Last night, I was pretty frustrated because I had so much to do. Whenever I get frustrated, I nit pick little things around the house and pretty much take it out on Ryan.
“Ryan pick up your clothes off the ground. The floor beside your bed is not your laundry basket.”
“Ryan, why didn’t you load the dishes? I unloaded them when I got home, so you should do your half.”
“Ryan, lock the freaking door when you go check on your garden! Can you begin to imagine what would happen if a stranger came into our house because we left the door unlocked?” Yes, I was overly dramatic on this one.
“Ryan, clean up the stuff on the ground . . . ”
You get the picture.
The whole time, I was venting and half-screaming. With the girls around. I know I shouldn’t do this and should remove myself from the situation when I feel like that. It’s like I’m saying all these things and I couldn’t stop.
After a few rants, I stomped into the laundry room, which was earshot from the kitchen. As I was unloading the laundry, I hear Ansley (my ALMOST three year old) say to Ryan, “Daddy, is mommy crazy?”
I hear Ryan respond, “Yeah, a little bit.”