Like, in 11 and a half years ever.
I don't mean to say that we don't ever fight because god knows we do. If you've ever dared to dip your toes in the murky waters that are my archives, you'll know what I mean. And Christ, I met him when I was twenty. I've gone through no less than 10 variations of myself between then and now, and so has he. Our shit, it is hard sometimes. But coming from two spilt families, me with my history of domestic assault and him with his abandonment baggage, we've worked really hard to keep our crap between us. Sure, we fight, but we don't do it often and when we do, it's over as soon as it starts.
Usually, I will start being an insane asshole and he'll tell me to go take a five minute walk and sort it out. Or he'll open a big, fat can of jerkface and I'll tell him to check it before I am forced to wreck it and that ends it. We're actually really good at mitigating each others mood-swings, and because of that, our kids have never once born witness to anything more than a long scowl or a stern, "Other room, NOW."
It would seem that my Mercury was firmly lodged in his Uranus today or something, because while I was trying to get 2of3 to clean the damn bathroom, he decided that at that very second, 2of3 needed to take the vacuum to his brother. And I was so sick and tired of trying to get that kid upstairs to the bathroom, I told him no. And The Donor told him yes. So I told The Donor no, and he told me to fuck off and I told him to shove it up his ass and the threw the vacuum and I told him to get the fuck out.
Because we're five, that's why.
Meanwhile, my nine year old was just standing there watching this whole parade of lunacy unfold before him and as soon as dad walked out of the room, he started to cry.
Because we're fantastic parents, that's why.
And he told me he was scared, and I held him and told him that he fights worse than that with his brother every day and reminded him that I am a pain in the ass and his dad is an overbearing know-it-all and we've lived together for 14 long, long years and told him that of course we fight sometimes.
And now I don't know if I'm sad that my kid had to see us acting like three year olds or if I'm secretly a little glad that he witnesses an argument that resolved itself within ten minutes with a big hug and two unprompted and very sincere apologies that I made sure happened right in front of that kid and then ice cream, because ice cream cures all evils. Am I wrong to think that I should be teaching him that it's okay to have conflicts and that the world doesn't end when you have them? Because I lived thirty years thinking one raised voice meant the End Of Civilization as we know it, and I never learned how to fight and get over it until I had to learn the hard way.
There's really no point to this at all. I just worry sometimes that they think their parent's marriage is the perfect, happy go lucky thing and because of that, when their time comes, they will have no clue how to deal with the reality of marriage and the reality of marriage is that bitches, on occasion, be crazy, and you love them through it anyway.