Bod Shop

“I talked to Paul this afternoon, “Husband informed me last week.

I waited several seconds for Paul’s last name, which of course did not come. Finally I asked, “Which Paul?”

“You know, from the mortuary. Paul with the red hair.”

I got it. Husband couldn’t remember his last name, either. My mind filled with pictures of the tall young man we’ve known for more than 25 years. At that time he worked at a funeral Home in the old mansion downtown.

“Oh, yes. That Paul. Nice guy. How is he?”

“He sounds great. He is back in the mortuary business.”

“Does that mean he left it? Why?”

“He did for one year. He worked for the Hawker, but when they had lay-offs, he was one of the first out the door. He worked there one year and one week.”

I really wasn’t interested in those details. I was just glad Paul had a trade to fall back onto. My main question had to do with the conversation to which Husband first referred.

But I did continue with the memories. “His twins must be nearly grown, like around 18 or so. Didn’t he and his wife have at least one more child?”

Husband remembers that type of minutiae. “Yes, I believe they did one more child.”

I was looking to move this conversation on to the piece that affected us. “Did you call Paul, or did he call you? What was it about?”

“Oh, I called him. I am thinking about getting back into the business part time. He was glad to hear from me and said he would like to have me available to help pick up bodies and other tasks like that.”

I thought back to when Paul and Husband first worked together in the mortuary business. Husband was a mortician’s assistant in that he closed caskets at night, helped with the grunt work of the funeral services, and was on call to help pick up bodies and take them to the mortuary. He was even allowed to help with preparation of the bodies.

It was the type of work Husband truly enjoyed.

“You were always really quite good at that type of work. I couldn’t imagine why you chose to do it since you got the job just when you yourself just had cancer surgery, my brother died, and your step-mother had cancer surgery. It seemed we were surrounded by potential death or thoughts of death during that time period.”

“We needed the money for medical bills, and strange as it seems, it helped me take my mind off my own health. I was just thankful I was alive and able to do the work.”

“It is a people-pleasing job, which isn’t always your strong suit, but you did so well with the families of the deceased.”

“I think of it as a ministry. People die every day, and families need help and comfort.”

“You were kind to them.”

I snickered to think, “Our kids have memories of the pizza parties we had in the back room of the viewing area. It was one way we could have dinner with you the evenings you worked there.”

“I thought of it as a great learning setting for them. However, Crown Prince doesn’t like to remember I picked him up and laid him in an empty casket. I wanted him to feel how soft it was.”

I shivered to remember that incident.

“Yeah,” Husband said, “He said ‘Daddy, you’re not going to make me test out a casket again, are you?’ Of course I grabbed him close to me and assured him I would not. I did not realize I had frightened him that much.”

“No, I suppose you did not think ahead in that direction. You were focused on letting him have an experience.”

“The kids still call it ‘The Bod Shop’, ” Husband grinned.

“I know. I thought it was funny and typical of you to nickname it in that manner. I guess it still is. It didn’t seem to teach them disrespect for death.”  I chuckled.

“After all,” Husband continued. “That’s all a mortuary is. It is a body shop for the dead and a place for their loved ones to say good-bye in good fashion.”

I hope Husband does get to work with Paul and does get to serve others during an hour of need. However, I am going to draw a boundary. No more eating in the back viewing room while he is at work.

A Complimentary Word

This morning a national TV personality asked her audience: “Have you made it a habit to speak a compliment to your spouse or partner each day? Actually I recommend you make a habit to do it four or five times each day. See how it helps to heal your marriage.”

She laughed loudly when a woman in the second row of her audience groaned audibly.

“What’s so funny?”  I thought. This was one time I did not feel guilty reflecting on the challenge.

I enjoy giving Husband compliments. His face lights up each time I do so, and when he is fighting depressed moods, it is one of the best things I can do for him.

He compliments me, too, and I remember a specific time he made a point to say nice things about me.

We had been married less than three months when I came down with a bud or allergy or something yucky along that line. I felt horrible, and I looked like death warmed over. Or, at least I thought I did.

I stood in the sitting room of our little apartment with my hair plastered against my head, no make-up, and a general pasty pallor. Yep, it was a bad as it sounds.

Husband looked across the room and in a most sincere tone said, “You are a beautiful woman.”

One simple statement.

