What he says: “The newspaper you are using to wrap that vase will leave a film. I bought you plain paper to wrap with.”
What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”
What he says: “Be careful not to overstuff that box, your vases will crack.”
What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”
What he says: “Did you tape the bottom of the box securely? Let me check for you.”
What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”
A wise friend recently told me moving is a test to any marriage. “Thanks for the head’s up.” I replied. In my head I thought, “Not my marriage. R and I are always in sync and sensitive to each other’s feelings.” Today is day four of packing up the house and I am already digging out the crisis hotline phone number. I feel like the woman in labor screaming at her husband, “You did this to me!”
Our moving process couldn’t be going any better. It has all been flowing nicely. So why the Prozac-deprived behavior? I can only blame it on my inner child who hates change and is throwing a fit that I have no control over. No, that’s probably not it. In the past four days, I have become this cranky puppy-kicker and R is the puppy. My husband can not do or say anything right. Only the clarity of a car ride this morning made me see I am not myself and he deserves an apology. Good thing he is #1 in my favorites. I have a feeling I will be making this call a lot.
Then I realized the source of my crankiness is the mess that this house has become. We are in the worst stage of the whole process – the weeding out and tag sale stage. No room is without piles of items to be boxed, donated or thrown away. That’s the other upsetting issue. Our carbon foot print is a size 15EEE with the amount of trash we are generating. I see old humidifiers and broken dressers that are destined for the dump to sit for eternity and it makes me sick. It makes me never want to purchase another item ever again. Not sure I can stick to that one though, a new house to decorate awaits.
I realize to save my sanity I need to get comfortable with living with temporary chaos. I am not sure how to do that. I like order and neatness. I struggle when my son’s toys are everywhere and now it’s like the house is one big heap of toys. I find wine has helped me get comfortable. Wine is my new best friend.
Now that I think about it, to save my sanity, I must first find it in this house of crazy. Excuse me while I go do that, I think it I hear it screaming from under a pile of sh#t on the living room floor.
To be continued…
