I’m curious. How do you and your partner fight?
We had an argument over the weekend. If our neighbors had heard us (We live within mere inches of them. Miraculously and thankfully, I have yet to hear any of them fighting or uttering sounds of carnal delight.) they’d have likely thought we were arguing about yard work. Which we were, but it escalated due to both of us being overwhelmed with the amount of to-do’s on the list since we’ve moved back home. So it became Why isn’t this important to you? Don’t you care what our home looks like?! and I wish you just let things go! I have so much on my plate right now! and You’re a loon!
(insert sound of tires screeching to a halt)
“What did you call me?” I asked. I could feel myself blinking faster than normal. Calling me a “loon” or “crazy” is a highly effective way to poke the bear. Great idea, honey. I like you so much more now!
We don’t fight often but sometimes it’s good to air things out. It’s like going commando once in a while. The norm, if we get really intense about something, is door and/or drawer slamming (me) and grunting/brooding/muttering obscenities (him). Then there’s resolution. It doesn’t always come quickly. There have been occasions when I’m convinced that I will never calm down. Ever. Then somehow I do. We both always apologize and communicate in english and everyone understands everyone.
This time, about the yard work, the kids were in the room and both – not one – of them took my husband’s side.
“Don’t yell at Daddy!” Luke shouted.
Madeleine pointed a tiny finger at me, “It’s not nice to phrow ya undawear!”
“I didn’t throw my underwear,” I explained. “I tossed it in the hamper.”
“Phrowing’s not nice, Mama.”
“I know, Mad. Thank you.”
Trying to change gears to accommodate the feelings of your kids when you’re pissed at your spouse is like stopping to pet a kitten when you’ve just slammed your finger in a car door.
Some of the yard work got done and everyone got over it. I was reminded that letting things go would actually be a good thing, for me and my family. Madeleine stopped blathering about the underwear throwing.
I also don’t think my husband will be calling me a “loon” again anytime soon.