“I feel awful, and I look it. Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he replied emphatically. “I can see the structure of your face and the blue of your eyes. I am sorry you don’t feel well.”

That gave me enough energy to wash and style my hair. Lesson learned.

A few years later into the marriage, a friend was at our house one afternoon when Husband arrived home from work.

I said my usual greeting to him about how nice it was to have him home.

My friend said, “I want to tell you something. You always encourage your husband. Like right now, you affirmed him by telling him how much you like seeing him come home, and I heard you thank him for working hard for you and the children today.”

“I try to tell him that every day. His job stresses him, and I really do appreciate his working, so I can stay home with the kids.”

“It shows,” she said. “I have noticed it many times. You compliment him or thank him in a natural way. He must really appreciate it.”

Later that evening I asked him about it. “Norma says I encourage and compliment you often. Do you feel as if I do?”

My heart somewhat dropped to my feet when he paused to think about it for such a long time. The seconds literally seemed like minutes.

“Yep, you do. I just think it is part of your personality. I know I don’t feel like I deserve your kind words.”

“I only tell you what I honestly think or feel,” I assured him. “I sincerely love you.”

Going back to this morning’s TV program, I talked back to the host of the show. I admit it; I am one of those who talks to the TV.

“You are spot on, Girlfriend. Keep telling women who are in their struggle years. There may be some in that audience who are married to really hateful jerks. But likely many of them are persons prone to condemn more than praise.  It will be much better for each if she learns how to compliment more and criticize less. ”

I am going to be honest with you. There were times when Husband deserved for me to strap him on my foot like an ice ski as I took a walk around the block. There are times when it took every ounce of effort to say one nice thing to him during the day. However, early in life I learned to choose the right thing before doing anything.

The right thing is a positive, encouraging word. A positive you is a powerful you.

Celebrating Another Anniversary

We had not really celebrated when our second anniversary on the actual date. My Dad died three weeks before, and my Mom came to stay with us a few weeks. On the actual anniversary, we took her with us to a nice restaurant.

For me that would have been enough, but I am blessed that Husband is a true romantic.

Weeks later, Husband suggested we try a real celebration with dinner at a favorite dreamy spot.

“Let’s go the Holiday Inn Plaza downtown,” he suggested. “We can have salads and split-pea soup.”

I rubbed the baby bump that seemed to be growing every day and thought of the first-born child we expected in less than one month.

“I think I can handle that,” I cautioned. “Foods like that should be OK for me and Bingo.”  I referred to the nickname we affectionately called our child.

“I remember the night I took you there on our first date, the second time around.”  He tends to treat such memories with undue emphasis on the feeling and with excessive nostalgia, but that is fine with me. I love being the focus of his feeling. “I remembering being wound-up with the thought of us being together again; I really wanted to take you to a nice place.”

And it was a nice place for the early 1970’s. The backs on the wicker chairs were exceptionally tall and curved toward each other, making a canopy over the table. Each setting was private and cozy.

“I like the service there,” I admitted, still thinking if salad and pea soup would settle well with my condition. “I think there will be room for my belly.”

“Afterwards we can drive around on a lengthy tour of the city and county just as we did on that other night.” He looked toward the ceiling where he viewed the vision of a long car ride.

“One or two differences between now and then,” I reminded him. “I was not pregnant and needing to stop for a bathroom, and we had not seen each other for several months. Now I have to go frequently, and we have been talking every day for over two years.”

“ Good. You like the idea.”

We chose a lovely fall night that had a bit of a nip in the air. I clearly remember wearing the cape I made to accommodate my expanding body. I flapped along like a bat on growth hormones.

The Plaza was built with a kiva-like lower level leading to the restaurant, symbolizing our Native American roots in Wichita. I handled the steps well without having to actual crawl down them, and we stepped inside the warmth of the lobby with anticipation.

Husband wore the purple denim jacket I made for him our first Christmas. “I like that you wore that jacket. It still looks very nice on you.”

“My wife made it for me.”  He said it with pride.

Settling at a table with memories rushing through his head forced Husband’s brain to race like a car.

“Did I ever tell you what I did after that first date? I went home and told my sister Debby that I was going to marry you.”

“You did? That was quite an assumption.”

