I'm not sure my wits are sufficiently about me to cope with that any more. I do however cycle, scoot (yes, scoot), run very occasionally and generally like things like yoga and pilates. Oh, and skiing. I've only been a few times but it is completely brilliant fun.
Despite my dislike of gyms, there are two pieces of gym equipment that I can tolerate. Only for very short bursts, mind, and because although it hurts like hell I can count down the seconds and minutes and push myself because the end is never far from sight. These pieces of equipment are the running machine, and that awful cross-country skiing thing.
I am sharing all this ahead of telling you what my life feels like right now, so that you will really appreciate the metaphor. It feels like I am on a running machine. Or more a treadmill, let's say, moving at a medium but definitely uncomfortable velocity. A treadmill that I can't get off but don't want to stay on. And I can't pace myself while I'm on the darn thing because some random bugger from the gym has put it on a program and cycle that I can't even see from where I'm standing. If I knew it was going to stop in ten minutes, or twenty, or maybe even a matter of hours at worst, I'd find a bit more welly from somewhere to enjoy the ride. Or at least cope with it. But I don't know when or if it is going to stop. It is uncomfortable and might be endless and I feel out of control, very stressed and fairly hacked off too.
I guess I've kind of made that obvious by now. And I know I know I know how much harder life is for billions around the world, and probably how much harder and more miserable life is for the brothers right now. (You're probably wondering how OH is. So am I.) But that is what I feel like. Yes, of course, there are moments of optimism. There have even been a few moments when the brothers and I have shared a joke. But mostly it feels as though my life, my home, my time and my energy have been taken over by an alien force that is plotting to reproduce and subsume me.
The brothers, and OH, have told me that they are taking one day at a time. That they are not thinking too much about how well or how badly things might go. They are simply doggedly determined to find work, make enough money to improve their accommodation and then up the stakes. In part, I can respect this perspective. But as someone who considers herself to be something of a strategic thinker and who likes to plan and know what the endgame is, their approach leaves me feeling quite agonisingly out of control.
I have, this morning, while Babe2 was at pre-school, been googling kitchen assistant and cleaning jobs and my eyes are going fuzzy and I'm feeling slow and useless and wondering if I could do any better for myself. If I had time to be looking for work for myself right now, that is. It is desperate. No, they do not have food hygiene certificates. No, their customer service skills are not great. Yes, they would clean windows beautifully but no, they don't have computer skills and they have been tactically avoiding situations that have me reaching for the A-Z. Is it worth trying to apply on their behalves for a six-hours per week cleaning job, spread over five days and to be carried out between the hours of five and seven o'clock in the morning?
I have emailed friends and a local emailing list marketing their practical skills. This has resulted in two potential small jobs. Which is better than nothing but won't feed them for a month and the effort involved in me translating what's required makes me reluctant to get too involved. My Greek is ok. But I don't know the words for things like plasterboard, turf, trowel or hammer. I am doing my best, but acting like their agent turning up to look at jobs is not especially easy.
As I got home from reading at Babe's school yesterday afternoon, DBrother rushed up to the front door with a man in a duffel coat.
'Ask him about work!' he said.
I was lost.
'This man was standing outside my house,' the man said.
'Oh,' I said.
'Is he looking for work?'
'Um, well, yes, but how do you know that?' I asked.
He ignored my question and asked what DBrother can do.
I reeled off a list. He then explained that he was doing up his house around the corner, which, it evolves, has been completely gutted. The three of us trooped round to take a look and were introduced to Mr Singh who, having been told they can build and plaster etc, asked what they would work for.
'You tell me,' I said. 'They're really good at what they do, I'd trust them with my place.' (That was a bit of a white lie, actually.) 'They are pretty desperate but I know what the minimum wage is, and they want more than that.'
'Ok,' he said. 'I'll call you in about ten days, when the roofers are finished.' He took my number and made a point of calling me to check he'd got it right. Let's hope it comes to something.
In the meantime, we've found a place in London where you can pay through the nose for training to get you construction industry cards, and OH is most likely taking them up this weekend, as he thinks one of them at least will be able to work with him. I have organised this, of course. And got them onto waiting lists for all the free English classes I can find. I hope to heck it comes off and won't result in them spending their last bit of cash for nothing. Their last bit of cash which would otherwise, incidentally, be covering their flights home.
They are still moaning about the room and house they're living in. That preparedness to 'live like gypsies if we have to' (their political incorrectness, not mine) went out of the window pretty fast. Khan has gone underground and the shower doesn't work. I went round again this morning and in fact the bathroom is not otherwise too bad and there is a bath. I checked out the kitchen and the truth is that I wouldn't really want to have to clean it or cook in it either, but then I'm not in desperate circumstances. Well I am, but... They had said that the fridge is too smelly to put their milk in. But it's not, it's fine and there is space. I think the bitter truth is that they feel outnumbered by the six or so individuals who get home from work in the evening, and cook curry together and have a bit of a laugh. I suspect there is also some latent racism at work, which I have not yet found the will to tackle.
I also, incidentally, noticed that in their room they have put photos around, of their children and families. And one of their dad. I haven't asked if they are missing them. I did suggest that they try skype using my laptop but they haven't taken me up on it and I can see how that might make things harder so I won't suggest it again.
The observant among you might have noticed that they have at least bought some milk:
The other night, several hours after our abortive attempt to discuss stuff, I asked OH if we could talk. He took a long time to answer because I woke him up to ask him this. He was on the sofa, not in bed. I'm not that mean.
I reminded him that before the brothers had even booked their tickets to come here they, and he, had insisted that they would find their own place to live in. Well, that he would find them their own place to live in. Their desire had been to be independent from the start. I also reminded him of the purpose of that decision - so that they would have somewhere to sleep, eat, wash and watch TV etc. Ie somewhere they could have a bit of space of their own, and so, presumably, that we would, too.
I then pointed out that despite having a room of their own, they are doing everything (and I mean pretty much everything), here. I asked if he could ask them to give us a bit of space maybe one or two evenings a week, and to perhaps request that they at least breakfast there so that I could have some space in the mornings when getting the kids ready for school etc. OH saw red and flatly refused. He accused me of being evil and selfish and a lot of other things I won't mention. I realise, in retrospect, that I hit that 'hospitality trigger'.
However, on Saturday, after taking them off on a pointless trip to open a bank account, despite my assertion (which proved to be correct as I had already investigated this myself) that they need National Insurance numbers first, OH took them to our local supermarket, and bought them a kettle, toaster and some basic supplies. I guess this was his way of making them self-sufficient and I have to accept that asking them to spend more time in their place was just not something he could do. And to be fair, that isn't something I could have easily asked of my own family, either.
So we have now slipped into something of a routine: the brothers are now not rising early, are trying to find ways of occupying their mornings ahead of coming round to cook at our place in the early afternoon, where they stay until some point in the late evening. A kind friend has given them a TV but there is no aerial connection, so hopefully OH will sort this out at the weekend for them. They are making use of our bicycles and the fact that we live near an amazing cycle path that takes you right out into the countryside to a nearby city, along what was a train line. Low moments include them encouraging the kids to jump between the coffee table and the sofa, screaming, for at least an hour every day when they get home from school. But a plus is that I can get off to evening meetings promptly, by not having to wait until OH gets home from work some time after six.
Strangely enough when they all went out and left me on my own on Saturday night, the house felt uncomfortably quiet. Perhaps our very bricks and mortar are feeling a bit shaken by the turbulence in the air, too.
Despite my dislike of gyms, there are two pieces of gym equipment that I can tolerate. Only for very short bursts, mind, and because although it hurts like hell I can count down the seconds and minutes and push myself because the end is never far from sight. These pieces of equipment are the running machine, and that awful cross-country skiing thing.
