Fight! Fight! Fight!

Big D and I haven't spoken since Sunday.

Ok, honest truth.  I like to fight. I like the honesty that comes from it.  I like the purging of all things emotional.  I like the rawness.  I like the desperation.  I like the grabbing for just the right words to fling.  Words that will either make a great point, or words that hurt, which goes back to honesty.  And I love nothing more than honesty.

Did you know that I love 100% honesty.  And despise deception?  More than one million percent?

Another thing I love about fighting:  I love the elusiveness that comes with fighting.  It's like a break from marriage.  I don't have to try.  I just, can not "care" for however long the fighting lasts.  Like, that's the time to do things that are stupid. Also, it gives me more ammunition to be mad. 

For example:  Big D has this idea that riding his bike to work is a good idea.  Well, in theory it's great.  However, a friend of ours just got hit while riding his bike on the way to work.  That story makes me a nervy wife.  But hey, you want to ride your bike to work when we're fighting?  Great idea.  Don't really care as much.

On the other hand, if we're having this great week.  Lots of naughty boom boom time.  Laughing together on the couch after the kids go to bed.  Snuggling on sunset walks - yeah, I'm going to care a lot more if you choose "risky" behavior.

So, this fighting gives me a break from holding on and caring.  As much.  (Of course I have 2 weeny whiner kids, and the thought of being a single parent makes me hurl - but . . . .)

So, when I say we haven't talked since Sunday, I mean talk like husband and wives talk.  Once we're fighting and our wall of not caring and protection goes up, we jump into these bicky banter sessions.  It's great.  It's like talking to somebody who has no emotional grip on you at all.

"Today, I'm wearing the underwear you hate.  And I'm going full on bangs.  Also, I bought 7 more pairs of shoes."  "Well, I'm going bowling tonight after work.  And then tomorrow I'm swimming in the lake before the sun comes out.  A mile straight out, and then a mile back to the shore.  All by myself.  Also, for lunch I'm going to be eating 3 garbage plates."

So, that's how our conversations go.  And have been going since the beginning of Monday.

One last thing I love about fighting.  I love becoming friends again. I love when Big D comes home from work and, legitimately is happy to see me.  And snuggles extra hard.  And watches Grey's Anatomy with me.  And drinks wine with me.  And tells me that I'm the most magical mother and cooker this side of Lake Ontario.  And I really love it when he gets desperate to have THIS hot biscuit for dinner.

Also, I came up with a new word.  Wankfaggler.  I have a meaning for it that I will not share.  But I would love some new suggestions . . .

Take Aways
1)  Give me a fight any day.
2)  The reason I don't mind fighting, is because I've been doing this married thing for awhile now.  And I know that marriage is purely a very hilly ride.  It's a long ride down the hill, and a long ride back up the hill.  And a very short visit at the top of the hill.  But it's a cycle.  You'll always go down.  And you'll always come back up.  There are enjoyable parts all along the way.  And therefore, fights do not make me nervy.