Miracles

Well today my husband and I had our semi quarterly argument about money in which I am the irresponsible flibbertigibbet and he is the maligned self-sacrificing penny pincher who never gets to buy what he wants because I spend all the money. I know my role here. It's an old script. He says "Do you think I don't have things I want to buy?" I say "I want money for a retainer for a lawyer not a mink coat." He says "Why do I have to bear the financial burdens of others." I say "Congratulations Dad, you signed up for this when you had kids and married someone with kids." He says "Argghhhhh!" and rails on me for all of the flaws in my personality he can think of because he's frustrated. I say "Fine. I'm going to bed. By myself."

Today, though, it didn't get as nasty as normal, I did acknowledge that I could do a better job conserving and he did acknowledge that he has choices about what he buys or doesn't buy -- I am not the one constraining him. And in the end, after a several hour discussion during which I tried hard to focus while processing tomatoes from the garden, he gave me a hug and said how nice it was to talk about hard subjects with someone who didn't curse at him or throw pans. Or chase him with butcher knives. (I just about fell over. And oh my goodness I'm glad I haven't been where he's been.) That is the first time this argument has ever ended with anything but my storming off to bed angry. You know, I think I'll forgo the diet coke for lunch and see if I can work out a carpool arrangement to save gas money. And I still need the retainer for the lawyer, but maybe I can put up some of my several thousand books I don't read anymore on Amazon and bring back a little cash into the household. Miracles take many forms.

It's About Me

So my husband and I had a terrible fight. You know, one of those nasty married people fights where things are said that are the most hurtful they could be because number one, they come from the person you love, and number two, the person you love knows you better than anyone and knows just what to say to really hurt you. But while running around feeling all injured (that's my role you know, the one I set up, where he is the bad guy and I get to be injured?) I was struck with the thought "You're choosing this." What? I looked up at God, "I'm not choosing this, did you see what he did, did you see how mean he was, I didn't make him say those awful things". To my mind, quietly and powerfully came the words "You're choosing to be angry, you're choosing to let these actions minimize you, you're choosing to engage in these confrontations, and you're choosing because you delight in being right." Oh. That hurt. I delight in being right. Is that true? Well, I do get a lot of validation from being right. I'm the smart kid. The one with straight As. I like to be the star player at work, I like to be the good Mom. I do like being right.

What's wrong with being right? I mutter, still dealing with the fringes of anger and self-righteous indignation. (If you only knew what he said to me, you would be angry for me too! You too would be caught up in the lie that nice, innocent little me is being victimized by the big grouchy cowboy.) Just Stop! There are no victims here. I'm not some captive woman tied up in the corner bedroom and beaten at will. I am a grown functioning adult who chooses. And if I am perfectly honest with myself, I know that I chose that confrontation. I chose to be dramatic and sigh a lot to show how I knew better than he did. I chose to be angry at the first signs of his choosing a path other than the one I wanted taken. (Didn't he hear me sighing? Couldn't he tell that I was irritated with his choice?) I chose to stick around and listen after he popped a gasket. I chose it! Why! Why do I choose this?

I am praying now for the wisdom to choose appropriately. To save confrontation for times that are inspired by a desire to help my husband rather than a desire to show that I am right and he is wrong. I am trying to exude love and patience rather than stress and irritation. It is amazing how much what I put out impacts the energy in our home. My husband is human. He makes mistakes as do I. But he is not the villain in our scenario. He is just another player in our little scenes, and I have a choice about how I interact with him.

Summer Vacation Blues

So I'm listening to women all around me with the summer vacation blues -- women everywhere nod knowingly at each other in the grocery store and say things like "I can't wait for school to start." Kids underfoot all summer with nothing to do, summer full of chaos and bickering -- I can see how that is stressful. However, I am not feeling sympathetic. In fact, I'm feeling a little bitter about it. I know I am just feeling envious because they have what I long to have--free time at home with the kids, the ability to sleep in occasionally, and a release from the pressure to help support a large family. I know, I know, the grass is always greener. I know it's hard to be a stay at home Mom too. I did stay home with my first three daughters. I had three girls under four years old. I remember being a stay at home mom -- I remember going insane listening to Barney sing his stupid song about cleaning up over and over again. I remember feeling like the only things I did all day were cook, sew, and chauffeur, all while breaking up fist fights and cleaning jam off the walls. I remember wondering why I had to utter phrases like "don't put that worm in your mouth". Shouldn't some things be obvious? Even to a three year old?

At the time, it was so hectic and insane and I thought it would never end. Now as I hurry off to work and leave my precious five year old in child care, I am achingly jealous of my stay at home friends. I wish I could take her to the pool and the library and argue with her over cleaning her room. I wish I could figure out a way to provide what is needed for my family and be home to be the Mommy. Above all, I wish I had enjoyed the Mommy moments I had with my first three much more. Every sticky, crazy moment is truly precious. I still get them here and there between business meetings and emails. But it's not the same as being there 24/7 through peace and chaos. Oh, I miss that time in my life. I miss it all. Except maybe the worms. No, I don't miss the worms.

Weight Watcher Blues

So I've signed up for online Weightwatchers. That's weight watchers with no meetings. No cheering. No commiseration. No public humiliation. Just me and my computer. So far it's been good. I joined Saturday. What I have learned about my own eating behavior is worth every penny of the sign-up. I eat junk in the afternoon, and one hershey's kiss costs me more more points than an entire tub of salad mix. And I've been eating hershey's kisses by the bag for months. (They're small, I reasoned. I only eat three or four a day, I rationalized. What could they hurt? Well, I've gained 20 pounds in a semester. I guess they hurt.)

But WeightWatchers promises me a way to end all of this flab drab depression. I'm doing the plan, I'm eating my 26 points worth each day and feeling pretty good. I actually ate fruit yesterday. Who knew it was actually good? So why the blues? Did you know that a small (I was being good) Sonic chocolate malt is FOURTEEN (14) points? That's more than half of my daily allotment. And I didn't check the count until after I ordered and consumed the malt. Oh, woe is me. Why did I need that sugar pick me up before taking my last final exam? Was it worth it? Did the sugar high help me remember a few more points of trivia so I could get that all important A? I certainly hope so. Cause I'm going to be feeling it tonight when the family eats pizza and I eat green salad with light dressing. On the side.