I am sharing all this ahead of telling you what my life feels like right now, so that you will really appreciate the metaphor. It feels like I am on a running machine. Or more a treadmill, let's say, moving at a medium but definitely uncomfortable velocity. A treadmill that I can't get off but don't want to stay on. And I can't pace myself while I'm on the darn thing because some random bugger from the gym has put it on a program and cycle that I can't even see from where I'm standing. If I knew it was going to stop in ten minutes, or twenty, or maybe even a matter of hours at worst, I'd find a bit more welly from somewhere to enjoy the ride. Or at least cope with it. But I don't know when or if it is going to stop. It is uncomfortable and might be endless and I feel out of control, very stressed and fairly hacked off too.
I guess I've kind of made that obvious by now. And I know I know I know how much harder life is for billions around the world, and probably how much harder and more miserable life is for the brothers right now. (You're probably wondering how OH is. So am I.) But that is what I feel like. Yes, of course, there are moments of optimism. There have even been a few moments when the brothers and I have shared a joke. But mostly it feels as though my life, my home, my time and my energy have been taken over by an alien force that is plotting to reproduce and subsume me.
The brothers, and OH, have told me that they are taking one day at a time. That they are not thinking too much about how well or how badly things might go. They are simply doggedly determined to find work, make enough money to improve their accommodation and then up the stakes. In part, I can respect this perspective. But as someone who considers herself to be something of a strategic thinker and who likes to plan and know what the endgame is, their approach leaves me feeling quite agonisingly out of control.
I have, this morning, while Babe2 was at pre-school, been googling kitchen assistant and cleaning jobs and my eyes are going fuzzy and I'm feeling slow and useless and wondering if I could do any better for myself. If I had time to be looking for work for myself right now, that is. It is desperate. No, they do not have food hygiene certificates. No, their customer service skills are not great. Yes, they would clean windows beautifully but no, they don't have computer skills and they have been tactically avoiding situations that have me reaching for the A-Z. Is it worth trying to apply on their behalves for a six-hours per week cleaning job, spread over five days and to be carried out between the hours of five and seven o'clock in the morning?
I have emailed friends and a local emailing list marketing their practical skills. This has resulted in two potential small jobs. Which is better than nothing but won't feed them for a month and the effort involved in me translating what's required makes me reluctant to get too involved. My Greek is ok. But I don't know the words for things like plasterboard, turf, trowel or hammer. I am doing my best, but acting like their agent turning up to look at jobs is not especially easy.
As I got home from reading at Babe's school yesterday afternoon, DBrother rushed up to the front door with a man in a duffel coat.
'Ask him about work!' he said.
I was lost.
'This man was standing outside my house,' the man said.
'Oh,' I said.
'Is he looking for work?'
'Um, well, yes, but how do you know that?' I asked.
He ignored my question and asked what DBrother can do.
I reeled off a list. He then explained that he was doing up his house around the corner, which, it evolves, has been completely gutted. The three of us trooped round to take a look and were introduced to Mr Singh who, having been told they can build and plaster etc, asked what they would work for.
'You tell me,' I said. 'They're really good at what they do, I'd trust them with my place.' (That was a bit of a white lie, actually.) 'They are pretty desperate but I know what the minimum wage is, and they want more than that.'
'Ok,' he said. 'I'll call you in about ten days, when the roofers are finished.' He took my number and made a point of calling me to check he'd got it right. Let's hope it comes to something.
In the meantime, we've found a place in London where you can pay through the nose for training to get you construction industry cards, and OH is most likely taking them up this weekend, as he thinks one of them at least will be able to work with him. I have organised this, of course. And got them onto waiting lists for all the free English classes I can find. I hope to heck it comes off and won't result in them spending their last bit of cash for nothing. Their last bit of cash which would otherwise, incidentally, be covering their flights home.
They are still moaning about the room and house they're living in. That preparedness to 'live like gypsies if we have to' (their political incorrectness, not mine) went out of the window pretty fast. Khan has gone underground and the shower doesn't work. I went round again this morning and in fact the bathroom is not otherwise too bad and there is a bath. I checked out the kitchen and the truth is that I wouldn't really want to have to clean it or cook in it either, but then I'm not in desperate circumstances. Well I am, but... They had said that the fridge is too smelly to put their milk in. But it's not, it's fine and there is space. I think the bitter truth is that they feel outnumbered by the six or so individuals who get home from work in the evening, and cook curry together and have a bit of a laugh. I suspect there is also some latent racism at work, which I have not yet found the will to tackle.
I also, incidentally, noticed that in their room they have put photos around, of their children and families. And one of their dad. I haven't asked if they are missing them. I did suggest that they try skype using my laptop but they haven't taken me up on it and I can see how that might make things harder so I won't suggest it again.
The observant among you might have noticed that they have at least bought some milk:
The other night, several hours after our abortive attempt to discuss stuff, I asked OH if we could talk. He took a long time to answer because I woke him up to ask him this. He was on the sofa, not in bed. I'm not that mean.
I reminded him that before the brothers had even booked their tickets to come here they, and he, had insisted that they would find their own place to live in. Well, that he would find them their own place to live in. Their desire had been to be independent from the start. I also reminded him of the purpose of that decision - so that they would have somewhere to sleep, eat, wash and watch TV etc. Ie somewhere they could have a bit of space of their own, and so, presumably, that we would, too.
I then pointed out that despite having a room of their own, they are doing everything (and I mean pretty much everything), here. I asked if he could ask them to give us a bit of space maybe one or two evenings a week, and to perhaps request that they at least breakfast there so that I could have some space in the mornings when getting the kids ready for school etc. OH saw red and flatly refused. He accused me of being evil and selfish and a lot of other things I won't mention. I realise, in retrospect, that I hit that 'hospitality trigger'.
However, on Saturday, after taking them off on a pointless trip to open a bank account, despite my assertion (which proved to be correct as I had already investigated this myself) that they need National Insurance numbers first, OH took them to our local supermarket, and bought them a kettle, toaster and some basic supplies. I guess this was his way of making them self-sufficient and I have to accept that asking them to spend more time in their place was just not something he could do. And to be fair, that isn't something I could have easily asked of my own family, either.
So we have now slipped into something of a routine: the brothers are now not rising early, are trying to find ways of occupying their mornings ahead of coming round to cook at our place in the early afternoon, where they stay until some point in the late evening. A kind friend has given them a TV but there is no aerial connection, so hopefully OH will sort this out at the weekend for them. They are making use of our bicycles and the fact that we live near an amazing cycle path that takes you right out into the countryside to a nearby city, along what was a train line. Low moments include them encouraging the kids to jump between the coffee table and the sofa, screaming, for at least an hour every day when they get home from school. But a plus is that I can get off to evening meetings promptly, by not having to wait until OH gets home from work some time after six.
Strangely enough when they all went out and left me on my own on Saturday night, the house felt uncomfortably quiet. Perhaps our very bricks and mortar are feeling a bit shaken by the turbulence in the air, too.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
DBrother and I have a serious talk
I have mentioned what an irritating SOAB OBrother is. Although I must say that he is visibly doing his level best not to get on my nerves. The brothers realise what is unfolding around them and they're not insensitive to my situation. Well, beyond imposing it on me against my will, but anyway...
DBrother is altogether different. For want of a different reason to hang this on, I'd quite like to put it down to star signs. (Groan!) I am a scorpio and can almost guarantee that I will form close bonds with other scorpios (or find I hate them until we both realise we are scorpios and can laugh about it and then get on) cancerians and pisceans, of which he is the latter. I'm not quite sure how to describe why I get on with these signs except to say that my experience of them thus far is that we feel things at a similar depth which makes communication easier from the off, somehow. There's a lot of stuff that doesn't need to be expressed, so you can cut to the chase. I appreciate that some readers will consider this total BS.
