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Making Myself A Priority

I have a problem.

Actually, I have a husband, two kids, three cats, one dog, and a constantly filthy house. . .

So I have a LOT of problems.

Yes, they are wonderful problems. . .and I wouldn’t change my life. . .

EXCEPT I’d probably endeavor to shower more than 3 times a week.  And I’d probably go to a yoga or ballet/barre class sometimes.  And I guess if I’m writing out a wish list, I’d probably add “wear “real” clothes more often”. . .Oh, I’d get a blow out at least once a month. . .And I’d sit down – actually sit down to entirely eat at least one meal every day without interruption. . .

BUT other than that stuff, I wouldn’t change anything and I have wonderful problems. . .EXCEPT for this one:

I’m a type A psycho, control freak ahem occasional martyr.

Most of the time, I just go about my business of wrangling kids, pets, dinner, crud with a smile on my face (because really, I KNOW how lucky I truly am).

The rest of the time?  I passively aggressively bitch about it to my Husband.  Usually and ESPECIALLY after he’s done something solo and self-centered like go running (yes, thank goodness he takes care of himself), or ignore mountains of laundry so he can look for some damned owl in the Park (that’s a whole ‘nother post).  . .

Essentially, I get all cranked up after he’s done ANYTHING that might have possibly brought him pleasure or joy while simultaneously creating a situation with the house and kids that makes me feel like a. . .well. . .martyr/put-upon bitch.

And Saturday was one of those days.  Mac was off the hook – no nap, exhausted, pushing buttons.  I was feeling pretty twitchy come dinner time.  So while I was slinging dinner on the table, Chris made an innocent enough comment about some “adult” activities later that evening.  And I responded with a completely snide comment about not having had a shower in 4 days.

This prompted him to say I needed to “make myself a priority.”

MAKE MYSELF A PRIORITY?  That’s what you say as you’re shoveling the dinner I made into your cakehole!  MAKE MYSELF A PRIORITY? As you slide your plate to the edge of the table for me to clean up as you sneak off to floss your teeth while I wrestle with an exhausted toddler with an infant strapped to my chest?!


Speechless, I dropped my fork mid-bite, stomped to the basement and started the shower.

We’ll see how you like it, Mr. Make Myself a Priority.  This shit is NOT easy.

(Flips on ventilation fan.  Suck up the personal fuming.)

I remained in the shower until I finished an entire beer, shaved my legs, and washed my hair.

And when I turned off the ventilation fan?  Everything sounded under control upstairs.

So I took my time moisturizing.

Nothing?  No screaming.  No thumping.  Well, that’s almost disappointing.

I returned upstairs to a clean kitchen.

Hmmmm?  Can it really be this easy?  I just walk away and shit gets done?

I really wanted Chris to be a bit angry or resentful with me.  I have no idea why?  Except sometimes I’m resentful with him when he does shit like this to me.

But he wasn’t.

I have several theories on this one:  A.  Because he’s not a bitch.  B.  Because he isn’t a type A psycho. C.  Because he’s not passive-aggressive.  D.  Because I just needed a freaking shower yuck. yuck. yuck.) F.  All of the above, plus he wanted laid.

In fact, he reitterated  I needed to make myself a priority – that I take care of everyone else and I needed to make sure I was taking care of myself.


“Hey,” he said, “Tomorrow afternoon after our hike at Patuxent, we’ll plan to have the kids nap in the car and you can go to Nordstrom and get some new bras.  You’ve been talking about it for months.  Let’s just get it done.”

“Are you sure,” I asked nearly moved to tears.  He was being too generous.  “It’s kinda’ a waste of resources to drive them around, especially if the weather will be nice.  This bra is fine.”

“Deni, you’ve lost weight.  You do nothing but complain about how uncomfortable that bra is.  Get a good bra.”

He was right.

I relented.

The next day after our hike, I marched myself into Nordstrom, shriveled sagging breasts held as high as a bra three sizes too big coupled with two pregnancies would allow.

When I returned to the car I thanked Chris agin for his help and understanding.

“Did you get anything good?” He asked.

“Oh yeah.  Really good.”  I smiled and winked.


“Really.  The lady that helped me is a fantastic sales associate.  She sold me four bras!”

“Four bras?” Chris asked a little less enthusiastically.

“I hope you don’t mind, it cost about three times as much as I planned to spend.” I said still high on making myself a priority.

“Yeah, ok.  No problem,”  Chris said. . .

“But that stuff about you making yourself a priority?  We’re officially done with that.”


4 Responses to “Making Myself A Priority”

  1. richardmax22 says:

    Okay, you had me in stitches from the first paragraph. Just remember. When it comes to women’s “deep beneath the surface thoughts,” us men are still fishing surface lures. I’m sorry. As a fisherman, that’s the best way I can put it. To almost any man, a bra is nothing more than the wrapping paper covering the gifts hidden within. So, as us degenerates look at it, if it’s going to be immediately torn off, why invest in expensive wrapping paper? Bottom line, a man’s mind is still evolving from the caves where we crawled out of.

    • admin says:

      Ha! Love it! You men throw out the surface lures and the women control the trawling motors, the current, the wind, the water temperature, the current. . .

  2. LOL

    I do know all about that martyr thing- and my husband also encourages me to make time, spend money, blah blah blah… let’s see how he feels when that new purse arrives today or tomorrow in the mail 😉

    • admin says:

      Oh! I hope you feel so happy and proud carrying it around! You definitely earned it! I hope to see a pic of it.