Ahh huh. To you perhaps, my husband dearest. To me it feels as if you are doubting my word. Calling me a liar. Telling me with your actions that you think I’m stupid. It’s hurtful to me for you to ignore my words to you. It matters to me, and since we have been joined together to become one through marriage I want it to matter to you!
It’s been seven days (count them, exactly seven), since I told my hubby not to bother putting pellets in our two pellet stoves because it had been warm that day and I turned the stoves off early that morning.
Today it snowed on and off all day. I started my morning by watching the snow. The temperature hovered a degree or two above and below freezing. We also had sleet, frozen rain, hail, regular rain, and everything in between. I was frozen all day. I had both of the pellet stoves cranked. Seattle’s weather has bi-polar disorder.
Later that night Steve walked in from a late meeting. Kidlet number three (also known as adorable son number two or last-but-not-least child) was finishing homework in his room. I was snuggled up in blankets on the couch studying.
Because we live in a quiet rural area, I heard Steve’s truck pull in. Next I hear our dog run down the stairs from afore mentioned child’s room. I must admit that I’ve never met my hubby at the door with my tongue hanging out and wagging my tail. Perhaps I should try it.
Truck door slams. There’s stomping sounds to the door, which now swings open with a crash. The peaceful stillness of the night was shattered.
“I have to light the pellet stoves!” bellows hubby's angry voice. I am surprised. What, no love and kisses for the dog? No ‘Hello honey! How was your day’?
“The pellet stoves are running, Steve. And your son just filled them.”
Husband dearest slams the door, hurls his backpack onto the floor, then stomps off into the other room where one of the pellet stoves is.
“Steve, I told you that the pellet stove is lit and full!” I hear the lid on the stove squeak open.
“Steve! I said it was full! Why don’t you believe me?”
“Well,” he gruffly responded, “This stove holds more than one bag so I need to see how much more to put in.”
I repeated my earlier words. “I told you, it’s lit and JUST FILLED!” Yes, I’m sure my voice was a bit louder now. I was irritated, and when Steve isn’t ‘listening’ to me I tend to raise my voice. Yes, I know that it doesn’t help him listen. I never said that I am perfect.
“My God! What does it matter? Why can’t I check the stove if I want?” is the thundering answer.
I took a deep breath and tried to explain. “When I just told you that you didn’t need to do that, it feels as if you don’t trust me or my judgment.”
“Well, that’s stupid! It shouldn’t matter what I do! I will never ever check the stoves again!” He turns on his heel and stomps off to our room.
As I curl back up in my blanketed nest on the couch, it dawns on me that Steve was on pause from last week when he came in and I tried to stop him from adding pellets.
Shame on me for upsetting his routine. Shame on me for having feelings that he doesn’t understand. He has Aspergers. And he is right. It really doesn’t matter if it makes him happy.
I love my husband dearest, and do want him to be happy. I will make my own happiness. I open my kindle and look at airfare to Cabo.
It would make me very happy to be warm!