I lay awake for hours last night, my stomach in knots, my head spinning, as I contemplated the State of our Marriage. Tate and I seem to drift further and further apart, both of us in the wrong. Or at least that’s what I should say on my blog since he’s not here to defend himself.
As the minutes of the still night turned into hours of a panicked night, I grew angrier and angrier as Tate seemed to rest easily, completely unaware that there is even a crack in the State of our Marriage. Maybe it didn’t even matter that he was sleeping. Even when he’s awake I haven’t felt like we could really have a heart to heart conversation anyway. I am continually on a quest to improve myself, as a mother and a wife, trying to figure out ways to hold my tongue and not break every marriage confrontation rule in the book. And yet he slept, soundly and without worry while I carried the entire burden myself.
I always do.
I woke up in a sleep deprived fog and mentally willed myself to put on a smiling face. Carson was, of course, in his true form, mouthy and argumentative from the moment I whispered, “good morning my sunshine boy,” in his ear.
I read somewhere online about choosing a word to strive for as your goal for the year. My word is calm. As Carson’s protests continued, I kept repeating my mantra. “Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.”
Humor sometimes helps to ease the mood and repair rifts that develop between Carson and I. His humor can be as healing to me, even though it’s in no way his intent.
“My elbow hurts,” Carson whined, as he had whined about every single detail of the morning.
“Well you know what that means, don’t you?” I inquired, as seriously as I could. “It means that I’ll have to saw your arm off.”
Concerned, Carson protested. “But then I won’t be able to hug you and daddy and Ella!”
I hugged him and told him that mommy was making a joke and just wanted him to laugh.
“But mommy, I can’t laugh. I’m too tired. And I’m thirsty.” WHINE, WHINE, WHINE.
“What would you like to drink? How about some beer?” I jested, hoping he caught my joke.
“But MOM! Only people who are OLD year-olds can drink beer!” He giggled. “Chocolate milk. Please.”
Before we left for preschool drop off, I tried to get Carson to take some cough medicine. He was not having any of it, claiming he didn’t need it.
“GOING TO BED IS ANOTHER WAY TO TREAT A COUGH!” he screamed at me as I chased him with the dose of medicine that eventually spilled all over me, Carson, and the floor.
I wish I could say that the burdens and worries of the State of our Marriage and the lack of sleep and dealing with Carson’s four years of difficult behavior didn’t finally trigger my switch.
Not this time. I lost my cool. I yelled, in a way that could not be described as calm or using humor to diffuse the anger.
Now I have even more to lose sleep over tonight.