Saturday, September 17, 2011

"Would you quit it? What, the ocean isn't big enough for you or something? You got a problem? Huh? Do ya, do ya, do ya? You wanna piece of me?"

In about a week, we will have been married for 12 years.

In that time, I have left the house (a.k.a. "stormed out") during approximately 4 arguments.

The fourth time was today.

The thing about having a one (and a half!) year old is this: storming out of the house feels infinitely more stupid now.

"Are you going with me or staying with Dada?"
"Truck!"
"Okay. See you later!"
(for the record, you're not supposed to call out "see ya later" when storming out.)

Even more than stupid? The fact that each and every time I have left the house in the middle of a fight, I have ended up sitting in a grocery store parking lot (and, once, a church parking lot) praying.

Today, though, because I was feeling extra mad and self-righteous - and because of little ears, we had restrained ourselves from throwing verbal barbs and working each other into a frothy fury - and also because we needed laundry detergent and whole milk, instead of praying and/or sobbing, I went in to the store and looked at books and read magazines.

When I got the second call from M (I hung up on him the first time because I could, and also because he couldn't behave), it was complete with C crying in the background and M's assertion that he had been crying for an hour because he was upset that I left. So, I made my purchase and drove the five minutes back to home.

The thing about having a husband who forgives so easily - without ruminating or rehashing or guilt-tripping - is that when he's in the position of saying he's sorry, you kind of feel like you have to do likewise and just let it all go.

But I am me, after all, so it takes a little longer. And with much more grumping and grousing.

Because it was so late when I finally gave up the grouch, instead of a trip to the mall, the night was salvaged with a 3-mile family walk.

[Title quote is from "Finding Nemo"]

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