“And she said, ‘I didn’t know you have been seeing Atha.’ ”

“Oh, I haven’t. This is the first time I have seen her in over a year. But I am going to marry her.”

About that time the waitress came to take our beverage order. Still wrapped in his euphoria, Husband leaned across the table with a huge smile and called me by my maiden name.

“So, tell me, Miss Simers, what have you been doing with yourself lately?”

The waitress looked dumbfounded at me, and I smiled in return.

Then, I learned back in my chair and began patting my huge maternity belly.

Startled, Husband grabbed the cloth napkin on his left, opened it, and fanned his face vigorously. The red color crawled up his neck and across his face.

We laughed heartedly, and the waitress laughed with us.

He was so embarrassed, he couldn’t order dinner, so I did it for the two of us. “Coffee for him, ice tea for me, two chef salads and two bowls of split-pea soup. We are celebrating our second wedding anniversary.”

Thoughts about Getting Married

Two days ago a friend complained about the many days of Kansas heat we’ve experienced this year.

“It was 110 degrees the day we got married,” Husband told him. “Of course it didn’t seem that hot to us then.”

What was he talking about? It was hot during that July; it is hot this July.  I admit we were much younger, but 110 degrees still made me sick.

After dinner on the day we got married, we walked across the street to a park next to the river. Suddenly I felt ill and went to the women’s facility. Later I found out he was in the men’s facility being sick, too. I hoped it was nerves and heat and not getting married to me.

In a previous post, I told you our wedding ceremony took place at 10 a.m. on a sunny and potentially hot Saturday.

I planned it that early because I did not want to wait all day to get married.  Besides, I don’t think people would have come out in that tremendous heat just to see us legally united.

“We only invited close family and friends,” I told one of my daughters.

“Why such a small wedding?”

“It was a compromise. I wanted a church wedding; he wanted to elope. I kept my guest list under 20; his mother invited several friends and neighbors. She didn’t ask; she just invited them. Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t have been surprised at her doing so. That is exactly the type of thing she would do. ”

When asked if it made me angry, I had to admit it didn’t really bother me.  I shrugged my shoulders and figured she was so happy to get us married, she wanted to celebrate.

“I think I now understand why he didn’t want a large wedding ceremony.”

“Because it would cost money,” she sneered.

“Well, that was probably part of it. Neither of us had much money, and my parents could not afford a huge wedding for me.  I think it was the planning. He just wanted to get married so we could be together, and he was too impatient to make plans over time. I was, too.”

“ Yes, Dad can be spontaneous such as the incident when he hung your underwear out the window of the Holiday Inn Hotel, downtown Wichita.”

He thought it was the funniest thing he had done that day.  Of course then and other times I laughed at him, and I enforced his totally inappropriate sense of humor that time and all the other times I laughed.

 “Mom, don’t encourage him,” the kids tell me.

I think of that episode and wonder how it was I didn’t connect all his behaviors before we married.

I should have figured something was amiss, right?

The CHADD organization (Children and Adults with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) shares a graphical illustration of ADHD which they call the ADD/ADHD Iceberg. Above the water one can see a small protrusion of ice, but below the water there is a huge, hidden portion that is much more dangerous and ominous looking. The idea is easy to catch. Much of the complexities of ADHD are hidden beneath the surface.

“I’m glad I didn’t know about ADD or ADHD when we married. I might not have gone through with the wedding. That would have been a terrible loss and shame. Not only would I not have you three kids, but I would have missed out on many benefits of being married to such a unique person.”

“Do you wish you had guidelines like people now have?”

“Guidelines may have helped us, but we did have the Bible, and those principles served us quite well through all the growing and maturation together.”

I am thankful I married this man and that he is a person with ADHD. I have many advantages being part of a couple with him.  

A Plan Would be Nice

“She has a job, and I have a job. What other kind of financial plan do we need?” I am certain this was Husband’s mindset when we married.

I don’t recall we even discussed a budget or other financial plans before our wedding day.

As a matter of fact, I am certain we did not.

Actually, I am embarrassed that I followed through with the wedding without a written budget in order. Fortunately the Grace of God got us through those first few weeks and throughout the initial years.

When we finally shopped for that first apartment, Husband insisted we keep the rent within a price range he could afford.

“I don’t want our rent depending on both of our salaries. We don’t know how much you will have to pay back on your student loans.”  At least he had that part in mind.

