He was shooting for one o’clock so by three I knew he was frustrated. The girls kept asking when they were going to leave, but I didn’t call to check so as not complicate things further. My phone rang at 4:30 – his picture popping onto my screen identifying him as the caller. I can’t help but smile every time it happens. His request for me to bring the kids and the camping gear to his office wasn’t what I expected. I hesitated and gaffawed. I, too, had plans. Plans that were nearly six hours away. Taking an hour to run kids around the hills of Pittsburgh wasn’t on my list of things to do.
I’m not very good with having my agenda interrupted. The unexpected typically puts me in a foul mood – the amount of time varies, but it always takes me time to get used to the change. I was miffed packing up the car, putting my pesto making on hold right in the middle of the recipe, corralling the kids from the yard and making them pee before their long trip.
On the way to the city my thoughts weren’t nice… even in my anger though, I waged war against my arguments, my list of complaints making my husband into the bad guy.
Why do I always have to fix things?
I’m not fixing something. I’m helping him get on the road faster. Something he would do himself if he could.
He never helps.
Which is why he’s taking the girls camping for an entire weekend.
I do everything myself.
Except I don’t.
It’s easy to get caught up in blaming the other person for expecting too much when really they’re just trying their hardest to get it all done.
And then I wondered… why can’t I be the fun one? Why can’t I roll with the punches and say “Sure!” when his plans intersect mine? Why am I so serious and driven – always trying to get one more thing done instead of focusing on doing the one thing the day was meant for (in this case getting everyone off to their weekend trips)?
Did it start when I married young – running a household, working my way through college and trying to figure out how marriage works?
Was it when I got my first job the summer of my ninth grade year?
Maybe it started when I was a child… I spent so much time reading in my room my mother worried I’d be a recluse without any friends (never in her wildest dreams thinking I’d be sharing my life with people in such a public forum!). Or the time I forged my mother’s signature on my daily reading assignment in second grade for months because I felt my mom was too busy to listen to me with a new baby in the house.
Perhaps I’m just wired this way.
Sometimes I wish I could be carefree. Could have fun even when my work isn’t done instead of thinking of the pile of things to do at home. Could change plans at the drop of a hat.
I have no good answer for this. No resolution. I’m still processing and chomping on these thoughts. Because I’m serious like that.
Comments (6)
You don’t have to stop being your organized, driven self, but you may want to cross items like “make pesto” off your to do list for a travel day and put an easier, quicker option on instead.
Amen and amen – I forget how much we are alike! …and how different from our friend BG! 😉
Just yesterday I was able to choose to knock “make bread” off my list so that I had a little more face time with kids, made them popcorn too close to dinner, made dinner at a relaxed pace vs snapping at everyone b/c I was behind on MY agenda.
We’ve got 6 – maybe 8 soccer games over the next two days so I will probably revert back to snapping over my agenda at some point but it was nice to “give-up” on me for at least one day. And you know what – don’t think my kids will get sick or die from one loaf of store bought bread.
chewing on it right along with you…. Jennifer
Now that is revealing! Such a thoughtful sensitive child…my favorite kind. Even to breaking the law.
Hang in there! We all do it and we still love them in the end.
This reminds me of your marriage posts of a few years ago. It’s so easy to forget that we are created to fulfill the God ordained role of helping our husbands. We are supposed to be the helper – it is a picture of the Holy Spirt’s relationship with us. All too often I get angry (and i mean SEETHING mad) because he “doesn’t help” and then I have to remember AGAIN that he’s not supposed to. He’s suppose to lead and provide and I’m supposed to support him and help make that possible. Humble pie – it’s not just for breakfast any more. O_O
this was painful to read. hits way too close to home. i don’t know the “answer”…but it’s nice to know i’m not alone!