Breakdown by Transforming Sarah
Sitting across the couch from me, I can feel his energy. I can almost see the words flying across his mind, even in the dead pan silence of the room. Moments ago, there was no silence. There was screaming and yelling and huffing and puffing. Our breathing is heavy from the exertion.
“I’m. . . sorry. I’m sorry I lost it like that,” I finally mutter. He glares at me, but his face softens.
“Babe, I know. It’s okay.” He speaks with defeat in his voice.
We have been here before, many times. Love is not the question. He is the father of my son and the man who stole my heart right out from under me. He is the one who knows how to make my coffee just right, how to brighten my day, and how to tuck me in at night.
But we fight. Hard. We yell. Well, mostly I yell. We slam doors and sometimes throw dishes. One night I got so upset after leaving the grocery store that I actually attacked him with fresh produce. I discovered that it is effective and leaves minimal bruising.
Seriously, though, our love is real, but our ability to solve problems remains questionable. Sometimes I think our three year old son has a better handle on life than we do. At least he knows that love is all that matters and that “shut up” is a bad word. He knows that hugs are medicinal, and that after you finish pitching a fit, you can still share milk and cookies together and watch your favorite movie.
You know, come to think of it, maybe little Asher really does have the answers. He is intuitive at his young age, not burdened and burnt by life and all of its disappointments. Maybe, with his fresh perspective, I can learn to love and communicate with the innocence of youth and let go of all the things that really don’t matter.