I now suspect he had some sort of plan in his brain, but he really wasn’t willing or able to share it with me. I think this because those were the days when he managed his money by not spending it and by rounding up to the nearest dollar each time he recorded a check.

A friend of mine, an accountant, about had apoplexy when I explained the system to her. “I suppose it works for him,” she said, “but how does he accurately balance his checkbook?”

“I am going to maintain a separate checking account,” I wisely decided before I said my wedding vows. “We can share the responsibility for paying the bills.”

On my part, I already had a savings plan, so I began a retirement plan with my first job. Fortunately both were in place five years later when we needed a down payment for our first house.

I was young, optimistic, and had just completed my Master’s degree, and I presumed everything would fall into place.

It did not occur to me that making a budget plan was a foreign concept to my husband and his ADHD brain. In all fairness, he really wanted to be financially conscientious, but rather than being given sound instruction on how to manage and budget, he had been yelled at as to why he should avoid debt and spending money.

I once suggested, “Let’s work together to plan a budget. How do you feel about that idea?”

“It depends on what your goal is.”

“To manage our money more wisely.”

“What a concept,” he replied, and I think he was a bit more than half-serious.

We’ve revisit the same conversation at regular intervals throughout the years.

It helped we finally realized that Husband needed to see his money allocated in a most concrete fashion.

We discovered the envelop system, which for us was a series of 10X12 mailing envelops in which we punched holes for a three-ring binder. We calculated our monthly average for each household bill or expense, and divided the amount by the number of paychecks in the month. Then, we deposited our checks in the bank, received cash for the bill system, and literally dispersed the cash per week into envelops. Our record keeping included placing the bill inside the corresponding envelop and writing the date when the bill was due. The additional step required that we re-deposit the amount for bills paid that week.

It was complicated, but it worked because we both began to see the control and discipline he needed for managing his money.

The system did not meet all our concerns, but it helped as we cubby-holed money for bills into envelops. We used it effectively for several years, and it laid a super foundation for us in long-range financial planning.

We’ll likely re-examine those plans in the near future, and I now know we must make any new decisions together in a way that makes sense to his way of processing. For every couple this is important, but for the married partner with ADHD, structure is essential.    

The Marble Slab

I understand July 2 was National I Forgot Day. Goodness! Is it so prevalent that we’ve made a holiday for it? 

Possibly it was begun by an individual with ADHD, or even the spouse of that individual.

If so I can relate. Spouses often become frustrated with the “I forgot” syndrome. It seems as if the mysterious “I forgot” can show up frequently in our lives and disrupt a myriad of good intentions. Good old “I forgot” is somehow kinfolk to “Ineffective” and “Unreliable.”

Of course, I did not have this depth of wisdom when Husband and I were ready to shop for our first apartment.  That was before I knew persons with ADHD will often avoid doing things that require much effort or consistency because they are afraid of failure.  I didn’t know about memory issues and problems.

As I recall it was about four weeks before our wedding day. Four weeks!

“Honey, don’t you think we should start looking for an apartment?”, I lovingly cooed at him.

“What’s the hurry? We still have a month.” He was serious.

“Let’s make appointments with some people to go look,” I suggested.

He unenthusiastically agreed to it, and we made plans for him to pick me up on a Tuesday at 10:30 am, so we could begin.

The time came and went. At 11:30 I phoned his house, where his Mother answered. “He’s just now getting out of bed. Did he have an appointment with you?”

“We have a couple of appointments to look at apartments. He was suppose to be here an hour ago.”  I’m certain she heard the frustration creep into my voice.

“He’ll be there soon,” she promised.

I don’t know what his Mother said to him, but thirty minutes later he pulled into the driveway.

“Here I am,” he said a bit too eagerly.

I still hear myself mumbling under my breath.

It did not occur to me that he had little or no control over his forgetfulness. I do remember when we did find an apartment, we were unable to take possession until four days after the wedding because we waited so late to secure one.

We stayed ay my brother’s apartment two of those days.

My new Mother-in-law asked, “How is it working for you, staying at your brother’s apartment?” I think this was her way of approaching the topic.

 “It’s OK. It was nice of him to move over to Mom and Dad’s house for a couple of days. Of course, he is closer to her cooking and the comforts over there.”

