Home » What Husband SAID v What Reluctant Mother was Supposed to ACTUALLY HEAR

What Husband SAID v What Reluctant Mother was Supposed to ACTUALLY HEAR

Have I mentioned how kind, patient, and thoughtful my Husband is?

Have I mentioned to you he ceases to be any of those things if there is the slightest thing wrong with his stomach?

Yep.

Hungry, queasy, or grumbly. . .it doesn’t matter.  The results are always the same:  He’s a MONSTER!  A MONSTER!!!

To make matters worse, I have a hard enough time keeping track of the toddler’s eating habits.  I can’t also continually monitor my Husband.  So when he starts having some kinda’ stomach malady or issue, I’m usually clued in way too late to take proactive measures.

It appears Saturday was  the perfect stomach storm for the Husband.  However, I was the one left with lingering effects.

Things started out a little rough all around.  A sweet friend, and talented photographer offered to take some photos of Mac at Sherwood Gardens.  Of course we jumped at the chance to get some professional quality photos of Mac at the garden while the 80,000 tulip bulbs planted there achieved peak bloom.

However, this meant that Mac had to look decent when we got out the door.  And frankly, I was looking forward to looking nice myself.  I had recently purchased a new dress and some fancy drug-store-brand beauty balm and I was looking forward to giving them both a little spin for our ahem tiptoe  err crashing through the tulips and church.

As predicted, Mac wasn’t with the program.  There was a lot of fussing and wailing and wrangling around that morning.  Fortunately, once we got to the gardens, he turned on the charm.  We were done dangerously close to nap time, so we decided we’d just drive him around for the two-hour nap. . .do some birding by car. . .

Now, I anticipated this would happen and I packed us some PBJs and some bananas.  However, because I needed to go to the grocery, I didn’t have a whole lot to pack.  Both of us were pretty hungry and we devoured our sandwiches quickly.

We hit a Wawa to use the restroom.  Chris returned from the store carrying one of those super fancy $4 bottles of juice.  You know the kind I’m talkin’ about.

I emerged from the store with a bag of Smartfood popcorn, a 1/4 beef hot dog schmeared in ketchup and mustard (because all I seem to want to eat these days is sugar or meat – it’s disgusting.  Just the sight of my once beloved vegetables now turns my stomach most days), plus a can of toffee covered peanuts and a bag of cherry Twizzler nibs for good measure.

Chris eyed my snacks condescendingly.

“Dayawansome?” I asked mouth full of steaming beefy hot dog goodness.

“No.  That looks disgusting.  Who knows how long that thing was sitting around in the warming drawer.” He sneered at me.

“Ok.” Chomp, chomp, bread crumbs flying every which way.

About half way through, I paused long enough to lick some errant ketchup off my finger.  “Sure you don’t want any?” I asked holding the hot dog at his eye level while he was driving.

“Are you full?” He asked.

“No.” I laughed (I’m NEVER full these days) but I thought I should offer you some.  “Just a bite?”

“No.  No.  If you want to eat it all, go ahead.” He sighed.

“It’s ok if you want to lick my quarter pound smokey big bite.  You don’t have to be embarrassed.” I laughed at him wickedly.

“Just eat the thing before you get nasty hot dog juice everywhere ok?  It’s stinking up my car.” He snapped.

I’m able to take a hint.  I nearly swallowed the rest of it whole.

Then I moved on to my second course:  Smartfood.  (Which by the way, I’m pretty sure isn’t all that Smart. . .)

I oh-so-quietly opened the bag so as to not disturb Mac’s nap.  And before I could even get my own pudgy little fist in there, Chris whipped his arm over the center console and grabbed a massive handful himself.

Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Wipe cheesy fingers on pants.  Repeat.

We crushed that bag in the time it took us to locate 4 prominent glossy ibis in an unplanted field.

Not to worry.  I still had Twizzlers and the toffee covered peanuts – which we washed down with soda – just to make sure we didn’t ruin this binge with something healthy – like the water I had packed for us.

We rode around in a guilty silence for a while.  Well, Chris rode around in guilty silence.  I was just trying to work the popcorn bits out of my teeth with my tongue. . .

Then Chris mentions that I never cook any of his favorite healthy foods any more.

WHAT?!  (I cook nearly every night and I work pretty hard to make sure I’m not feeding us pre-packaged boxed crap.)

“Um, what exactly do you mean, I don’t cook any of your favorite healthy foods?” I asked already feeling defensive.

“Well, you never make the veggie lasagna toss anymore.”  He answered.

