AUTHOR: Carolyn Savage | POSTED: 05/3/13 10:12 AM
CATEGORIES: Blog, Choices, Communication, Constructive Criticism, Marriage
Sean is a vegetable freak.
What I mean is that he is a tad obsessed with making sure our kids get their daily recommended servings of fruit and vegetables. I know that should translate to me being grateful for what a caring and involved father he is. Because he is. But let’s be realistic, folks. I’m a 44 year old peri-menopausal mother with five kids (three of whom exhaust me) which I’m sad to say causes me to hover around a five on the continuum of crabbiness. Inquiries from Sean about what I’ve fed the children translate, in my brain, to inferences that I’m inept at feeding my kids and ultimately push me to about an eight on the richter scale of bitchy.
I’m working on that.
I am trying not to take Sean’s parenting suggestions as insinuations that I’m not good at being a mom. He’s entitled to a say. For the life of me I don’t understand why his involvement in my kitchen pisses me off so much. So, I’ve been trying to temper my annoyance with deep breaths and kind responses.
This is hard work, people.
Especially when my choice to follow his menu requests back fire because of his lack of ability to identify certain vegetables.
Confused? Well get this…
On Wednesday morning I got this text…
It arrived at 7:58 in the morning. Breakfast wasn’t even cleaned up, and I was instantly annoyed that he was already onto dinner when I had a lot of in-between-now-and-then to navigate. Seeing as how I am trying to temper my bitchy impulses, I refrained from responding with the first text that popped into my mind. (It involved the words ‘sprouts’, ‘shove’ and ‘ass’). Now before you send me a private message about managing my anger via mood stabilizers, let me explain something. I’ve never served brussels sprouts to my family; I’ve never seen Sean eat a brussels sprout; And, I don’t know how to prepare brussels sprouts and wasn’t keen on learning. So, yes. I was annoyed.
But I’m working on this, right?
So, I squelched my inner bitch and channeled June Cleaver. Maybe they’ll love them. Maybe I can add a new recipe to my rotation. Trying new things is good. And off to the market I went for a pound a half of brussels sprouts.
An hour before dinner I drizzled those mini heads of cabbage with olive oil, generously sprinkled them with kosher salt, cracked pepper and garlic, and roasted them for 30 minutes at 400 degrees. When I put them on the plate with the steak and pasta they looked just like the picture from allrecipes.com. I was proud. Not only had I controlled my inner witch, but I was about to successfully add a new veggie to our palate. Sean was going to be so pleased. Right?
Not so much.
I first sensed something was wrong when I placed the plate on the table.
Sean What are those?
Me Um…brussels sprouts. You asked for them.
Looking confused, Sean put one in his mouth, promptly gagged, and spit it back out on the plate.
Sean What did you do to them? I’ve never seen them look like that.
I could feel the bitchy richter scale tipping in an unfortunate direction as I willed myself some self-control.
Me I’ve never made them before and YOU ASKED FOR THEM.
Sean [bewildered] You make them every week. You know…those long, green, stalky things that we all like.
And that was it. The straw that broke the bitchy camel’s back. I grabbed the plate, stomped into the kitchen, and threw those bitter, nasty tasting brussels sprouts in the disposal Then I spun on my heals, and said…
“That’s asparagus. A-S-P-A-R-A-G-U-S!!!”
(Oh…and I may have muttered the word ‘moron‘ in my response as well.)
At my cousin’s bridal shower this past weekend we were to write a piece of marital advice on a pretty little card and attach it to our gift. My Aunt Judy started her’s with this sentence…
“For sure, there are times when you’ll want to trip him.”
We all burst out laughing because it was such a true statement.
She went on to advise Jessica to make a point to hold hands with her husband. ”Holding hands rekindles the bond that caused the two of you to fall in love with one another.”
Sean and I laughed about the sprouts incident later. I told him I’m trying to be nicer so I refrained from questioning his request. He told me I should’ve inquired. Then I told him that it was honestly better that I didn’t because the words ‘shove’, ‘sprouts’, and ‘ass’ were involved. I then warned him that future veggie requests were most likely going to be ignored.
He’s good with that.
We both have things to work on. Communication is at the top of the list.