The Ice Queen

I'm so cold, even my beverage of choice is . . . just ice.

Surprisingly-enough, it turns out Mr. C's preferred blog posts of late aren't even the ones about him: they're the ones about me.  Not about what he interprets to be "day in the life" stuff (as in, when he complained that my "0 F's"  post was all about fashion), but more when I write about my innermost thoughts and feelings.  

I can't decide what I think (or feel) about this.  On the one hand, it's sweet that your kid actually cares enough to want to learn about you.  On the other hand, it just goes to show -- once again -- that I am nothing but a cold-hearted b!tch.

Bee complains about this all the time, too: I'm just not very demonstrative.  He will show everything he's feeling, while I sit with a poker face.  

"You're too . . . even," he complained in the early years of our marriage.  "You don't get excited about anything.  Are you depressed?"

I snorted.  "Just because I don't show emotions doesn't mean I don't have emotions."

"Well, I need you to show them more," he pushed.

Which is a shame for him, because I then upped my demonstrations of the only emotion I tend to show: contempt.

Or maybe distaste.

Or possibly superiority.

Basically, any emotion considered a little negative is the type of emotion I might show.

A big part of that is due to the way I grew up.  Moving to a foreign country every few years, I had to start completely fresh and at the bottom of the pecking order each time.  I decided it was infinitely easier to be vulnerable if no one knew I was vulnerable.  But I also dug myself into a hole by thinking that way: emotions were a sign of weakness, so they must

1) be hidden

AND

2) be mercilessly teased about if others showed them.

This meant Bee had to have many conversations with me about not making fun of him in public when we were first married.

"But that's how people show each other love!" I explained loftily.

"You don't have to be so mean about it," he shot back.

And -- even though I probably rolled my eyes behind his back -- I took his hurt to heart and tried to dial back on making him feel like crap.

Last year, I went to a leadership conference.  It was very kumbaya: I've never seen so many grown men unabashedly cry.  Cold-hearted that I am, I managed to hold off on the tears all week; however, days of poor sleep, mixed emotions about a health scare of one of my patrol mates, and everyone else's crying finally rubbed off on me, and I spent the last 20 minutes of the conference wiping away my own silent tears as we all said our goodbyes.

I went home in a daze.  I hugged Bee and told pre-teen Mr. C he was just going to have to put up with me holding him.  I called my dad -- whose demonstrativeness often mirrors my own -- and begged to know how long I could expect to be able to keep these feelings up.

As it turns out, they wore off after about 24 hours, then I was back to my normal, impassive, cold-fish self.  It was very disheartening for all involved.

And so, here we are: in a space where it's easier for me to write my feelings than say them out loud.  Where my son must go to learn that his mother isn't really as robotic as she seems to be.  Where she might actually open up and let him know that she actually has thoughts about most aspects of our lives.

Mr. C is just so eager to have me blog.  I'm still pretty grumpy about it, though: as the 4th of the month approaches, Mr. C always happily reminds me that a post is due, and I almost always snap, "I know!" while I'm in the midst of juggling 3 other projects: it's just so hard to take take the time to do the soul-diving necessary to write a post Mr. C might enjoy.

"Listen, if you need to write a little something embarrassing about me, that's OK," he conceded.  "But mostly I like reading about your thoughts."

How am I to balance that?

I can talk about how shocked I am (feelings!) every time I look over and realize Mr. C has a mustache (embarrassing!).  That covers both the "feelings" and "embarrassment" criteria, and then I can go into a whole post about how odd it is that he'd even be embarrassed about the mere mention of his facial hair when I didn't think I'd taught him to worry about bodies (case in point: our sex ed talk when he was a toddler).

Or maybe I can talk about my pride (feelings!) about him pushing through so many Scout requirements that he is now the highest-ranking Scout in his troop, even though he's only 13 (embarrassment!).

Should I write about my irritation (feelings!) with Mr. C's doctor (embarrassment!), who insists on inquiring at each year's checkup if Mr. C is "ALL BOY"?  (I made the mistake of finally asking last year what exactly he meant by that, and the five-minute-long monologue we were subjected to was so offensive to me that I felt the need to tell Mr. C my opinions on the matter on the drive home.)  (Mr. C then informed me he just wants me to stay quiet during his appointments now so we don't have to have sex or gender-identity talks after every visit.) (And, in case you want to know why we're still going to that doctor: it's precisely so we both have something to roll our eyes about later.)

Do I write about my worry (feelings!) that it's all been relatively too easy, and that I'm convinced Mr. C is suddenly going to become a disrespectful, womanizing (embarrassing!) teenage boy?

Poor Mr. C is caught between being as demonstrative as Bee (Mr. C still actually says "I love you" in public) but as sarcastic as me.  Does he soften those character traits he gets from me, making them (and therefore him) quirky and lovable, or is his future wife going to have to have repeated conversations with him about being less snarky with her?

Do I just continue to tell him I love him, but not give him hugs like Bee does, and hope I'm not screwing him up for life?  

Do I express this out loud, or take the coward's way out and just write about it; then we'll only discuss it if he brings it up after reading it?