I can talk to DBrother about how I'm feeling and how I'm seeing things and he seems to understand. I don't need to find ten different ways of putting it. The communication between us is relatively easy and uncomplicated, and doesn't have to forged through a mire of antagonism or self-protective misunderstanding. Unlike OBrother, DBrother thinks before he speaks. He doesn't constantly court conflict and one-upmanship. He is a philosphical thinker. We actually have a reasonable amount to discuss. New order politics, for example. Somewhat refreshing, I have to say.
Strangely enough, I have barely spoken to him for almost the entire seventeen years I have been with OH. An argument I had with him quite early on established a malhumour between us - more on my side than his - that I allowed to fester and perpetuate. I always interpreted his deportment and body-language as that of an elder sibling bearing down on the others. I didn't like what little I heard of the way he expressed himself. I chose to dislike him and treated him with suspicion and barely concealed hostility. In fact, I am brilliant at barely concealed hostility, which I know is nothing to be proud of.
The argument we had early on, and on which I based my view of him, was over a pair of wheels. At that time, OH had a small motorbike, a super little red one (!), that he had agreed to sell to DBrother, because he was planning to get a bigger and better one. (The new one he got was blue and I never felt the same about it.) From time to time DBrother would borrow the bike to get to work. Without asking, because he had a spare key, and it would leave OH right in the lurch because he had quite a drive to work along routes that didn't have buses. I think that somehow this was an acceptable agreement between them, because they had been through great hardship together. And this was in Greece, before they'd had their Greek ethnicity recognised, and Albanians holding down jobs was not easy. Life for them was very hard. I saw stuff that would make your toes curl and that is nothing compared to the lives they were living before I met them. I will write a book about that some time.
Anyway, this arrangement with the bike also continued, as I saw it, mostly because DBrother was the eldest. And this was something that I just couldn't get my head around. I couldn't understand him wanting to assert his 'authority'. Neither could I understand OH succumbing to it. (He'd told me stories, by then, of how DBrother had belted him as a child. I now think perhaps there was more to it than that. I know OH did things that weren't acceptable living under the dictator and the family were probably worried for his safety.) I am an eldest child who has only ever been verbally assaulted for acting like the eldest, and I guess the truth is that it got to me on a deeper level than I could acknowledge at the time. It made me see red. Plus I am super-protective of those I love.
So one day, after the price for the bike and the date for the exchange had been agreed, and DBrother had borrowed it and forgotten to lock it, and it was stolen, and he then refused to pay OH anyway, I lost control and stormed round to his house and gave him a piece of my mind. Looking back, I wish I had a video clip of that event. I'd only been in a Greece a few months and I can't for the life of me imagine what I was able to say at that point. The months of the year, yes. 'One cheese pie, please,' yes. (I mimed Popeye blowing his pipe when I wanted a spinach one.) 'I love you,' probably. But 'You selfish bloody bastard, your little brother works his guts out for his money, how can you possibly let his bike get stolen and then not have the decency to give him the cash anyway...' is probably not something I was able to say. I know that it wasn't my place to say any of it. I remember that I was standing on the stairs outside his front door in the block of flats where he lived when I said my piece. And I remember that at the end I understood the one word he said to me, which was Greek for 'Have you finished?' And I stormed off. And have harboured hateful vengeful thoughts against him ever since. Although he did cough up half the cash after that.
Perhaps he was the person I thought he was. I'm sure that other events must have taken place that perpetuated my view. Perhaps he was and he has changed. He has been through hardship and grief. And divorce. But actually, I think maybe I was wrong about him. I think I might have misinterpreted his body language. And his silences. And the way he would disappear. Actually I think he is quite a sensitive soul. I have described him to my mum as a romantic and I think she might be worried I've got the hots for him because I've said it a few times. Hell no, but wouldn't that put the cat among the pigeons! I say 'romantic' because he has a sensitive, philosphical quality to the way he seems to think and then express himself. He went to music school and is apparently known as 'DBrother the singer' in thier hometown. Hitherto, if I was asked, I'd have presumed he was known as 'DBrother the wanker', if I'm honest.
Yes, I think I was wrong.
Today, after the blatant expressions of hostility being exchanged between OH and myself last night, which led to me spending another evening on my own in the dining room, the atmosphere was pretty cold. So when OBrother went out with OH, I went and sat down next to DBrother and tried once again to talk to him about Stuff.
I started by saying that I felt that whether I used the right words or not, we would struggle to understand one another because of our opposing cultures and that this was a hard bridge to cross. He didn't disagree. I tried to explain that they were arriving at my home against a backdrop of seventeen years of friction with OH that had left me feeling quite emotionally frozen and unable to welcome them with the warmth I would like to. I reminded him again of the reasons why their arrival was not good timing for me and of the reasons why I felt their plans were ill-thought through and unlikely to succeed. I told him how afraid I was that they would end up moving back here if they didn't find work and how much I need my personal space. We agreed that that wasn't an option. I then asked if maybe two evenings a week, they could give OH and I some space. He said yes of course. But explained that the kitchen at Khan's is too filthy to cook or eat in (it's not actually that bad, but we won't go there right now - and OH did actually find them a kettle and toaster etc today) so I agreed that they could continue to eat here every day for the time-being. I also expressed my despair at OH's intransigent attitude when I feel I am doing as much, if not more, as can be reasonably expected in this situation, and he is still being really bloody horrible. (I won't tell you what he said last night but it wasn't nice.) DBrother agreed it wasn't right and said he'd talk to him. I told him what a complete and utter waste of time it would be but that he could try if he likes. We have wagered £1000 on him turning OH around. If we divorce, I win.
So, what is this post about? There's an awful lot rolling around in my head, but I think it's about making mistakes. About making snap judgements and mis-assumptions. Thinking we know what's going on in another person's head when we don't really have a clue. Thinking something is the way it is when actually it isn't at all. How many more mistakes have I made, I wonder?
When the time is right, I will apologise to DBrother for not giving him a proper chance before now. When we are at Gatwick waiting for his flight home, perhaps.
DBrother is altogether different. For want of a different reason to hang this on, I'd quite like to put it down to star signs. (Groan!) I am a scorpio and can almost guarantee that I will form close bonds with other scorpios (or find I hate them until we both realise we are scorpios and can laugh about it and then get on) cancerians and pisceans, of which he is the latter. I'm not quite sure how to describe why I get on with these signs except to say that my experience of them thus far is that we feel things at a similar depth which makes communication easier from the off, somehow. There's a lot of stuff that doesn't need to be expressed, so you can cut to the chase. I appreciate that some readers will consider this total BS.
I can talk to DBrother about how I'm feeling and how I'm seeing things and he seems to understand. I don't need to find ten different ways of putting it. The communication between us is relatively easy and uncomplicated, and doesn't have to forged through a mire of antagonism or self-protective misunderstanding. Unlike OBrother, DBrother thinks before he speaks. He doesn't constantly court conflict and one-upmanship. He is a philosphical thinker. We actually have a reasonable amount to discuss. New order politics, for example. Somewhat refreshing, I have to say.
Strangely enough, I have barely spoken to him for almost the entire seventeen years I have been with OH. An argument I had with him quite early on established a malhumour between us - more on my side than his - that I allowed to fester and perpetuate. I always interpreted his deportment and body-language as that of an elder sibling bearing down on the others. I didn't like what little I heard of the way he expressed himself. I chose to dislike him and treated him with suspicion and barely concealed hostility. In fact, I am brilliant at barely concealed hostility, which I know is nothing to be proud of.
The argument we had early on, and on which I based my view of him, was over a pair of wheels. At that time, OH had a small motorbike, a super little red one (!), that he had agreed to sell to DBrother, because he was planning to get a bigger and better one. (The new one he got was blue and I never felt the same about it.) From time to time DBrother would borrow the bike to get to work. Without asking, because he had a spare key, and it would leave OH right in the lurch because he had quite a drive to work along routes that didn't have buses. I think that somehow this was an acceptable agreement between them, because they had been through great hardship together. And this was in Greece, before they'd had their Greek ethnicity recognised, and Albanians holding down jobs was not easy. Life for them was very hard. I saw stuff that would make your toes curl and that is nothing compared to the lives they were living before I met them. I will write a book about that some time.
