Ok, so hubby is in a snit. I tried to boot him out of the house for his own good, but he won’t go. The boys are in Saturday play mode, and due to a lack of practice, can’t seem to get with Dad’s program of cleaning.
I’m trying to be zen, but it is getting difficult. I just broke my favorite chair. I am not sure if I have the wiles in me, to further exacerbate his day, by sharing the news. I may have to get out of my pj’s for this one…
Earlier this week, a guy friend and I were talking about stuff. Marriage and kids and all the insanity. He’s remarried, with his hands full. I’m still on my first marriage, hands full, as well. So grain of salt in hand, we were both listening to each other’s issues.
One of his came out like this-
“On our first Christmas, my wife stuck me in the kitchen, and told me to make biscuits. I had a fever and didn’t want to.” Ok, grain of salt.
My response, “That’s not really fair. My hubby cooks, but typically I do the baking. Also, you don’t just make biscuits, they take years to perfect. I’ve watched my mother-in-law (with awe) make biscuits from scratch. I can’t do it.”
“Well, we did have a house full of guests. She put her boys to work too. She told me later, that if she had known I had a fever, she wouldn’t have asked”.
My instant urge to respond, ‘you poor, whiney butt!’ had to be suppressed. It was his point of view, after all, and I can kind of understand. I did ask, “So she was a bit frazzled?”
“Yes, she was frazzled,” and he left it at that. A story that could have been fantastic, died in the telling, lacking the humor it so richly could have been embellished with. He resented that task. That stepping into another role. (Yes, incomplete sentence and all.) Three years later, no less. The thing is, he’s a story teller.
My version from his view point, would have been something like this:
Our first Christmas together, my wife stuck me in the kitchen and told me to make biscuits. Our house was crowded and chaotic with guests. To top it all off, I had a fever. She was a bit frazzled, trying to make sure everything was perfect.
So into the kitchen she threw me, with a cook book and supplies. She sent her boys in, to do some prep work, while I had to muddle through the directions. The biscuits didn’t come out badly, and in the end, everything came out all right.
Later, she told me if she’d known I was sick, she wouldn’t have asked so much of me. She promised that she would take my temperature next time, before sending me to work in unfamiliar territory.
If he had been able to step out of his shoes, at any point in the last three years, into hers, maybe that little, tiny, moment of resentment, wouldn’t be there. Maybe, he was just having an off day or struggling to relate. No clue.
Back to my hubby. My desire to get him out of the house, may sound selfless. Don’t be fooled. It is selfish to the extreme. I have majored (not mastered) the art of directing my boys. I can clean in half the time, usually with less frustration. I hate it when he’s in a snit. It brings me down, when I am trying to stay up. After all, I have a cold and have had a very long week. If he could step into my shoes, he’d do me the favor of getting into trouble elsewhere. On the pretext of replacing my chair, of course 🙂
Side note: Hubby got up at 10. He went back to bed from 12-4. Helluva Snit.