This is a more frustrating thing than it would seem. Such a glove is so little. So hard to find. Had anybody seen it? My husband? “I haven’t seen it.” My daughter? Me? Nope. I looked everywhere…. with, as I recall, no help. [I guess that’s my fault… I likely didn’t ‘assign’ anybody to help me look.] I found a lot of other junk (which I just left there.. shhh!), but nary a glove.
So the hunt was on for new gloves. You can’t just buy a pair of freakin’ gloves. You have to buy gloves and a hat (thanks for that frustration, Target!). I didn’t need a hat! I didn’t want a hat! And I didn’t want super-duper-fluffy-insulated-$20-too-big gloves which were my other apparent option. I just wanted a freakin.pair.of. toddler.gloves. UGH. I trotted my happy butt all over town in the search. I finally found some at The Children’s Place. Holla TCP!
Hurray. Gloves found. Warm hands again. All is saved.
And then IT happened.
In the hunt for some other missing article of children’s winter outerwear, I checked my husband’s car. I guess that was the one place I hadn’t thought to look earlier…. after all, it’s his car, not mine. What to my wandering eyes did appear, but the other little blue and grey mitten, staring right up at me when I opened the back door. In plain sight.
I couldn’t help myself. I tried to suppress my emotions but my whole person reacted. I. Was. Livid. Irrational, maybe, but livid nonetheless. In the whole missing-mitten saga, guess who was in charge from start to finish. Me. I noticed it was missing. I lead the charge to find it. I searched desparately for a replacement. I succeeded! I made sure my son took them to school. I made sure they made it home.
All the while…. my husband drove happily in ignorant bliss, the mitten inches from his seated bottom every day in plain sight. [OK so perhaps he hadn’t looked on the back seat. I’ll give him that but… surely he had opened his door recently! Undoubtedly, he had seen it and just left it laying there! Surely he could have taken some initiative in the whole glove debaucle! UGH!]
This story illustrates a larger theme in our lives. I am, as my husband says, “the glue that holds us all together.” I am the coordinator, organizer, and director. Typically, I am the willing or unwilling know-it-all about daycare, medical care, appointments, due dates, bills, and more. Plus I have a day job. Some days, like the found-mitten day, I just want to say – “I’m honored for the opportunity to hold this precious position, but I’m tired of being the glue!”[I want to point out that my husband is involved and is totally willing to help, but I think he would tend to agree that he falls back into the pattern of ‘helping’ support me in my ‘leadership’ role. Ugh.]
So Santa, I would like a sister-wife this year. I’m sure it will come with complications, but if I’m willing to give it a trial run. One with red hair, who’s nice and can cook better than me. See you soon, Santa – thanks!
Do you feel like you need a sister-wife? What are your strategies to share the role of ‘director’ with your partner?