I am here, I have arrived! That is only to say I am finally sitting down to write the, in my opinion, now expired post. But because I have thrice alluded to its coming (or twice I can’t remember), I remain a woman of my word and will present my past due thoughts as best I remember them…
As most of you know, I am married to a very expressive, very artistic, very capable man. And since I have been with him quite some time now, I have finally learned the following lesson: “never judge his creation midway through”…it is just wrong to do. And if I open my mouth too soon, offering my extremely valuable criticism, it is usually detrimental to my well being and his (on a small scale, just means I get chewed out for not understanding the direction of the work, and he in turn is frustrated by my lack of vision).
Anyway, the reason I can’t come midway into his projects is because he pulls inspiration from, as I call it, “the sun, the moon, and the stars.” His thoughts and vision are so vast and so abstract, yet he manages to meld them together into visual genius. Most of the time my practical reasoning just can’t keep up.
So it was a few weeks ago when this type of vast and abstract thought process took a hold of my beloved and he garnished a two hour window of our Saturday morning pulling the “sun, moon, and stars” into a family conversation that seemed to be headed nowhere. I promise you he used the phrase, “my point is…”, several times and yet my daughter and I looked at him and said, “I still have no idea what your point is!” Now periodically, like his master works of art, his method of conversation reflects the same methodology. So if I interject too quickly, I get an earful and his frustration escalates. So finally at the end of the Saturday morning “show”, a peaceful conclusion was made between father and daughter and wife. Though me being who I am, an-impatient-for-this-type-of-unnecessary-prattle-when-I-have-other-things-to-do, kind of person, held on to the irritated feelings I felt I so deserved.
Setting of the scene: An irritated, overstressed, tired wife–aka Rivka on Saturday morning a few weeks ago. Kitchen cleaned from the making and serving of breakfast. Refrigerator and cupboards replenished with items from Costco and Trader Joe’s. Rivka on hands and knees scrubbing the hallway linoleum.
Since the time limits of the morning were maxed out, Brian was in a hurry to get out the door and get to his workshop (the clothing company u50.com). And since we are a budget conscience family, as he came to kiss me goodbye I asked if he had made his lunch. He of course did not because in all honesty, it is his least favorite thing to do. Now I usually enjoy preparing him something fun, with a love note written on his napkin. But being my schedule was now out of synch with the load of the day, I was not in a favorable position to accommodate his “preparatory deficiencies”. But he was already in a flurry, for his schedule was also now out of synch so he announced he would buy his lunch. Not a big deal when written here in prose, yet being I was already cranky, his position on the subject was an affront to my entire being. And with each scrub of the floor, my thoughts became more and more vile. They went something like this, “I am not Betty F**kin Crocker. Betty F**kin Crocker didn’t f**king pay the bills and do the taxes. All Betty F**king Crocker had to do was look pretty and make a few meals…her husband took care of the rest of the “business” of the family. No, I am more Betty F**kin the Riveter! So take that mister, I-can’t-make-my-own-lunch!”
“Whew”…now isn’t that a pile of my last post’s title! While I was busy mentally chewing out Brian, Betty Crocker, and even Rosie the Riveter, I knew that if I spoke one word of my foul thoughts to my husband, it would be a detrimental mistake. And I knew that truth so concretely because the beautiful word of G-d, which serves as the master reference for such things, points it out perfectly in the book of Proverbs. It says, “It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a contentious woman in a whole house.” (Prov. 25:24). “What is contentious?”, you ask. In dictionary terms it is, “tending to argument or strife; quarrelsome.”
So I had to ask myself, is my ranting the type of nourishment I want to pour into and onto my marital relationship? Well, as you can see by my title, my answer was (is and always will be), no.
Now I share this with you so that you, too, may recognize her should she come into your presence. For Betty F**kin Crocker is really Betty Cranker The Marriage Killer in disguise. Run for your life should she come to town!