Tuesday, September 4, 2007

One Man's Trash ....

Usually I am in total control of my emotions. Most of the time anyway. Although there are times, that I completely over react and reduce myself to a blubbering heap of tears. Not often do I do that. Only when I act like a overwhelmed little girl. (toddler age)

I can't blame it on PMS since I don't have ovaries. No hormone replacement therapy here either. No hormones feeding this body. I should not act like my two year old's and have a temper tantrum because Marlboro Man looks at me funny.

Yesterday afternoon, the man comes waltzing downstairs from watching the US Nationals - Drag Racing, after I've cleaned up the dining room and kitchen from lunch with the trio of terror, sorted 4 loads of laundry, pottied everyone, picked up all the toys and helped him get them down for a nap. He nonchalantly says, "I think I'm going to go over to the farm and do blah blah blah." (nothing wrong with that, they're asleep, it's quiet ... go on, get out of here ... I feel computer time coming on.)

I nicely say, "hey, I'll help you load up all that trash you're saving on the back porch into your truck since you're going that way, okay? The dumpster is empty, so there is lots of room in it. Okay?"

I swear you would have thought I was killing the man. You could have heard the exasperated sigh all the way to Kentucky. The ~ sigh ~ itself didn't say a word, but the meaning behind it was loud and clear. And, I had offered to help. I think the key word where I went wrong was Saving.

He proceeded to look totally disgusted, then bent down and picked up a empty milk jug and a cardboard box. Do you think I could just leave at that? No, not me. I had to go and act like a girl. This was my chance.

I say to him, "Just leave it!" (I'm sure my eyes were glowing neon orange by then and steam was curling out of my ears)

He says, "Oh, I just looovvvve picking stuff up (notice the o's and v's in love? can't you just hear it?), you just throw it all out here and expect me to pick it up!"

My reply, "Well, yeah, I do. Mister, that could be because the trash thing-ey is over at the farm, a mile away, and I have your two year old triplets. But I can fix that. I'll call the trash people in the morning and order a big ole dumpster for here. A big one. Right outside the backdoor. A real big one. The biggest they make. ... and you can pay for it. BIG!"

At this point, all he would have had to do was smile ... and I'm sure I would have gotten over it. No way! He did what he does best. He left me alone to stew and be mad all by myself. With all his trash.

Marlboro Man is into recycling. I'm not. It's not that I don't want too, or don't care. I do. But I have my hands full. I'm too busy. I don't have time to rinse the 40 million jugs of milk that we use, or fold up all the cardboard boxes into tiny pieces and arrange them nicely into another box. It's all I can do to open the door to the back porch (enclosed) and toss the stuff out there before the herd stampede's an open door. It's his job to take it over to the dumpster. I made that rule by the way. I like it too.

Okay .... you know where I'm going with this? But he walked out on me. I had no other choice but to reduce myself to a heap of tears and act like a girl.

So what did I do? I had a total meltdown. I opened the back door and slung everything out on the sidewalk. Not just a small fling either. It was a huge SLING, lots of them, in all directions. Afterwards, I felt so good. Totally spent. Better than ....

Here's the list of what was laying out in my backyard: (I wish I had of taken a picture)

  • 6 Tide bottles (extra large size)
  • 8 Snuggle bottles (large)
  • 26 milk jugs (4 week supply)
  • 4 Chlorox bottles
  • 9 Diaper boxes (cases from Sam's ... big)
  • 3 Huggies wet-ones boxes (lg. from Sam's Club)
  • 7 Dawn dish detergent bottles
  • 12 little milk bottles from McDonald's
  • 17 other cardboard boxes; food item boxes

Yes, I counted it. Not during my hysteria, but after. Afterwards, when I was feeling guilty for acting childish, and for acting like a girl. I counted it. But I didn't pick it up.

I actually forgot about it. THEN, I heard Marlboro Man's truck pull up. OUCH! I instantly felt a rush of emotions flow through me. I was embarrassed, sorry and humiliated.

In total silence, we picked up the trash together. Our eyes never met once. In total silence, we walked in the house together.

He reached out and held my hand. I knew that it was okay that I acted like a girl. He forgave me and he still loves me. His hand told me so.

Moral to the story: "one man's trash is another man's treasure"

... and as always, be blessed,