Anyway, this arrangement with the bike also continued, as I saw it, mostly because DBrother was the eldest. And this was something that I just couldn't get my head around. I couldn't understand him wanting to assert his 'authority'. Neither could I understand OH succumbing to it. (He'd told me stories, by then, of how DBrother had belted him as a child. I now think perhaps there was more to it than that. I know OH did things that weren't acceptable living under the dictator and the family were probably worried for his safety.) I am an eldest child who has only ever been verbally assaulted for acting like the eldest, and I guess the truth is that it got to me on a deeper level than I could acknowledge at the time. It made me see red. Plus I am super-protective of those I love.
So one day, after the price for the bike and the date for the exchange had been agreed, and DBrother had borrowed it and forgotten to lock it, and it was stolen, and he then refused to pay OH anyway, I lost control and stormed round to his house and gave him a piece of my mind. Looking back, I wish I had a video clip of that event. I'd only been in a Greece a few months and I can't for the life of me imagine what I was able to say at that point. The months of the year, yes. 'One cheese pie, please,' yes. (I mimed Popeye blowing his pipe when I wanted a spinach one.) 'I love you,' probably. But 'You selfish bloody bastard, your little brother works his guts out for his money, how can you possibly let his bike get stolen and then not have the decency to give him the cash anyway...' is probably not something I was able to say. I know that it wasn't my place to say any of it. I remember that I was standing on the stairs outside his front door in the block of flats where he lived when I said my piece. And I remember that at the end I understood the one word he said to me, which was Greek for 'Have you finished?' And I stormed off. And have harboured hateful vengeful thoughts against him ever since. Although he did cough up half the cash after that.
Perhaps he was the person I thought he was. I'm sure that other events must have taken place that perpetuated my view. Perhaps he was and he has changed. He has been through hardship and grief. And divorce. But actually, I think maybe I was wrong about him. I think I might have misinterpreted his body language. And his silences. And the way he would disappear. Actually I think he is quite a sensitive soul. I have described him to my mum as a romantic and I think she might be worried I've got the hots for him because I've said it a few times. Hell no, but wouldn't that put the cat among the pigeons! I say 'romantic' because he has a sensitive, philosphical quality to the way he seems to think and then express himself. He went to music school and is apparently known as 'DBrother the singer' in thier hometown. Hitherto, if I was asked, I'd have presumed he was known as 'DBrother the wanker', if I'm honest.
Yes, I think I was wrong.
Today, after the blatant expressions of hostility being exchanged between OH and myself last night, which led to me spending another evening on my own in the dining room, the atmosphere was pretty cold. So when OBrother went out with OH, I went and sat down next to DBrother and tried once again to talk to him about Stuff.
I started by saying that I felt that whether I used the right words or not, we would struggle to understand one another because of our opposing cultures and that this was a hard bridge to cross. He didn't disagree. I tried to explain that they were arriving at my home against a backdrop of seventeen years of friction with OH that had left me feeling quite emotionally frozen and unable to welcome them with the warmth I would like to. I reminded him again of the reasons why their arrival was not good timing for me and of the reasons why I felt their plans were ill-thought through and unlikely to succeed. I told him how afraid I was that they would end up moving back here if they didn't find work and how much I need my personal space. We agreed that that wasn't an option. I then asked if maybe two evenings a week, they could give OH and I some space. He said yes of course. But explained that the kitchen at Khan's is too filthy to cook or eat in (it's not actually that bad, but we won't go there right now - and OH did actually find them a kettle and toaster etc today) so I agreed that they could continue to eat here every day for the time-being. I also expressed my despair at OH's intransigent attitude when I feel I am doing as much, if not more, as can be reasonably expected in this situation, and he is still being really bloody horrible. (I won't tell you what he said last night but it wasn't nice.) DBrother agreed it wasn't right and said he'd talk to him. I told him what a complete and utter waste of time it would be but that he could try if he likes. We have wagered £1000 on him turning OH around. If we divorce, I win.
So, what is this post about? There's an awful lot rolling around in my head, but I think it's about making mistakes. About making snap judgements and mis-assumptions. Thinking we know what's going on in another person's head when we don't really have a clue. Thinking something is the way it is when actually it isn't at all. How many more mistakes have I made, I wonder?
When the time is right, I will apologise to DBrother for not giving him a proper chance before now. When we are at Gatwick waiting for his flight home, perhaps.
Friday, October 5, 2012
OH and I try to talk
I heard OH park up outside our house after work this evening, and went upstairs so that I could be busily tidying the kids' room when he got in. He likes to play really loud music when he's driving which is why I heard him before I saw him outside the window.* He also likes to sit in the car for a bit once he's come to a halt, with the loud music on, which drives me insane as I consider it unfair on our neighbours. I don't easily shake off that particularly British desire not to get on other people's nerves. Plus he has awful taste in music. As might we all if we'd been brought up under a socialist dictatorship (DBrother has been trying to explain the difference between all this left-wing stuff but my Greek isn't that brilliant and I haven't been entirely following it all) in the 'eighties, when Madonna and Michael Jackson occassionally occupied the illegal airwaves from across the water in Corfu. In fact to be fair to OH it's only because I don't like his awful music being played really loudly in the house that he ever started to listen to music in the car. When the kids were tiny it was one of the places he used to hang out with them, sharing something he loved. These days we don't play enough music in the house full stop. But that's another story.
I had actually been sitting in the living room with the brothers and the babes for about an hour before OH got home. I have no idea where the brothers were all day, or if they were at ours, because Babe had an INSET day at school and we went to a museum in town with friends, quite early. They were in when we got back, watching telly while their food was cooking, and I could tell they were feeling miserable. Where do you go all day when you haven't got any work or any money to spend and it's cold and raining? And these are two brothers who don't really get on very well, but are now being forced to spend a ridiculous amount of time together. I felt really sorry for them, despite the fact that they were watching Jeremy Kyle at high volume. I suggested to Babe that he teach them how to play snakes and ladders and I think they enjoyed the interaction, and the opportunity it gave them to practise counting to six, and so on.
So... minutes after I heard OH come into the house I heard raised voices. When Greeks are talking it can be really hard working out what is a conversation and what is an argument and I suspected it was the latter. I was pretty sure that I hadn't done anything naughty so presumed that OH was getting it in the neck for something. Poor him, after working ten hours in the driving rain. I don't think they're giving much consideration to what the reality of his working life is.
Minutes after that, he came upstairs and said hello. I put on my best weary face, raised my hands and said 'I done nothing!'. This is a bit of a family joke. When Babe2, who is three, is about to do something naughty - he is hellbent on trying to unlock and jump out of his bedroom window - he looks at you, shrieks those exact words and then runs into his room, slamming the door behind him. When you open it, seconds later, he is doing his level best to stick things into the keyhole.
'I asked at the gym if they've got any spaces for a massage or something tomorrow,' he said. 'I thought you could go and relax and have a nice time.'
A nicer person would have thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Instead, I pointed out that 1) we can't afford it and 2) I can't relax because my life at the moment is a living hell that is of his making and what I would really like is for him and I to have a proper conversation to try and unpick where things went so badly wrong between us and how we ended up in this situation which is a complete and utter disaster. Except that we can't discuss it, I went on, because we are incapable of understanding one another and we don't have time to have the kind of conversation we need to have, which would take years, and anyway, I don't want another bloody argument so let's not bloody bother.
He made to move away. So I quickly pointed out that I did not want him to move away. So he stayed. God, why do I have to tell him to stay?!