“You don’t appear to be happy about this,” Mother-in-law was rather astute. “How many other things did my son fail to do before the wedding?”

The words rolled out of me. I didn’t mean to begin complaining, but I think it was how I sounded.

“The thing is, I don’t think he meant to disappoint me, but he is always making excuses for not getting things done.”

Today I laugh at that comment because not a whole lot has changed in that department.

“I tell you; you can’t always wait for him to get the ball rolling. You can’t make innuendos with him. It has to be direct and let him know you are serious.”

I followed every word, and she watched my face  to make certain I did.

“This is how to do it,” she continued. “Get yourself a large piece of marble about this size.” She gestured a piece about 12 inches long and four inches thick.

I thought she was serious.

“Chisel what you want him to know or remember across the top it,” she said as she mimed it.

Then pick it up like this, and WHAM! Smack him between the eyes with it!”

We both hollered with laughter. In the days before I ever dreamed about such prescriptions as Mindfulness Meditation or concepts such as  neuroplasticity, Mother-in-law shared her own approach to his forgetfulness.

In other words, she told me to make certain I clearly let him know my expectations. “Don’t put him in a position to disappoint you.”   

I  loved her for sharing this wisdom.

The Marriage Proposal

In honor of our wedding anniversary which will take place the end of this month, July 27, I am going to repost earlier blog. I love telling this story.

I expect many women remember details of the day or night when their love proposed marriage, and I am no exception.

 It was a lovely Sunday afternoon at the end of May. I wore an attractive and stylish spring-like red dress because my tall, handsome boyfriend was taking me to the graduation ceremonies at my Alma Mater, Friends University. I admit I looked really nice.

When he got there, he seemed a bit nervous to me, but by then I was accustomed to him being either moody or nervous. I probably thought something “set it off” on his way to our house. 

He sat with me on the sofa in the living room as we talked with my Mom and Dad and exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the upcoming graduation ceremony.

Suddenly without any seeming connection to our conversation, he pulled a box from his pocket and presented me with a lovely bracelet with Snoopy dangling on it.

“Oh,how cute!”  I said as I began to put it on my wrist.

He got down on his knee. “Look on the chain,” he said. “See this? It’s an engagement ring. Will you marry me, my dear?”  

He began taking the ring off the chain to slip it on my finger.

Oh, yes, he really asked in front of my parents.

Time stood still. I wanted to crawl underneath the sofa.

I sat there with that Dagwood-Bumstead smile crinkled across my face before I answered yes.

I loved my parents, and as their only daughter I knew I was special to them, but for some reason, I never dreamed of receiving a proposal of marriage in front of them. It threw the entire sense of romance out the window.

My Dad turned red as Mom cried.

My husband-to-be rushed on. “This is the ring my Dad gave to Mom when they got engaged in 1945. I asked her if she had one I could give you tonight.”

He actually told me all about it.  My love had it in mind to propose, and he thought the night of graduation would be excellent.

Actually, I think he finally got up the nerve. 

There was only one problem. Typically, he had not gotten around to buying a ring or special piece of jewelry, so he talked with his parents.

 “I want to ask Atha to marry me tonight, but I don’t have a ring. What have you got around here?”

So much for planning ahead, right?

Later, his mother said she offered him her old engagement ring because she didn’t want him to change his mind, and she loved the idea of me wearing it.

My husband was so pleased and so excited, or possibly so relieved to get that part over with that he leaned back on the sofa and sighed loudly.

 He had focused his mind on proposing to me, and he could not wait for another time. It was then or nothing.

I am glad it was then, and I know he thinks what was the big deal? After all I said yes, and here we are all these years later.

Now I understand that individuals with ADHD may become so anxious about a task or plan that they put off completing the details, which merely adds to the anxiety. They often do not plan ahead. They may experience chronic procrastination more frequently than typical individuals. They put off important tasks or the ones that take more thought and energy. In this case, it was the task that was going to cost him more money.

The pattern for our marriage was set.

In our story, Husband could not wait until we were alone at dinner. He was driven to act at that moment. He could not consider the inappropriateness of proposing marriage in front of Mom or Dad. It seemed romantic enough for him. So what if it wasn’t my own ring? (His parents did give us that ring with their blessing.)  He figured we would get around to buying me a new ring in the future.

That is an entire other story.