Martyred in Marriage

I came home after spending a lot of time with my older sons. They wanted to visit the creative lab, which is in the public library, allowing them to utilize various printers and soft wares to expand their imaginations. Wonderful, right? I thought so. After all, I promised my eldest that we would go so that he could print something he developed for a friend and the Mom schedule was over-scheduled as usual. He was reluctantly patient, but patient none-the-less.

Meanwhile, our main bathroom is under construction. I grew up living in a house that was under construction for several months. This remodeling was going rather quickly to my standards. My husband, on the other hand, has never had the experience of living in “limbo”, even though his culture dictates a “vamos a ver” attitude about life and its many decisions. He is so aware of the dust and the dirt and things out of place, that he took it upon himself to go through my things which seemed to be cluttering for him, or that seemed to be an excess for him.

When I came home with my sons, I noticed that the magazine baskets were much smaller than they were before leaving the house. I noticed he decided to clean the kitchen and reorganize the counters. I also noticed that he didn’t seem to think the dishes in the sink could be done to add more “cleanliness” to the house. Instead, I found the dishes still in the sink and he was sitting in the kitchen chatting with the night nurse and my youngest son.

I stuck around to help with some homework my eldest needed to have finished for the morning. My husband fell asleep at the table. He was very tired and I couldn’t help but think he may have over exerted himself. I felt bad for him and told him, “Yes, maybe you should go to sleep.” He quickly went to the bedroom and was never seen again. After many of the same instructions were stated in different ways, Justin went off to the bathroom to take a shower….or so I thought. I continued to help my eldest with his homework, despite the time.

After he finished, he said, ” Thank you , Mommy. Good night.”  I hugged and kissed him good night. After everyone was asleep. I went to the recycling can to see if it was true. “No, I thought to myself. He couldn’t have thrown away a large amount of magazines, which are useful, as well as read by others when it comes to recycling. I always take my extra magazines to the library or doctor’s offices to share with others.

I took my flashlight from my purse and walked out to the recycling can to find a full shopping bag of  almost every Yoga magazine and Real Simple in the neighbors can. My blood gurgled and boiled, knowing he did this without my knowledge and as a means to lash out because of the reconstruction in the house, which was not controlled by him. He stepped out of bounds and crossed the line. I took every magazine in the can and brought it right back into the house. He did not want to wait for me to recycle them.

My anger was so hot , I almost took his gym bag in place of the magazines he so painstakingly placed in the neighbor’s can because he didn’t want me to notice. He, who devotedly loves his soccer. What if I threw away at lease one soccer ball, or his bag? How would he feel? Unfortunately, I find these thoughts and discussions wasted. They don’t bring meaning to him. It doesn’t match his world. However, if I did throw away something to do with soccer, bakery or restaurant, he would be touched in anger.

I couldn’t forget the night he threw away personal documents because he doesn’t see the purpose in what I’m working on. Or what I might be saving for later. He doesn’t value what I value. This is my life of a martyr. 

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