I remember an incident with an ex, once - if you can call him that because we never really got it together properly, although boyohboy I was mad about him - when we walked around a park and he was making signals that he wanted us to get back together. I wanted to, as well, more than anything. But I also needed him to understand that he'd hurt me before, (in the simplistic, over-emotional way you get hurt when you're not all that long out of puberty) (I developed late, incidentally) in the hope that he wouldn't do the same again. I needed to say what he'd done and why it had hurt and how much, so that we could move forward. And I'll be damned if he didn't take what I was saying as a 'No!'. I wanted someone who would fight for me, give me a down-on-one-knee apology, maybe a bunch of flowers, and some indication that if we were going to get back together it was for reasons more than simply to get a shag out of me. Instead I got a hurt shrug and that was that. Well, pretty much that was that.
(I do, incidentally, know that I can go on a bit and there are of course two takes on every tale. But just saying, like.)
So, what did I want OH to do at that moment? What could he have said that would have helped?
'Sorry.' That is always a good thing to say. You have to sound like you mean it though.
'You're right.' Yes, that would have helped, whether he meant it or not.
'I love you, You're a wonderful human being and I don't want to lose you.' Yep, that would have been fine too.
'What can we do to make things better and move forward from here?' No, that would have resulted in me throwing something at him. I am dog-tired of having to come up with solutions.
Instead, we had a garbled, angry conversation that was fast and unsatisfactory and broken off because Babe2 started crying downstairs. (Which reminds me of other fast and unsatisfactory things we do now that we have kids...) And in the course of that conversation I asked him not to walk away three times and he stayed.
He said he knows our marriage is in tatters. He said he knows it isn't working out with his brothers. He said he knows OBrother is not easy. He was starting to win me back, a little bit, at this point. He then said that he can't see how they'll bring family members over here. My hackles started to rise because they are talking about this already. How I'll have OBrother's chain-smoking wife for company and how his son and Babe will play together and have so much fun. OH then went on to say that he thought they'd only stay until the economic situation in Greece improves. At which point I'm sorry, but I told him to F off.
I want someone to hear what I have to say and take it on board, reflect and then offer solutions that indicate they have heard and understood what I'm saying. I need someone who can be realistic and understand what a really deep mess is being created by this situation. I have reached a point of emotional distress and overload where sticking plasters ain't gonna cut the mustard.
I went downstairs to find OBrother storming out of the house. I asked what was wrong and OH explained that OBrother had argued with DBrother about who got their driving license first. Like I say, things are starting to disintegrate. I sighed and went to get the kids ready for bed.
*Since we started seeing one another, seventeen years ago, I have been finely tuned to hearing OH arrive home. From our rooftop flat in one part of Athens, where you couldn't see the street or his bike from above; from the balcony of another; from the window of our house where we live now, etc etc. I always hear the engine or the music or the beat of his heart, maybe, and tell people 'he is home', way before he comes through the door.
I had actually been sitting in the living room with the brothers and the babes for about an hour before OH got home. I have no idea where the brothers were all day, or if they were at ours, because Babe had an INSET day at school and we went to a museum in town with friends, quite early. They were in when we got back, watching telly while their food was cooking, and I could tell they were feeling miserable. Where do you go all day when you haven't got any work or any money to spend and it's cold and raining? And these are two brothers who don't really get on very well, but are now being forced to spend a ridiculous amount of time together. I felt really sorry for them, despite the fact that they were watching Jeremy Kyle at high volume. I suggested to Babe that he teach them how to play snakes and ladders and I think they enjoyed the interaction, and the opportunity it gave them to practise counting to six, and so on.
So... minutes after I heard OH come into the house I heard raised voices. When Greeks are talking it can be really hard working out what is a conversation and what is an argument and I suspected it was the latter. I was pretty sure that I hadn't done anything naughty so presumed that OH was getting it in the neck for something. Poor him, after working ten hours in the driving rain. I don't think they're giving much consideration to what the reality of his working life is.
Minutes after that, he came upstairs and said hello. I put on my best weary face, raised my hands and said 'I done nothing!'. This is a bit of a family joke. When Babe2, who is three, is about to do something naughty - he is hellbent on trying to unlock and jump out of his bedroom window - he looks at you, shrieks those exact words and then runs into his room, slamming the door behind him. When you open it, seconds later, he is doing his level best to stick things into the keyhole.
'I asked at the gym if they've got any spaces for a massage or something tomorrow,' he said. 'I thought you could go and relax and have a nice time.'
A nicer person would have thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Instead, I pointed out that 1) we can't afford it and 2) I can't relax because my life at the moment is a living hell that is of his making and what I would really like is for him and I to have a proper conversation to try and unpick where things went so badly wrong between us and how we ended up in this situation which is a complete and utter disaster. Except that we can't discuss it, I went on, because we are incapable of understanding one another and we don't have time to have the kind of conversation we need to have, which would take years, and anyway, I don't want another bloody argument so let's not bloody bother.
He made to move away. So I quickly pointed out that I did not want him to move away. So he stayed. God, why do I have to tell him to stay?!
I remember an incident with an ex, once - if you can call him that because we never really got it together properly, although boyohboy I was mad about him - when we walked around a park and he was making signals that he wanted us to get back together. I wanted to, as well, more than anything. But I also needed him to understand that he'd hurt me before, (in the simplistic, over-emotional way you get hurt when you're not all that long out of puberty) (I developed late, incidentally) in the hope that he wouldn't do the same again. I needed to say what he'd done and why it had hurt and how much, so that we could move forward. And I'll be damned if he didn't take what I was saying as a 'No!'. I wanted someone who would fight for me, give me a down-on-one-knee apology, maybe a bunch of flowers, and some indication that if we were going to get back together it was for reasons more than simply to get a shag out of me. Instead I got a hurt shrug and that was that. Well, pretty much that was that.
(I do, incidentally, know that I can go on a bit and there are of course two takes on every tale. But just saying, like.)
So, what did I want OH to do at that moment? What could he have said that would have helped?
'Sorry.' That is always a good thing to say. You have to sound like you mean it though.
'You're right.' Yes, that would have helped, whether he meant it or not.
'I love you, You're a wonderful human being and I don't want to lose you.' Yep, that would have been fine too.
'What can we do to make things better and move forward from here?' No, that would have resulted in me throwing something at him. I am dog-tired of having to come up with solutions.
Instead, we had a garbled, angry conversation that was fast and unsatisfactory and broken off because Babe2 started crying downstairs. (Which reminds me of other fast and unsatisfactory things we do now that we have kids...) And in the course of that conversation I asked him not to walk away three times and he stayed.
He said he knows our marriage is in tatters. He said he knows it isn't working out with his brothers. He said he knows OBrother is not easy. He was starting to win me back, a little bit, at this point. He then said that he can't see how they'll bring family members over here. My hackles started to rise because they are talking about this already. How I'll have OBrother's chain-smoking wife for company and how his son and Babe will play together and have so much fun. OH then went on to say that he thought they'd only stay until the economic situation in Greece improves. At which point I'm sorry, but I told him to F off.
I want someone to hear what I have to say and take it on board, reflect and then offer solutions that indicate they have heard and understood what I'm saying. I need someone who can be realistic and understand what a really deep mess is being created by this situation. I have reached a point of emotional distress and overload where sticking plasters ain't gonna cut the mustard.
I went downstairs to find OBrother storming out of the house. I asked what was wrong and OH explained that OBrother had argued with DBrother about who got their driving license first. Like I say, things are starting to disintegrate. I sighed and went to get the kids ready for bed.
