Anson and I seem like we get grumpy on the same days. This can go well or this can go very wrong. When it goes well, we confide in each other about what’s bugging us, and then we’ll wind each other up a bit in our bitching. I throw in a lot of emphatic nodding and head shaking, eyes widening and swearing in support of him. I offer step-by-step directions on what he should do next, and help organize his mind. He finishes my sentences, becomes my protector and let’s me know in no uncertain terms that he sees what I see, and it Us vs. The World.
When it goes wrong it gets a little ridiculous. Listen, I’m not going to out myself here and have a permanent record of how unreasonable I can get in an argument, but let’s just say that rarely do I walk away from our more heated exchanges with an angelic Dr. Phil on my shoulder saying, “That’s m’girl! Very Productive!” Nay, it’s more like a Captain Lou Albano pumping his fist in the air with his fat cheeks wiggling in response to a hard-won submission. These moments are not my finest. But I do love Captain Lou.
There’s a middle ground. There are certain issues that are ongoing, that really don’t make me angry but they make me crazy. There are things that a person (Anson) does which apparently that person (Anson) just cannot change. In my limited experience with marriage (we’ve been married nine years), I’m beginning to understand that these things may never change. Never ever ever, until we are dead.
In the interest of marital and familial bliss, I have resolved to believe the following:
|God put hinges on the toilet seat for a reason. It goes both up and down, and that’s also why God gave me hands, so I may use them to have the toilet seat in the position I’d like it to be.|
|God apparently also gave me disposable Clorox wipes so that the pressure of trying to get all of their pee into the toilet bowl will not burden the two boys in my life. It must be an unbearable heaviness to carry around that type of demand.|
|Empty beer bottles are just fine to leave where they were finished. It’s a tribute to where you said “goodbye” to your beer; where the all-too-short acquaintance was consummated and then cruelly ended. I understand it’s hard to throw the bottle away, baby. It’s just too soon.|
|When you are compelled to satisfy your cravings for giant greasy chips smothered in fake cheesy goo at exactly the same time I’m trying to convince our son that broccoli is a delicious tree and he’s a dinosaur who wants to eat that tree? That’s actually just fine. In fact, not only is it fine, it forces me to have my A-Game on, so thank you.|