Every once in a while I see a glimmer of the man I married twenty years ago tomorrow. He was quiet, polite, introspective. Nothing like the raving maniac who bombarded our home yesterday afternoon while Kidlet was at baseball practice.
What set him off now?
It was Monday.
Okay, you ask, what is wrong with Monday?
Well, our garbage is picked up Tuesday mornings around 7 a.m. Steve has his routine fixed to set out the garbage on Monday night. Never mind that it could be done anytime on Sunday so that he doesn’t feel panicked on Monday night. Every other week our recycle bin is also collected. This week is recycle week.
So I get home from running errands yesterday afternoon shortly before 5 p.m. and nearly get run over by Hubby as he dashes out of the house, with bags full of garbage in each hand that hasn’t been taken out by Kidlet.
“Why are you doing Kidlet’s chore? He hasn’t been home from school yet. What is the rush?” I ask the raging man with the bright red face.
“I WANT IT DONE BEFORE DARK!” shouts Hubby.
“Okay, I pick him up from practice around 6. Can he do it then? With daylight savings time now it won’t get dark until 7:30 or 8 p.m.”
“HE NEVER REMEMBERS! HE WON’T GET IT DONE! I ALWAYS HAVE TO DO HIS CHORES!” rants the Hubster. “WHY ARE YOU SO CONTROLLING?”
Ei yi yi. I hear him dragging the garbage cans over and slamming them into the back of his truck. I go inside and start dinner. A couple of minutes later I hear the door open and then bang shut.
“I’M TAKING THE DOGS FOR A WALK,” declares Hubby.
Good, I think to myself. Maybe he will cool off a bit.
When I get back from picking Kidlet up, I see our pickup still parked in front of the house with the garbage cans loaded in the back. Upon entering our domicile, I determine that man and dogs are still gone. It is now 6:20.
Kidlet changes and I dish up dinner. We are quietly eating when the Hubster slams back into the house. Oh oh.
“Are you ready to eat Dear?” I ask.
“Grumble grrrrrr bark bark grumble” response my mate.
I indeed dish up his meal for him. He grabs it and starts eating. Kidlet and I are now finished and I pick up our plates and head to the kitchen. Sure enough, I hear a loud, angry voice from the other room. I head straight back and find Steve towering over a seated kid, yelling at him for not “getting chores done”. I stop him in mid-sentence.
“He would have had you not done them for him,” I stated. “See, it’s still daylight out, and you haven’t driven out to the road to put the cans out yet. There was plenty of time.”
Hubby downed his food and stomped out. When I asked Kidlet if he was okay, he just shrugged.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “Dad just likes getting things done when he thinks about them.”
*Sigh* Same old same old. Glad that Kidlet has a good heart in that 6’1” frame. I am also glad that it’s baseball season, lol.