Feed on
Posts
Comments

I know people love reading about drama. Love it. It’s what makes people come back to a blog over and over again. Sort of like rubbernecking a horrible accident. You look because, in a way, you’re happy that it’s not you. Plus, you have something to tell your friends about. This blog post is not drama-filled, so if you’re in the mood for that, you’ll have to go to Cecily’s blog. She got her daughter kicked out of preschool, or so she says. Or this woman’s post on BlogHer, where she recounts being abused. Or you can even read back to some of my more angst-filled accounts. I won’t point you to them because today is about something wonderful: My husband.

He doesn’t realize how wonderful he is because I am such a tough person. So hard to please. I’m always terrified, so I am always wanting more, wanting better, wanting the best. So much so that I forget that I already have the best, and that it’s not my house, my ambitions, my paycheck. It’s my husband, who grants my every wish on a daily basis. And yet never gets to hear it. Instead, he gets emails like:

You didn’t do her hair. She is going to be very late. Maybe if you didn’t take a 20 minute shower.

And:

When are you coming home? We need to discuss Big Girl’s newest crazy: Refusing to go to the bathroom unless she has wipes. I’d bet any amount of money it’s because you keep telling her that her butt smells.

And:

Have you been taken hostage? Run away with another woman? Been put into the witness protection program? Bumped your head and have amnesia? I’d love to hear from you today, Chris. Yes, COMMA, Chris.

And:

I am mad: You said, why not go to a 7 pm class. So I found one and adjusted my expectations, thinking I would go to the class because you’d be home by 6:30. And then you call me at 6:30 (when the last time we spoke was at 4:56 and you said you were leaving in “two minutes”) to tell me that you are just leaving. So yes, I am pissed. I did nothing but work all day and was looking forward to going out to the gym.

If I knew you weren’t coming home (that you didn’t LEAVE by 5:15 as you said you were), I would have let you bathe them and I would have brought them to the gym with me.

Do I need to say it? I will to save you the trouble. What a NASTY bitch. What a harpie. What a shrew.

And yet he can look past my many, many mistakes, character flaws, my nasty emails, and just plain craziness and still love me. Unconditionally. Without stop.

No, no one is perfect. He’s got PLENTY of character flaws. He makes plenty of mistakes. But the difference is I call him on them. All the time. Again, what a nasty bitch. Instead of accepting him completely, I call him out. When he forgets stuff. When he lets things slide. When he doesn’t tell me what’s going on. When he leaves his stuff on the floor. When he’s late. When he’s sloppy. When he yells. And these are his worst. Notice there’s no drug addiction. No cheating. No lying. No abuse. No, his worst thing is that he is absentminded and disorganized, two things that shake me to my core. I really need to get a grip.

This morning my husband emailed me apologizing for forgetting to do Big Girl’s hair. He apologized for not being as business-savvy as I am. He said he was sorry for not pulling the weight I do. He said he was sorry for accusing me of being responsible for one of Big Girl’s problems.

I emailed him back, explaining that we, as humans, are most motivated by fear and survival. I am good at what I do because I am terrified at the alternative — not being successful. What I didn’t say was that I don’t hold a candle to him when it comes to being compassionate and patient.

I believe we find our soul mates based on things that we lack. Like puzzle pieces, we fit together with that person, filling out the picture and compensating for each other’s shortcomings. Chris is the other half of my puzzle. He, to quote Tom Cruise, completes me. I hope he knows that, and will never forget it.

Leave a Reply