Friday, April 13, 2012

He is Alive.

He is Alive indeed. Go in Peace.

Just had  a phone convo with one of my besties Jennifer,  or (read in Forrest Gump's voice) Jenny, as I call her. I had mentioned how I almost stabbed my husband on Easter when we got in a big fight in the kitchen while I was trying to whip together a marinade, and she was all, "Uh I know, I was looking on FB at all these pictures with people and kids who were put together with smiles in their Easter clothes, and we were fighting with each other with a puking kid on the side." And I said, " Gurrrrrl, thank you, we are reality" We are the Real Housewives of Charlotte. Please Tune in Wednesday nights at 9pm. Only by Bravo. You won't be jealous.
Jenny in the middle

But really talking of the fruit of the spirit, Self Control, I never thought I would need it so much in my marriage. Especially when stopping myself from throwing jabs. Maybe because I have an older brother I grew up with who I would physically fight with when I got angry or annoyed at, that that reaction is rooted down in my system. When I get mad at my husband many a time I start to scream "Giovanni!", my brother's name. My next reaction is to cock back my fist and jack him in the kisser (I have never used that word, but i think i like it). I stop myself after he flinches because that would be so disrespectful and a total disaster if I followed through, so I usually just count, pray, slam things, swear until I calm down. I am usually called "Crazy" which gets a similar response to, "You think that's crazy? Puh-lease! I will show you crazy!" Having said this jargon, I am just claiming that nothing is ever as it should be and we need constant sanctification is every aspect of our lives. Fortunately our fights our nothing too serious these days. Easter's fight was over if he was going to eat the organic oatmeal or the gluten free oatmeal and he couldn't find either of them though they were clearly, and I mean clearly in plain sight.

OK I should just go with this nonsense. I am doing more harm than good. So next fight maybe I will just walk to get out some steam. 500 miles perhaps. Real quick though, that can't always be good. Our first year of marriage we got in a big fight in the Y parking lot and Julius walked the journey home at night and twisted his ankle in a ditch. And now the Proclaimers...

 But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be that man who walk a thousand miles to fall down at your door

(And yes, he fell down when he got to the door because the ankle couldn't take any more pressure)