*Since we started seeing one another, seventeen years ago, I have been finely tuned to hearing OH arrive home. From our rooftop flat in one part of Athens, where you couldn't see the street or his bike from above; from the balcony of another; from the window of our house where we live now, etc etc. I always hear the engine or the music or the beat of his heart, maybe, and tell people 'he is home', way before he comes through the door.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The Brothers dob me in
The Brothers have been telling tales. When I got back from a governor's meeting last evening, and went upstairs to finish putting the boys to bed, I heard a hushed conversation going on in the hall and then OH and the two of them filed out of the front door. I asked where they were going. 'For a walk,' OH replied. 'What now, in the rain?' I quizzed. 'And aren't you tired?' (I can't help from getting protective even though I hate his guts.) 'I haven't seen you for days!' But they slunk out anyway. I knew they were going to the supermarket because DBrother was carrying the broken plastic laundry basket that we keep our recycling in and it was full. OH always insists on taking our recycling to the supermarket even though the council collect it from outside our house every Monday. Such a waste of petrol, time, money etc etc. I can't get a sensible answer from him for why he does it. Same as I can't get a sensible answer regarding why he does 'lottery calculations', but hey.
What joy! I made myself a hot chocolate and Baileys and went and sat in the luxury of my own living room, on the sofa, for a whole nineteen minutes, after which period of time they got back. Bugger! He might at least have dropped them at 'theirs' for the night. Fat chance. They came in and sat down and I just couldn't be bothered to communicate so I went into the kitchen to see what they'd been up to. OH was filling a pan with oil ahead of cremating some sea bass. He turned to me and accused me of being unkind to them, telling them to get their own coffee, being generally unwelcoming etc etc. He then said he'd just seen a friend of mine in the street who had asked how I was coping, which had shocked him. I tried to explain that all my friends were wondering how I was coping in these pretty stressful circumstances. 'But how do they know what's going on?' he asked. 'Because I've emailed everyone I know asking if they need any decorating doing, like you told me to!' I retorted. (I'll be fu**ed if I'm going to tell him I'm blogging about it. For now.) 'Well, don't tell anyone else!' he said. (Oops, I've just emailed the Guardian Family Section :)) 'Why? Is this a secret?' I asked. Actually, I shouted. 'Yes, it's my secret!' he shouted back. 'Well you're doing a completely shit job of hiding it!' I hissed, and re-took my position in the dining room. I may need to get a beanbag.
***
Trying to get on with these men in difficult circumstances leads me to a few reflections today on human interaction. And what is it about some people that makes you warm to them, and what it is about others that makes you twitch with irritation when you come into their presence.
Some of this is not rocket science, clearly. We sat down to eat the other evening and the way OBrother was eating with his mouth open was enough to make most people want to leave the table. They were both sitting hunched over their food, shovelling it in as fast as they could, elbows on the table, and I knew that I would be visibly recoiling if we were anywhere public. I know this makes me sound like a bitch. I'm just being honest which I guess of one of the semi-confessional intentions behind this blog. I've always been an open type and to be honest I prefer other open types. I can't stand mysterious people. Unless it's refined mysterious, I guess, in the form of Johnny Depp. How benile.
But what is it about OBrother that makes me not want to spend any time with him at all? He is quite forceful and I guess a tad impatient. He expects to speak and not listen. He is very opinionated. He is fussy. He isn't English!
Yesterday I bought him some chocolate digestives. The following brief dialogue took place.
'OBrother, I've you some of those chocolate biscuits I remembered that you like!'
'For breakfast?'
'Yes!'
[No comment]
And later:
'OBrother, would you like a coffee?'
'You haven't got any mugs.'
'Yes, I have! Would you like one?'
'I just went into the kitchen to get myself a coffee and there aren't any mugs.'
'I know the dishwasher is on, but I have other mugs in the cupboard. Would you like a coffee or not?
'Ok.'
He is making huge strides with his language skills though. And literal strides, as he moves around the house, highlighting domestic vocabulary: 'ceiling', 'electric lamp', 'wood floor'. I have so far refrained from telling him to be quiet and am working very hard on a casual smile, which is something I don't really do. I have, however, told him not to ask me to help him to learn English because it is one aspect of living with OH that has been total hell over the last seventeen years, and it would bring this house of cards down around us in no uncertain terms.
So he is now constantly accosting Babe with phrases from his phrase book to see if he can understand him.
'Are you going through the window?'
'Is this mashed potato?'
'Have you got any change?'
This evening Babe asked me when they are moving out.
After dinner yesterday OBrother decided to start shouting what are probably listed as key phrases in his study guide. 'So!'*, 'Oh no!', 'Come here now!' - to which Babe2 responded by running straight over to him, looking scared. And then he asked me why he'd done that. Doh!
*When OBrother asked OH what 'So' means, OH informed him that it was a very rude thing to say, as it's like saying 'What's it to you?'. Obviously that is only the case if you say it in a 'What's it to you?' tone of voice. In the same way as you could make it sound like an invitation for a shag if you said it lavisciously. I'm only mentioning this as a teeny-tiny example of how irritating and confusing OH can be. More on that soon!
Thank-you for bearing with me today, while I have a bit of a foul-mouthed, angry and unkind rant. I have really laughed a lot writing this and think I needed to. More soon!
What joy! I made myself a hot chocolate and Baileys and went and sat in the luxury of my own living room, on the sofa, for a whole nineteen minutes, after which period of time they got back. Bugger! He might at least have dropped them at 'theirs' for the night. Fat chance. They came in and sat down and I just couldn't be bothered to communicate so I went into the kitchen to see what they'd been up to. OH was filling a pan with oil ahead of cremating some sea bass. He turned to me and accused me of being unkind to them, telling them to get their own coffee, being generally unwelcoming etc etc. He then said he'd just seen a friend of mine in the street who had asked how I was coping, which had shocked him. I tried to explain that all my friends were wondering how I was coping in these pretty stressful circumstances. 'But how do they know what's going on?' he asked. 'Because I've emailed everyone I know asking if they need any decorating doing, like you told me to!' I retorted. (I'll be fu**ed if I'm going to tell him I'm blogging about it. For now.) 'Well, don't tell anyone else!' he said. (Oops, I've just emailed the Guardian Family Section :)) 'Why? Is this a secret?' I asked. Actually, I shouted. 'Yes, it's my secret!' he shouted back. 'Well you're doing a completely shit job of hiding it!' I hissed, and re-took my position in the dining room. I may need to get a beanbag.
***
Trying to get on with these men in difficult circumstances leads me to a few reflections today on human interaction. And what is it about some people that makes you warm to them, and what it is about others that makes you twitch with irritation when you come into their presence.
Some of this is not rocket science, clearly. We sat down to eat the other evening and the way OBrother was eating with his mouth open was enough to make most people want to leave the table. They were both sitting hunched over their food, shovelling it in as fast as they could, elbows on the table, and I knew that I would be visibly recoiling if we were anywhere public. I know this makes me sound like a bitch. I'm just being honest which I guess of one of the semi-confessional intentions behind this blog. I've always been an open type and to be honest I prefer other open types. I can't stand mysterious people. Unless it's refined mysterious, I guess, in the form of Johnny Depp. How benile.
But what is it about OBrother that makes me not want to spend any time with him at all? He is quite forceful and I guess a tad impatient. He expects to speak and not listen. He is very opinionated. He is fussy. He isn't English!
Yesterday I bought him some chocolate digestives. The following brief dialogue took place.
'OBrother, I've you some of those chocolate biscuits I remembered that you like!'
'For breakfast?'
'Yes!'
[No comment]
And later:
'OBrother, would you like a coffee?'
'You haven't got any mugs.'
'Yes, I have! Would you like one?'
'I just went into the kitchen to get myself a coffee and there aren't any mugs.'
'I know the dishwasher is on, but I have other mugs in the cupboard. Would you like a coffee or not?
'Ok.'
