It’s taken many years, but I think the girls have finally beaten Mike down almost completely. Three of us in very different life stages makes for a constant, demanding, eye rolling, “if looks could kill”, screaming, “who took my gray eye liner?”, hot mess kind of life.

More than once someone has joked that if Maggie is bad now, no one wants to imagine her with PMS. Kate is probably the most easy going out of the three of us but that is no invitation to cross her. And, let’s just be honest, when the time comes I have a feeling I won’t be the only one in the house searching for menopause relief. (Amberen on twitter. Amberen on Facebook)

It was never more clear than last night. Kate was on her way to a friend’s house and I noticed Mike silently navigating traffic as Kate and I discussed pictures from formal on facebook. We were debating dress lengths and you could actually feel the testosterone draining from the vehicle. I expected to look over at my husband and find a withered husk driving the car any second.

Surrounded by women, Mike always seems to have a grin on his face either from sheer enjoyment or the “never let them see you afraid” strategy. Which, for the record, almost never works because women can smell fear in men and the bead of sweat on his upper lip is always a dead giveaway. In this house he might not always be wrong but he’s certainly never right.

I’ve observed Mike taking great comfort in “A Christmas Story” as the Old Man blusters through the house, making everyone quake in his wake, and proudly displaying a leg lamp in the center of the picture window declaring it, “a MAJOR AWARD!” Mike has no leg lamp. Mike does not bluster through the house, although he has been known to yell at the neighbor’s dogs who are more Bumpus like than Mike can tolerate.

I had a moment of sympathy while we were cleaning the kitchen. I said something about how it must be a difficult life for him, Mike replied, “I don’t even argue anymore…”

The arrival of Mike’s Harley seemed to provide some sort of testosterone boost. He strode about the house with a renewed sense of manliness, we were amused until this new invigoration took on an air of cockiness. We don’t play fair, it was a game of cat and mouse that the girls enjoyed until they got bored. Now the displays of manliness are kept to the garage and an occasional tirade on facebook.

Not that we have him beaten completely. He’s just become sneakier about it, he knows better than to fight the women on open ground. He admits, he’s no match for us. His strategies are subversive and almost ninja-like. The rare moments of defiance are often subtle, like finding a new project in the middle of a current project where his help his needed or fiddling around in the backyard “waiting for the grill to warm up” when we are all starving. Oh! Lest I forget one of his favorites; after quietly waiting for us to be ready to leave the house he leaves us all assembled at the front door to do some last minute chore or to find that one hat that he just has to wear.

More often than not his silent protests are usually performed in the most absurd way possible. Like insisting on leaving the house in cargo shorts, a t-shirt, sandals and a Harley-Davidson beanie… in January.

There was also that moment after Christmas while we took down outdoor decorations and barked orders for Mike to “check this bulb” and “take this apart” when he clearly couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I looked up just long enough to see our car going down the street dragging the Christmas tree behind it. We stopped and stared as he rounded the corner, our 9 foot tall tree bobbing and weaving behind the car silently, Mike behind the wheel, window rolled down and arm hanging out nonchalantly as if degrading the last vestige of our holiday season was just another errand he had been sent on.

In this house, passive aggressive isn’t just a character flaw, it’s become a survival tactic.