Then the weekend came and I was home. I was more disposed to helping out when the boys initiated thanks. When that started getting left on the wayside again I became angry.
Sunday, I blew up.
I went out to the laundry room and saw things piling up. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was female hormones out of whack. I came back into the house pissed off and V new it. Being the good husband he is, he asked me what was wrong. Not holding back my frustration I let him know.
I won't go into the details of what transpired next; needless to say it resulted in us not talking for a few hours and a frenzy of activity on V's part that was probably not good for him. I remained righteously angry and refused at that time to acknowledge what he was doing. F was in his room at the time of the argument so I'm sure he heard my complaints. Luckily M and N were at a sleepover. V's peace offering came a couple hours later in the form of home-cooked breakfast.
Needless to say my experiment is at an end. Having expressed my frustration, albeit in somewhat of a volatile manner, I do feel more is being done with me instead of me taking things on by myself. I will say that during the argument V asked why I didn't just ask for help? A large part of me wants to say that I shouldn't have to ask for help from my husband and a 17-year-old. Then again how are they to know I need help without me expressing it?
I will continue to catalog the following days, to see where this leads. Will this be a new road forged or just circling around back to past habits?
You could ask for help, but they shouldn't expect you to just take care of everything yourself in the first place.
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