He is making huge strides with his language skills though. And literal strides, as he moves around the house, highlighting domestic vocabulary: 'ceiling', 'electric lamp', 'wood floor'. I have so far refrained from telling him to be quiet and am working very hard on a casual smile, which is something I don't really do. I have, however, told him not to ask me to help him to learn English because it is one aspect of living with OH that has been total hell over the last seventeen years, and it would bring this house of cards down around us in no uncertain terms.
So he is now constantly accosting Babe with phrases from his phrase book to see if he can understand him.
'Are you going through the window?'
'Is this mashed potato?'
'Have you got any change?'
This evening Babe asked me when they are moving out.
After dinner yesterday OBrother decided to start shouting what are probably listed as key phrases in his study guide. 'So!'*, 'Oh no!', 'Come here now!' - to which Babe2 responded by running straight over to him, looking scared. And then he asked me why he'd done that. Doh!
*When OBrother asked OH what 'So' means, OH informed him that it was a very rude thing to say, as it's like saying 'What's it to you?'. Obviously that is only the case if you say it in a 'What's it to you?' tone of voice. In the same way as you could make it sound like an invitation for a shag if you said it lavisciously. I'm only mentioning this as a teeny-tiny example of how irritating and confusing OH can be. More on that soon!
Thank-you for bearing with me today, while I have a bit of a foul-mouthed, angry and unkind rant. I have really laughed a lot writing this and think I needed to. More soon!
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Ships in the night. Or something.
So. At half past ten last night they did go off to sleep in their own place. Just after I'd gone into the living room and said, 'I'm going to bed now then. Maybe see you tomorrow, OH?'. That comment was of course shot at him, not them, and I needn't have said it, but I am feeling fairly fed up with him. They did already have their shoes on by then, in case you were wondering whether I'd scared them off or not.
OH is being really cold and grumpy with me and I am considering looking into my legal rights if I decide the time has come to separate. (Bear in mind that a good 10% of what comes out of my mouth is hyperbole and exaggeration.) He is behaving like this, I presume, because I am not doing enough to welcome or help his brothers. Coming as he does, from a culture where hospitality is everything, (and intelligence in very short supply) (yes! strike me dead for writing that, I dare you!)(I just mean 'logical thinking', really, I suppose) (and I know I say that with a western egocentric perspective but I am only human) the way I am behaving is just not good enough.
Don't get me wrong, OH is not generally a particularly traditional type, but where his family is concerned, there is a whole lot of 'how things should be done' to contend with. I do in fact notice that as he gets older, he gets more and more like this. I am so tired of his complaints against my lack of culinary skills - in the Greek department, of course - that I have pretty much refused to cook for him, which makes him moan even more. It is such a shame, because I really believe that the older I get, the more open-minded and self-reflective I become. I am more than happy to consider criticism launched at me, even if it hurts, as long as it is reasonably expressed. But I can't be doing with being negatively compared with a community of women from another country and culture. Which creates some, well, dynamic tension, shall we say, in our household.
At present you can, of course, cut the tension with a knife round here some moments. Which is entirely as predicted. I'm not perfect and the Brothers are really driving me up the wall at times. So it is not entirely surprising that my general demeanor is managing to convey that I am royally pissed off with what's going on.
And just as you are thinking I am a bit mean after all, I forgot to mention that although they slept in their own beds last night, they were back here at half past seven this morning. Yes, I was just coming out of the kitchen stark naked with a cup of tea in my hand when the key turned in the lock of our front door and I had to bolt upstairs, spilling it as I went. When I told them, last night, that I'd arranged for us to go and look at a friend's window that needs fixing after school today, I observed that they were struggling to tear their eyes away from the football on the telly. They did not say thank-you, that's for sure. I think one of them said 'ok'. That was OBrother, who at 7.30 this morning said they had come round to see my friend's window before school.
Poor sods. They thought they were really trying, getting here before school. Instead they got a semi-vitriolic complaint and strong suggestion that they go and buy themselves some coffee and sugar from the corner shop and breakfast from now at home.
You see the problem, right? We're all trying really hard. In totally incompatible ways that are leading me, at least, to an early grave.
I have already have mentioned how aware I am that there is a gulf in understanding between their culture and ours. No matter how much I seek to be understood, I cannot be. Anymore than I can understand them. Not on all levels, or across the board, of course. But... I think the following example kind of encapsulates it:
When the brothers and I had a heated conversation the other night, after OH had gone to bed, OBrother said, 'Sophia, if you think you're a good woman, doing all you do for the community etc, how come you can't help your husband's family and have them come live with you when they are in need?' I was floored. Answers on a postcard, please.
I am in fact asking myself this all the time. I worked for a major development agency for nearly twelve years. I think of myself as a giving individual who has the world's Poor somewhere on my agenda. So why can't I just let whoever wants to come and live in my house and sleep on my floor and eat my food and watch my telly and make noise and have cheesy smelly feet that Babe keeps moaning about and and and and and?
I guess part of me wants to quiz their level of desperation when, instead of going to the Greek church on Sunday to network, as I suggested, they went into town and bought trainers.
OH is being really cold and grumpy with me and I am considering looking into my legal rights if I decide the time has come to separate. (Bear in mind that a good 10% of what comes out of my mouth is hyperbole and exaggeration.) He is behaving like this, I presume, because I am not doing enough to welcome or help his brothers. Coming as he does, from a culture where hospitality is everything, (and intelligence in very short supply) (yes! strike me dead for writing that, I dare you!)(I just mean 'logical thinking', really, I suppose) (and I know I say that with a western egocentric perspective but I am only human) the way I am behaving is just not good enough.
Don't get me wrong, OH is not generally a particularly traditional type, but where his family is concerned, there is a whole lot of 'how things should be done' to contend with. I do in fact notice that as he gets older, he gets more and more like this. I am so tired of his complaints against my lack of culinary skills - in the Greek department, of course - that I have pretty much refused to cook for him, which makes him moan even more. It is such a shame, because I really believe that the older I get, the more open-minded and self-reflective I become. I am more than happy to consider criticism launched at me, even if it hurts, as long as it is reasonably expressed. But I can't be doing with being negatively compared with a community of women from another country and culture. Which creates some, well, dynamic tension, shall we say, in our household.
At present you can, of course, cut the tension with a knife round here some moments. Which is entirely as predicted. I'm not perfect and the Brothers are really driving me up the wall at times. So it is not entirely surprising that my general demeanor is managing to convey that I am royally pissed off with what's going on.
And just as you are thinking I am a bit mean after all, I forgot to mention that although they slept in their own beds last night, they were back here at half past seven this morning. Yes, I was just coming out of the kitchen stark naked with a cup of tea in my hand when the key turned in the lock of our front door and I had to bolt upstairs, spilling it as I went. When I told them, last night, that I'd arranged for us to go and look at a friend's window that needs fixing after school today, I observed that they were struggling to tear their eyes away from the football on the telly. They did not say thank-you, that's for sure. I think one of them said 'ok'. That was OBrother, who at 7.30 this morning said they had come round to see my friend's window before school.
Poor sods. They thought they were really trying, getting here before school. Instead they got a semi-vitriolic complaint and strong suggestion that they go and buy themselves some coffee and sugar from the corner shop and breakfast from now at home.
You see the problem, right? We're all trying really hard. In totally incompatible ways that are leading me, at least, to an early grave.
I have already have mentioned how aware I am that there is a gulf in understanding between their culture and ours. No matter how much I seek to be understood, I cannot be. Anymore than I can understand them. Not on all levels, or across the board, of course. But... I think the following example kind of encapsulates it:
When the brothers and I had a heated conversation the other night, after OH had gone to bed, OBrother said, 'Sophia, if you think you're a good woman, doing all you do for the community etc, how come you can't help your husband's family and have them come live with you when they are in need?' I was floored. Answers on a postcard, please.
