Fine. If you are going to require me to be honest, I admit I have passive aggressive tendencies. Wait. What do you mean you don’t require me to be honest? That’s not fair. I was set up. Set up! I say.
Oh well, now that the proverbial cat is out of the proverbial bag, I might as well put all my cards on the table. I am currently doing a dance of the bedsheets. What is the dance of bedsheets? The dance of bedsheets involves moving the clump of clean bedsheets (needing to be folded and put away) from the bed to the chair, based on the need of either the bed or the chair.
When will I stop doing the dance of the bedsheets? When my husband has folded and put the bedsheets away. I’ve been dancing for nearly a week, and I am showing no signs of tiring.
My husband tried to trick me into stopping the dance, when he mentioned he was overwhelmed with work. As I walked back into the bedroom, seeing the sheets clumped on the bed, I hesitated. “Lenore, it won’t take but a minute. Just put the sheets away. Why are you doing this? You’re being silly.” The rational voice in my head whispered.
“Whatever.” The irrational voice snapped. (Gotta love that irrational side!) After a week or two of hectic schedules, I was tired of the constant state of doing. If I was able to find 10 minutes to sit, I wanted to sit. “Why must I always be the only one programmed in the house to do – do – do?” My irrational voice asked. “I think ovaries and estrogen has something to do with it.” The rational side said. “Hello, Rational Side? Have you ever heard of rhetorical, as in rhetorical question?”
“Well, actually …”
I’ll stop with the inner-voice conversations. Though trust me when I say, I could go all day. “She could.” HUSH!
Did you read my post about the email? Honestly, if you don’t read my blog every day, it is tough keeping up with my crazy. Then again, reading my blog daily is no assurance you’ll be able to follow (or understand) the crazy. Again, I digress – I’m sorry.
Last week, I was all set to get a hotel room for a night. Perhaps a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ gift to me. Alas, the getaway was nixed, because my husband was being a good person and helping those in need. Then came Mother’s Day. I threw up. Literally. I spent Mother’s Day sick in bed. Fun, eh?
No, don’t cry for me, Argentina. I have a good life. I do. I know I have a good life, and I am thankful I have a good life. Still, quiet time and alone time are always appreciated.
So, yesterday … Yesterday I had to go to the grocery store. The fact that my oldest requests a PB&J at least twice a day, means we go through a loaf of bread faster than the average Joe. (Ha! My kid’s name is Joe. Man, do I ever crack myself up!) In addition to bread, I needed to buy the makings for an appetizer for Joe’s Kindergarten graduation ceremony. I also needed to take the grocery cart down the ice cream aisle, just in case a certain half pint of Ben & Jerry’s wanted to jump in the cart and go for a ride.
Trips to the grocery store are like mini vacations for me. The boys stay home with Dad, enabling me to find alone time surrounded by fellow grocery shoppers and grocery store employees. Ah … peace!
Alas, the grocery store trip was delayed, thanks to a phone call. “I’m running late.” My husband said by phone. “What do you mean you are running late. It is nearly 5:30 and you are just now calling me from the office?” “Yes, I’ve been running around trying to finish things, and I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m sorry.”
Okay, I realize he said he was sorry. I realize I should have played the role of the good wife, smiling and nodding (hard to convey by phone) and assuring him his dinner would be waiting for him when he returned. No worries. Love you. Drive safe. Buh’bye.
Yeah, no. That didn’t happen. I hung up on him. [See above note about putting all cards on the table.]
But wait. There’s more. Immediately, I called him back – to apologize. Hahaha! There I go, cracking myself up again. Silly Readers, I did not call him up to apologize. I called him up to yell at him. (Apparently my rational side was off at the spa, enjoying a good life.) He was mad because he was overwhelmed with work. I was mad because I was waiting for him to get home so I could
escape venture to the grocery store. Clearly, I’m the winner, right? I mean, my trip to the grocery store trumps his paid job. Right? Right?!
No worries, Readers. Peace was restored to the village by bedtime. Tempers eased, smiles returned, the groceries were purchased, and a half pint of Ben & Jerry’s did hop into the cart and join the ride. Although, in true Crazy Lenore fashion, peace was quickly stomped out shortly after sunrise. Yes, it’s true. And again, the bickering took place by phone. He’s looking to fill up the already fully booked weekend with more ‘stuff’, and I’m insisting nothing be added to the list. Meanwhile, the dance of the bedsheets continues.
Be kind. Take care of yourself and each other, and play nice in your marital sandbox.