the battling martyrs and the stimulus package

The Sober Husband and I made a deal some months ago, sort of a reparations package for the Martha's Vineyard Fiasco of 2008 [in a nutshell, he manipulated and guilt-tripped me into going on his mother's Extremely Expensive Celebration of Herself in an overpriced resort town on the other side of the continent, and I was angry and resentful]. In this deal, he would not travel to see his family this year unless there were a wedding or funeral of significant importance, and instead, we would take a trip together. This made me happy, and I started planning our trip, especially after my mother agreed to come to San Francisco to watch the little hellspawn for us. I felt that this was affordable, because I thought that if we took the money wasted last year on going to Martha's Vineyard, plus the expenses from two personal trips the Sober Husband took by himself (one to Chicago against my express wishes, one to the East Coast which I was in favor of), that would equal a nice, short vacation for two to somewhere exotic. If we could afford the hellish Martha's Vineyard boondoggle, which the Sober Husband obviously thought was in our budget, we could afford a week away somewhere exotic.

Some little time of happiness went by, with me bubbling from time to time little witlessisms like "September and October are really the best months to travel; airfares are always so low! And everything is so deserted!" and "I'm going to present this to you like a menu: Barcelona, Cuba, or Angkor Wat?

Then the Sober Husband turned on me. He began speaking in depressed tones about how "we don't live within our means; I'm just presenting that to you as a fact" and not talking any more about a vacation. In marriage counseling, with all the enthusiasm a corpse would have for taking the formaldehyde drip, he mustered up a lifeless, "I'm willing to go on a vacation with you even though we can't afford it." I was livid. "I refuse to go on any vacation with you!"

So there we were, a pair of battling martyrs. The Sober Husband kept insisting, "Oh, even though we can't afford to take a trip, I'm willing to do it to make you happy," with me rebutting, "I refuse to do anything expensive that you're going to bring up to me later" and "Oh, it's fine, I'll never go on a vacation again for as long as I live" and "Why is it when your MOTHER wants to go on an expensive trip you can afford it, but when I want to, we can't?"

"Now, now, Carole," chided the marriage counselor. "I'm not sure that is productive."

After a few rocky counseling sessions, the Sober Husband has arrived at a new, cheerier, less martyr-like attitude. He explained it to me today: "I forecast a deficit year, but I'm in favor of a stimulus package."

"A what? What is it stimulating, my happiness in the marriage?"

"Precisely. I believe a stimulus package will have payoffs."

We'll see how his mental state fares over the next few months. I'm tentatively raising my hopes for a trip again, fearful of disappointment.

Meanwhile I've already had one smackdown from another mother. I confided in the mother of one of Iris Uber Alles's closest friends yesterday that I am hoping to save up to take a vacation later in the year, without children. She drew herself up and said, in an icy voice, "Well, I must just be unusual, because I wouldn't dream of going anywhere without my child." Ouch!

In my case, I've been a martyr for long enough and am dying to spend a week drinking in sleazy foreign bars, spending whole days in art museums, and having sex. I'm quite eager to dream of going somewhere without my children. However, if the husband switches back into competitive martyrism, all bets are off. I predict then the vacation will be recancelled and there'll be an upsurge of catty remarks about his mother and HER expensive trip.