We Make Small Arguments Big
Somewhere along the line I decided that dealing with mice was something that would be on Brandon’s list. Like the awesome wife I am, I never communicated this decision but I have become overwhelmingly frustrated about having proximity to a mouse (mice).
I think frustrations come easier when you’re tired.
I think frustrations come easier when you’re learning how to be a parent.
I think frustrations come easier when you just want to be selfish.
Like any good martyr, I gave Brandon the cold shoulder and reminded myself: I am a strong independent woman. But the truth is I’m not feeling that strong these days. And the truth is I want his help and need his help. But instead of asking for help and communicating what’s going on, I make small arguments bigger by responding at an off-the-charts intensity. So when Brandon responds in a not 100% awesome way, I jump at the opportunity to be angry.
So then Brandon’s all like ‘what the heck’ and responds with an off-the-charts intensity back. And so a tiny argument, the size of a small mouse, becomes a big argument. It’s kind of our thing.
But tonight Brandon said he was sorry. And I said I was sorry. And looking back I hate how I responded. And looking back he hates how he responded. So maybe next time we can meet each other at a lower intensity. And keep our mouse-sized arguments the size they are meant to be.
R.I.P my little gray friend, R.I.P.
*Um, no amount of bags would have been enough for me to pick up a dead mouse. I’m not that tough. I do get credit for trying though. But when I started to feel the weight of the lifeless mouse in my hand (even through an entire month’s worth of plastic bags) I screamed and dropped it.