“I’m not mad at you, I’m just taking it out on you.”

So here’s a little honesty for your Monday evening.

I like to think of myself as a relatively pleasant wife.  I try very hard to not nag my husband.  I respect his boundaries.  I don’t gripe when he goes on really long horseback rides without me, and I don’t ask him to do chores repeatedly until he does them.  If he texts me at 4pm on a Tuesday and asks if he can go roping, I always say yes even if it means me cooking and eating alone until he gets home at 10pm.  I make a point to cook things he likes, and I sometimes buy him a bottle of wine and pour him a glass even though I can’t have any.  If he falls asleep on the couch at 7:45pm, I’ll pull his boots off to make him more comfortable and put a blanket on him.  And hey, last week I gave him an iPad!

Now, I don’t think that these little things should earn me a blue ribbon, but these are little things that mean a lot to him.

But, then there are days where I’m just a little bit of a pill.

Take Saturday for example.  On Saturday I had a really pleasant day, but then when I got home from running errands and shopping and working out, I just sort of crashed.  Don’t ask me why, but suddenly I was running on empty and felt moody.  We cooked dinner together and I was hiding my bad mood well.  However once I realized that our DVD player had broken, I could no longer cover my pissiness.

You see, I’d rented a movie and really wanted to watch it.  And then, because of the DVD player, I couldn’t watch it.  The real reason this angered me was because I am really intolerant of little things going wrong with our house.  And it just so happened that in the past few weeks a couple of little things in the house have gone wrong.  The toilet has begun to run, and you know how much a pregnant woman has to pee in the middle of the night…. so imagine me getting up to go and then flushing and then going back to bed only to get back up 5 minutes later because the darn toilet is running and I have to lift the stupid lid and jiggle the thingy to get it to stop.  Also the garbage disposal stopped working and that means Oatmeal will have to completely unassemble it to find the problem, and that is not something I can get him to do in a jiffy.  And the remote control to our TV died, meaning we will have to buy another one.

These are the types of things that just about send me over the edge.  Not Oatmeal.  TV remote stops working?  He’ll just stop watching TV.  Garbage disposal dies?  He’ll just stop using that, too.  Toilet runs?  He’s perfectly fine to jiggle the handle every time.

Not Lola.  Nope.  Lola likes for things to work.

Sooooo…. when the DVD player broke, I just got unrationally angry.  I stomped around the kitchen.  I made dinner, and when Oatmeal came over for seconds, I glared at him.  I was mentally challenging him to eat the remaining food before I did.  He stopped and asked me, “Honey, are you going to eat that?”

I looked at him.  I looked at the remaining food.  I looked back at him.

“I mean, I guess you can eat it.  If you really want to.”

Now he was annoyed.  “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.  I didn’t break the DVD player.” 

I ignored him.  I continued to eat my dinner and sulk.

A few seconds later I joined him on the couch.  Luckily, I’d brought home a few glorious, gluten-free, freshly baked cupcakes.  I took him a plate and gave him a cupcake.  Then I bit into mine.  I immediately felt a million times better.  Yes, cupcakes are magical.

Two bites in I felt better.  And… guilty.  I glanced at Oatmeal.  He was still not letting me off the hook.  He said again, “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.”

I had to be honest.  So I just told him.

“Honey.  I’m not mad at you.  I’m just taking it out on you.  There’s a big difference.”

You know, it’s not right, but it’s the truth.  Sometimes I take things out on him.  He did not break the DVD player.   But it was broken, and he didn’t use superpowers to fix it, thus he wasn’t my hero, and so I treated him badly for it.

I took another bite of cupcake and cut my eyes over at him.  He was mowing down cupcake #2 and still ignoring me, but I could tell he didn’t really care anymore.  Probably thinking, “Crazy hormonal pregnant woman.

So yeah.  I didn’t win the wife of the hour award.

But we ate our cupcakes.  And then I poured him another drink.  And then he fell asleep on the couch, and I pulled his shoes and belt off and tucked a blanket around him.

Eh.  I’m not so bad.

But – before you call the marriage counselor – try the cupcakes at Sweet in Houston.  I’m convinced they really do help solve all problems.

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