“I made veggie lasagna toss about 2 weeks ago and I actually threw away some of the leftovers.” I snapped back at him.

“When?  It’s been longer than 2 weeks.”

“Has NOT been.  I made it with ziti and not lasagna noodles because I didn’t have enough lasagna.”

“Well how am I supposed to know it’s veggie lasagna toss if you don’t use lasagna?” Chris sighed.

I was starting to feel a little hormonal and a lot pissy.  Where does he get off accusing me of feeding my family processed, unhealthy garbage?

But perception is everything. . .so if he thinks I’m feeding him unhealthy stuff, does it matter that I’m not?  I’m clearly not doing a good job.

Later that evening on our way home from church, I asked him what he would like for dinner.  “I have a variety of fake meat. . .”

“I don’t like veggie burgers or fake meat.” He snapped at me before I could even list our other options.

This was news to me seeing as how we’ve been eating them once every two weeks for about the past FOUR YEARS!

I winced and kept my eyes forward trying not to cry (stupid fragile emotional pregnant woman).

This is ridiculous, Deni, all you have to do is keep the kid alive, the house clean, and make food.  And now you can’t clean because lugging around the vacuum makes your side hurt and evidentially you’ve been a failing miserably at cooking all along.  

My mind flashed to the night my Father got upset with my Mother for serving hot dogs.  (I never knew why exactly, he liked bologna and hot dogs).  They divorced.

The writing was on the wall:  it was just a matter of time before I got traded in for a younger model.  Someone that didn’t jiggle so much, didn’t have their nether regions destroyed by birthing children, and would make this fool veggie lasagna toss WITH actual lasagna every damned night for dinner!  She’d probably serve it to him wearing something better than a wretched holey T-shirt too!  

I was seething.

So I did the mature thing and stopped talking to him for the rest of the evening.

That evening when we got in bed, Chris says, “I’m really sorry I said those things to you.  I under-cooked an egg this morning and my stomach hurt all day and then I ate all that junk and I felt terrible.  Your cooking is fine.  I know how hard you work to take care of Mac and me.  I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you.”

I remained silent so I could ponder his apology (mostly because my mouth was full of ice cream).

So let me get this straight:  What you said was “Deni, you are a lousy cook that doesn’t offer healthy meal options for our family.”  BUT what I was SUPPOSED to HEAR was “my stomach hurts and I feel guilty because I ate a bunch of junk food”?

Gosh.  How could I have been so stupid?  

This type of communication makes perfect sense now that I understand it!

So Husband, when I tell you this evening that “I made veggie lasagna toss for dinner this evening.  With LOTS of broccoli – just how you like it.”

You’ll know that what I actually mean is “I joylessly slaved away over this dinner during the one hour of time I’m allotted for myself every day and you had better hope I didn’t somehow “confuse” the rat poison for Italian seasoning, darling.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10 Responses to “What Husband SAID v What Reluctant Mother was Supposed to ACTUALLY HEAR”

  1. Jennifer says:

    Ugh! Just had one of those conversations.
    Jennifer recently posted…Just BecauseMy Profile

  2. LOL, this is why we do not keep rat poisoning in the house. And I’m *not* a pregnant hormonal mess – just a regular ole sensitive female who hasn’t yet learned how to read minds.
    The Next Step recently posted…T is for The Twins Traversing The ThreesMy Profile

    • admin says:

      🙂 We don’t keep rat poison in the house either! In fact, I’m pretty sure this is why my Husband was so keen on my using vinegar and baking soda to clean most things in the house too! Ha.

  3. Gee says:

    Perfect punchline!

  4. Shay says:

    I love the way you turned a disagreement into something funny with this post. It’s awesome that you can get past it so quickly and see the good in things. What I loved the most? “It’s ok if you want to lick my quarter pound smokey big bite. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Hilarious!!
    Shay recently posted…Tupperware PartyMy Profile

    • admin says:

      Thanks! My Husband and I get along pretty well…and I try to make almost everything into a joke. Ha. Glad the smokey big bite comment made you laugh. Sometimes one of us says something that’s pretty funny and then I can’t remember it. I really need to keep better notes. . .I’m sure that wouldn’t be annoying at all. 🙂

  5. Wait- he apologizes?! Where can I get one of those husbands? My husband NEVER apologizes. Rat poison seems too nice some days.
    Anita@ Losing Austin recently posted…The Big StoryMy Profile

    • admin says:

      NEVER APOLOGIZES? Where is that man’s sense of self-preservation? How has he lived this long?!