He began the weekend early Saturday morning with an unintentional catalyst to a freak out with a single comment meant to inspire communal cleaning for a few short hours in which toddlers organize and mess things up at the same time as the adults attempt to get a handle on garbage vs GoodWill. He meant, “let me help clean,” but I heard, “you suck at housework.” We’ve always known that he would be a much better housekeeper, especially since his seminary training included folding lessons from the tidiest of all. I tend to be a better mom, though, so at home I am, to work he goes, and crumbs on the floor remain.  After an angry run, I calmed and allowed sentences to be finished during which he pointed out his genuine effort to aid in an impossible endeavor of keeping things semi- clean in a pretty big house full of babies and without consistent childcare/cleaning help. He knows I try and try and try, and that, all things considered, its not really that bad so long as no one shows up directly after we eat pasta or the neighbors come over to “play.” And even when it is “that bad,” there are many things more important, and I like doing those things way more. He patiently pointed me in the “sane thought process” direction, and through the baskets and cabinets we went freely and without judgement. 

We ended the weekend seeing a movie, of my choice, and judgement crept again. In all honesty, I thought the screen version of “Much Ado About Nothing,” would be in modern vernacular, but, it wasn’t and I loved it. While exiting the theater, he said, “well, that might as well have been in Spanish….” As my initial laughter subsided, my crazy, began a summer snowball roll starting with “Jim’s not really a Shakespeare guy,” to “I suck at planning dates and he probably hates me.” Same story, same crazy, nicest husband, meanest interior thoughts. I was able to silence the mean girl inside of me before her thoughts became audible and confused my husband and ruined our date. We were both having fun, so why the crazy?

I don’t know. 

Subtext, in my own, unprofessional, jobless, and I think too much and talk even more, experience, tends to speak directly to each and every insecurity, while silencing the rational, and simplicity of mind. I tend to hear the worst, even when it there is only good, and sometimes, good can still log roll to”I suck” faster than James down a hill. 

It’s interesting, and sad. There are so many blessings, and so many funny moments had and to have on top of all these crumbs. Yet, guilt and judgement can be the most convincing voices that shouldn’t ever be heard, ruining all the fun, and preventing laughter, or a chance to craft a clever comeback at my husband for not understanding the play that is the basis for romantic comedy, his least favorite genre of movies. No answers here, only a brief and fleeting effort to blog during 2/3 children napping time about a tendency that keeps the faith and fun away, from me, and maybe others too. 

Thankfully, when he was still making fun of me for making him see Much Ado About Nothing hours later, with “I doeth solemnly apologizeth, for I passeth gasseth in thy sweet prescence of thou-eth in this chamber of our marital covenant-eth” I chose not to go down the “you fart in bed because you don’t love me” road.