When is it ok to tell?

When someone tells me something in confidence, I keep the secret. Oh, I've messed up a few times but mainly because I didn't realize it was supposed to be private. I have hung onto some nuggets with my tongue clamped between my teeth and a serious need for duct tape.

I usually ask if it's OK to share with the husband. If the answer is no, I don't do it. If the secret is coming from the husband, I usually ask if I can tell my parents. (I have to have someone to talk to.) I also ask, "Who else knows?" I'm big on perspective of the whole picture.

My one rule about secrets is this:
If someone is endangering his or her life, health or sanity, all bets are off.

I don't keep a lot of secrets about myself. But, if something is really festering, I may choose not to talk about it for awhile. People know to let me brood -- I will tell them in due time.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she made an off-hand remark: "That's why I never disclose anything." She doesn't. I understand the fear of getting hurt or embarrassed but sometimes sharing is the quickest road to recovery -- even when the advice isn't what you want to hear.

Sharing

People always assume that the only child is spoiled rotten. I will light the way and show you the truth. Children with jillions of siblings are the selfish ones. They grow up fighting and finagling for their fair share of affection, quality time, new shoes and sometimes food. As adults, they tend to hang on tightly to what is rightfully theirs.

I find only children to be the opposite. We didn't have to share in our childhood so our parents drilled the importance of giving and sharing into us. Need a car? Borrow mine. Need some books? I'll put a box together for you. Need a shoulder to cry on? I always have time. Are you in trouble or scared? I'll put clean sheets on the guest bed and tuck you in.

Being an only child is supposedly very lonely but that's not reality. I have this posse of friends, aunts, cousins who make me feel like siblings. Plus, I have my pseudo sister and especially my goldies.

Fighting over the Dog Pillow

Houseboy and his family took great care of my dog while we attended to family matters. He and his wife brought Gabby back today and the first thing she did was head for my office and her pillow. I suspect their dog gave her a little run for her money.

I am still weepy and emotional. I am also one of those weird people who likes dog smells. Puppy breath? Bring it on. I wanted to curl on the dog pillow and wallow in my sorrow.

So, I decided I would just put my head down for a second and reflect on the last few days. Like me, the dog is an only child (in this household) and she doesn't do the sharing thing well.

She pawed me and I kept saying, "Move over Fungus!" Then we fell asleep for 10 minutes or so.

I am used to sprawling with Big Daddy and griping about pillows and covers. I have reached a new arena. Gabby and I are wrestling for the dog pillow.

The Sexy Sinus Medication

You would never guess it but I'm pretty private about bodily things. I am not one of those people that thinks it's ok to go to the bathroom in front of the husband. (Thankfully, he isn't either.) We share a bathroom so we often wash our faces or brush our teeth at the same time but everything else is done in solitude.

Until ...

The husband returned from his business trip. His brother and wife were here. We had moved the mother-in-law. As we were preparing to go to bed, I got out my new magic sinus potion. It's hot water mixed with some powdered stuff that you shake up and then shove up one nostril until it makes its way through your sinus cavities and comes pouring out the other nostril. The entire process involves hanging your head over the sink for a while. But, it does work.

I was in the middle of this charming ritual the other night when the husband walked into our bathroom. He already thinks I'm the weirdest duck walking the planet but I think this one may have put him over the edge.

Bed Hopping

The husband works very hard. He also plays (golf) very hard. Sometimes he falls asleep in his chair in the evenings. I used to be the sweet wife: "Come to bed, Honey." Then I realized that he wakes up with such a shock that I refuse to be responsible for a heart attack or a stroke. If he's sleeping comfortably, I leave him there. He'll wake up eventually and crawl in bed.

Sometimes we get cranky. You're thrashing! You're snoring! Get your knee off of me.

We both like to fall asleep with the television. Unless it's one of those great Discovery/History/Court TV Channel stories that captures my interest, I'll find another room.

Our cable went out the other day. It was only the digital cable -- basic cable was still functioning. I couldn't find him. I finally found him in the baby's room, watching some sports.

We hop around. I'll take this sofa and this tv. Then, we act like 12-year-olds and sneak up on each other. "What are you watching?" We're stealth bombers with the remotes. If I think he's dozing, I'll grab it. The other night, I put the bedroom remote in a drawer. When he asked for it, I said, "No, you are not sharing so it has gone away for a while."

Last night he was watching sports in our bedroom. He fell asleep. I crawled into bed and changed the channel.