Taming my inner shrew

Why can't I just let it go?

I tend to overreact over simple, trivial things. I'm one of those quiet, seemingly well-tempered easy-going chicks who, behind closed doors, can go postal at the drop of a hat.

I think I come by this quite honestly. Although my parents were great while we were growing up, there was our fair share of yelling in the household. I also know from conversation overheard when my parents thought we weren't listening, that my maternal grandmother had a real temper. And through real life experience with my Dad's mother, I knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. And my Dad, also the strong silent type with the dry humour, but can flip if someone buds in front of him in a line-up.

I don't know if it's just that I keep it bottled up; if I just try to suppress my displeasure with things, until the pressure cooker within can no longer contain itself and I just combust. It's genetic, I tell ya.

Unfortunately, my spouse is the one who bears the brunt of Mt. Vesuvius erupting.

Here are a couple of examples:

Case A.

(Here's the back story: my 3.5 year old daughter is sleeping on the mattress on her bedroom floor. Yes, the mattress, as we didn't want her to fall off the bed when she switched from her crib. Yes, that's right, she's been on this mattress on the floor now for over TWO YEARS, exactly the length of time I've been asking for help moving the bedframe and box spring up from the basement. Something that hubby has been promising would be accomplished within this 4 week vacation, finally).

After the whirlwind anniversary trip, things came crashing back to reality on the Monday. We were hosting my "high school reunion" of sorts with four friends, and we hadn't all been together in one room since Ian and my wedding day. Two of them now live out of the country. This also happens to be the - 'ahem' - 25th anniversary of our graduation. Yuck. So I was running around all day preparing the place for the occasion. Nothing special, just needing to tidy it up after being in and out over the last couple of weeks, laundry here and there, unpacking to do etc...Hubby was catching up on e:mails and some work that he was trying to keep up on. Penance for taking so many weeks off.

I finally managed to step out to buy the groceries to prepare the dinner, by about 2:30 PM. We had told people to come by around 5/ 5:30 as it was a weeknight, and it would also be early enough that the kids could play (yes, we invited everyone with their families). I also offered to go the liquor/beer store to pick up the booze, which is usually the "man's" job when we entertain. But he said he'd take care of it.

So when I got back with all the groceries just after 3:30PM, and heard rumbling down in the basement, and the voices of my kids with hubby, I yelled downstairs and asked incredulously :

"Uh, you aren't by chance MOVING THE GIRLIE'S BED UPSTAIRS NOW are you?!!"

Husband responds: "Well, you've been asking me to move it".

Me: "We've got people coming for dinner in an hour and a half and you're bringing up the bed NOW???!!! Unbelievable!! DO NOT move it up. G will want people to come to her room to play, and I guarantee you won't have the frame up in time, it will be sitting there for kids to run into and crack their knees open with the metal corners. NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!"

Muttering to myself ... I cannot frickin' believe it...

(BTW, the above is a modified polite version)

Husband: "All right, take it easy. Poor judgement perhaps, but don't get so mad at me, it's totally uncalled for!"

Me: "Would you go to the liquor store now? I don't want to be all by myself when guests come which happens about 85% of the time! " (yup, this is me picking a fight)

Husband: "What do you mean, that never happens".

Me: "Oh yes it does, you're getting better, but I swear since we've been married, every time we entertain you run out at the last minute to get booze and I'm by myself to get the door, drinks, and continue to prepare the app's and food..."

And then he went off to have a shower and pop out for the booze.

Case B:

We're rushing around madly to try to get packed and get to the amusement park for the early bird entrance (season's pass holders can get in an hour earlier on certain days). I'm getting the kids dressed, slathered with sunscreen, and had the water bottles on the counter in the kitchen ready to be filled.

As I rush upstairs to finish getting ready myself, I hear the hubby yell that he'll take care of the water bottles.

30 minutes later at the entrance of the park:

We're at the gate where they standardly ask to look at the backpacks. I pull the pack out from the stroller basket and out pours water from the bottom of the pack, and the stroller basket has a small pond in it. I hear the hubby: "What happened there?"

I peer at him with "the look'.

We get through security, and I pull out the backpack, dump out the water, check all the bottles and notice that one of them is COMPLETELY UNSCREWED (you know, the Sigg kind), so of course it would have poured into the pack. Over the spare clothes; but thank goodness I pulled his wallet out.

As he came through the gate I just glared at him as he said, "What, I screwed all of the tops on tight!!".

Me: "Yeah, I guess so tight that it was completely off."

Hubby:" Come on, it's just water. Lighten up a little. Look at your miserable face, it's so sour!" and then he laughs at me.

I shook it off, but it just really irked me to no end. I knew it was a little thing, but I found it oh just sooooo annoying.

******

So yes, you heard it here first. I'm probably the only woman in the world who freaks out at her husband for trying to help out.

Am I insane? I told you I have a problem. Help. Me.

*******

The bedframe, well, it's still gathering dust in the basement as I write this. It is the last day of husband's vacation.

So for now, will you at least pass me another glass of wine?