The day started as any other normal Sunday morning. I woke up and went downstairs with the kids. He was already up and moving. As the kids were moving from their sleepy state to their awake state, they were demanding their milk and cereal.
The husband comes in “Did you wash towels? I need to get a shower.” “Nope. They are in there now, I didn’t start them yet.” “Great. I need a towel. I don’t have another one.” I hand him a small kitchen towel. “Good Luck.”
I fill up two sippy cups with milk. Give them to the kids. One is leaking. I fix the top and wipe it off. I pour cereal in a bowl. One child wants milk in the cereal, the other doesn’t. I get their bowls mixed up, which results in crying. I fix the cereal bowls and give them back to the kids.
One child spills his whole bowl of cereal and milk. The dogs begin cleaning up the floor. Then the other child is out of milk. Back out to the kitchen, I go. Both kids are crying now.
My husband comes out of the bathroom. “Where are my work clothes?” “Check the dryer, I say.”
I grab a new kitchen towel and start the washing machine because you know the towels are few and far between. I clean up the cereal that was spilled and get new cereal and milk.
My husband calls out “Where are my socks? I need them for my boots.” More tears, more crying. This time, I can feel the tears coming out of my own eyes. I just need a minute, doesn’t he know I just need a minute!!!
He starts complaining again about the towels, work clothes, and socks. Then he starts talking about work. He’s trying to tell me a story, but child two is still crying because I still haven’t gotten him the milk he wants.
I ask my husband to hold on. “Please just give me one minute to get the kids settled. Then I can pay attention.” He gives me an exasperated look. He sighs loudly and then yells “FINE. Forget it. I’m going to work.” He walks out without looking back.
This was two hours before he normally leaves for work. It concerned me, but he had been on edge for a few weeks anyway. I continued to do what I was doing with the kids and got a moment of silence.
I went into the laundry room to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer and dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. I tried to call again. It rang once and went to voicemail. I gave up and texted him “Sorry about that. The kids were so needy this morning. I tried to call you back. Call me when you can so you can finish talking to me.” Nothing. I text him again, “I just called you. It went to voicemail. I know you ignored my call.” Finally, the little blinking dots showed up. His message came through “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just leave me alone. I need to think. Stop calling me. Stop texting me.”
My heart pounded in my chest. My stomach turned into knots. What on Earth was he talking about? Was he really that upset over me taking care of the kids first? What did he mean he needed time to think? I needed to think this morning while I was taking care of the kids while he was taking care of himself. Did he even think about that? Why was he so mad? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I frantically began to text him, asking what he was talking about. My text was not returned.
I spent the rest of the day just going through the motions. My mind was racing. I had a pit in my stomach. I couldn’t focus on anything other than our morning conversation.
I couldn’t pinpoint anything that would have caused that much anger from him. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I kept sending him messages that went unanswered. That afternoon, hours later, the messages began to roll in. My stomach dropped as I began to read them, skipping over words and rereading. I tried to piece it all together as my world began to fall apart. He wants a divorce?
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