It began well enough

This evening, we went to Carl and Beboo's house for dinner. She has this amazing ability to get The Mighty Hunter to cook. And can he cook!

Grill, actually. He has given himself the nickname "Grill Master." Yeah, I know he's not the only one out there, but he thinks he is. As long as he grills, I don't care what he thinks. So don't tell him.

So, he grilled the chicken and we ate it like we were Mary-Kate on a binge. (tacky, I know. sorry.)

After dinner, Stinkerbell tried to play a Playstation game that Carl and Beboo got for her. (background: I don't ever want a Playstation in my house. I am intrigued by the Wii, but will probably resist it also. I'm not a Nazi about it for other people. I just am realistic about the addictive tendencies that The Mighty Hunter and I have about games. ie: He spent a couple of nights with Carl and Beboo while kids and I were out of town and played the PS Friday evening until Sunday night, stopping only to potty and eat.) Needless to say that Stinkerbell's inexperience in using the controller led to frustration. And, just so you know, her frustration is expressed in the most weepy, whiny, teary-eyed, screechy, woe-is-me way you can imagine.

Well, The Mighty Hunter handled it in a way that I didn't like. Instead of doing it my way, which I admit wouldn't have accomplished any better results. Still, I didn't approve.

I did NOT call him on it in front of her.

I waited until we were away from her and well out of ear-shot and still spoke softly.

He didn't agree. And he didn't like it. He really didn't like my "correcting" him.

I pissed him off. And when he is pissed off, he rarely turns back.

I didn't want to let it go. I wanted him to understand my point. To let up on Stinkerbell. To do it my way.

I'm the Mommy. I know that girl. I know what she was thinking and saw the hurt in her eyes when her daddy was frustrated with her and said what he did.

I felt it my duty to put him in his place.

I will fight anyone, including him, for my babies. But he wasn't wrong.

Now, for one of the few times in our marriage, he's sleeping in a different bed than me.

I'm sitting here in bed. TV's on, Lucky's asleep next to me. Crying. Blogging. Wishing this wasn't happening.

I don't handle things like this well.

Why do I take a disagreement like this and let it explode and be about everything that bothers me about everything in my life?

Why do I equate his disagreeing with me as lack of respect?

Why do I equate his sleeping in another bedroom as if we won't make it through this?



I'm not sure how we'll get through this, but I know we will.

somehow...