I am in fact asking myself this all the time. I worked for a major development agency for nearly twelve years. I think of myself as a giving individual who has the world's Poor somewhere on my agenda. So why can't I just let whoever wants to come and live in my house and sleep on my floor and eat my food and watch my telly and make noise and have cheesy smelly feet that Babe keeps moaning about and and and and and?
I guess part of me wants to quiz their level of desperation when, instead of going to the Greek church on Sunday to network, as I suggested, they went into town and bought trainers.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Things start to implode - or do they?
Things are starting to implode. Or maybe they're not. I have lost all sense of judgement on most things lately.
The brothers' dependence on me is as clear to them as it is to me. And they have evidently been discussing this. Today, when they came home for food, OBrother asked, 'Sophia, would you like to open an office and organise jobs for tradespeople?', such as themselves, I presume.
'Well,' I said, trying not to get irritable, 'It is my ambition to work using my skills, in the same way that you want to work using yours. I can't say "never" but no, that is not want I want to do.'
I am, in fact, doing quite a lot to keep my CV looking good and my brain alive. I am Chair of Directors at our local community centre, which comes with an unpaid and sizeable workload. I am a governor at Babe2's nursery and at Babe's school. I am studying for a diploma that I have barely started. I have writing aspirations I am trying to fulfil by entering a competition most months. Hitherto, I have had only the time after the boys go to bed each evening to meet these requirements, which is also when I have domestic stuff to keep on top of. I have been waiting for Gus to start pre-school so that I'd have a bit of time to focus on what's important to me. Ironically, that was last week. I won't ask if it's fair that the brothers arrived at the self-same time, suddenly upping my workload by multiples of ten, because that wouldn't be helpful. But I am feeling pretty darn stressed by the amount I have and want to do, irrespective of this new complication in my life. And in case you're interested, I have not been feeling well for some time and await the results of more blood tests. Diddums!
Mr Khan is, we now think, a total nutter/lying bastard. Or is he? The brothers went over to the house on Saturday to find out whether he'd sourced two single beds as promised and he insisted on walking back here with them, so I found him standing outside my house when I got back from doing my weekly shop. He immediately started wringing his hands and expressing profuse shame at not having got the beds. He claimed he had been mugged at gun and knife-point the night before, on his way back from the children's hospital where his youngest child is being treated having fallen down the stairs. If that's a lie, incidentally, I hope the lie is that the child has been injured and not how the child has been injured. He proceeded to ask if I would give him money to get the beds, as all his cash and cards had been taken. I said that I have no money whatsoever, having produced the £300 required for the brothers' deposit in good faith. When he want on to say he had no money to get food for his wife or children at the hospital I brought the conversation to a swift close. What the hell have I got us into?
Needless to say he did not ask if we would be meeting him on the Sunday to discuss building an extension to his friend's house, as previously suggested.
As a consequence of all this, the conversation and activity of the last few days has revolved around single beds. A dear friend with a car drove me around the city where we live this morning, looking for the cheapest new and second-hand options. I don't know how I let this happen as I should have insisted they put up with what they've got, a week ago. Time is of the essence and finding work the priority! Somehow I keep getting sucked into their wooly thinking. The Brothers have revealed that they only have enough money for one more month's rent and I now suspect they do not have anything put on one side to buy tickets to get back home. Any early bets on how I'll spend my Christmas money?
When I got home I went and found two lie-flatable sleeping bags from the roof to serve as mattress protectors, a pile of bedding and towels and told them to make do with the double bed they've got, and the additional single that was on the floor. Enough is enough: they've got something at least to sleep on, and I need my living room back. They agreed and took the stuff over. Leaving behind, I noticed, their wash stuff. I wonder if OBrother's PJs are still tucked behind the cushion on the sofa?
I do really hope they will sleep in the room tonight. Although it's them being here all day and all evening that is more of a problem if I'm honest (I'm back in the dining room tonight while they watch football.) When will they start washing there? Or cooking and eating? Shopping for an additional two men is really straining our already unrealistic budget and they are eating everything in sight. Hungrily, you understand, not greedily. And with some embarrassment, which makes me feel really, really mean wanting them out.
But I want my space back, and to clean and air. And to relax for half an hour before I go to bed. And to have a conversation with my husband. I think. More about that some other time. Goodnight!
The brothers' dependence on me is as clear to them as it is to me. And they have evidently been discussing this. Today, when they came home for food, OBrother asked, 'Sophia, would you like to open an office and organise jobs for tradespeople?', such as themselves, I presume.
'Well,' I said, trying not to get irritable, 'It is my ambition to work using my skills, in the same way that you want to work using yours. I can't say "never" but no, that is not want I want to do.'
I am, in fact, doing quite a lot to keep my CV looking good and my brain alive. I am Chair of Directors at our local community centre, which comes with an unpaid and sizeable workload. I am a governor at Babe2's nursery and at Babe's school. I am studying for a diploma that I have barely started. I have writing aspirations I am trying to fulfil by entering a competition most months. Hitherto, I have had only the time after the boys go to bed each evening to meet these requirements, which is also when I have domestic stuff to keep on top of. I have been waiting for Gus to start pre-school so that I'd have a bit of time to focus on what's important to me. Ironically, that was last week. I won't ask if it's fair that the brothers arrived at the self-same time, suddenly upping my workload by multiples of ten, because that wouldn't be helpful. But I am feeling pretty darn stressed by the amount I have and want to do, irrespective of this new complication in my life. And in case you're interested, I have not been feeling well for some time and await the results of more blood tests. Diddums!
Mr Khan is, we now think, a total nutter/lying bastard. Or is he? The brothers went over to the house on Saturday to find out whether he'd sourced two single beds as promised and he insisted on walking back here with them, so I found him standing outside my house when I got back from doing my weekly shop. He immediately started wringing his hands and expressing profuse shame at not having got the beds. He claimed he had been mugged at gun and knife-point the night before, on his way back from the children's hospital where his youngest child is being treated having fallen down the stairs. If that's a lie, incidentally, I hope the lie is that the child has been injured and not how the child has been injured. He proceeded to ask if I would give him money to get the beds, as all his cash and cards had been taken. I said that I have no money whatsoever, having produced the £300 required for the brothers' deposit in good faith. When he want on to say he had no money to get food for his wife or children at the hospital I brought the conversation to a swift close. What the hell have I got us into?
Needless to say he did not ask if we would be meeting him on the Sunday to discuss building an extension to his friend's house, as previously suggested.
As a consequence of all this, the conversation and activity of the last few days has revolved around single beds. A dear friend with a car drove me around the city where we live this morning, looking for the cheapest new and second-hand options. I don't know how I let this happen as I should have insisted they put up with what they've got, a week ago. Time is of the essence and finding work the priority! Somehow I keep getting sucked into their wooly thinking. The Brothers have revealed that they only have enough money for one more month's rent and I now suspect they do not have anything put on one side to buy tickets to get back home. Any early bets on how I'll spend my Christmas money?
When I got home I went and found two lie-flatable sleeping bags from the roof to serve as mattress protectors, a pile of bedding and towels and told them to make do with the double bed they've got, and the additional single that was on the floor. Enough is enough: they've got something at least to sleep on, and I need my living room back. They agreed and took the stuff over. Leaving behind, I noticed, their wash stuff. I wonder if OBrother's PJs are still tucked behind the cushion on the sofa?
I do really hope they will sleep in the room tonight. Although it's them being here all day and all evening that is more of a problem if I'm honest (I'm back in the dining room tonight while they watch football.) When will they start washing there? Or cooking and eating? Shopping for an additional two men is really straining our already unrealistic budget and they are eating everything in sight. Hungrily, you understand, not greedily. And with some embarrassment, which makes me feel really, really mean wanting them out.
But I want my space back, and to clean and air. And to relax for half an hour before I go to bed. And to have a conversation with my husband. I think. More about that some other time. Goodnight!
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