Stress

n.  distress caused by having too many problems or too much to do


I have known my husband since the age of  fourteen. Our first meeting involved him hitting me in the head with an apple because his friends thought it would be funny. At times it is difficult to believe he has not only grown up, but supports us financially. The punk who didn't have a direction in life now is one of the most dedicated and driven active duty servicemen and fathers I know.  Who would have thunk it? 

The long history between us helps in our survival as a couple.  We are clued in and can tell when the other is stressed and so do not follow through on the desire to physically hurt them.  The classic, "It's not you...it is me" case of misplaced stress and tension.  I snap at everyone and everything in my path and he gets all up in my business.  Are you seriously managing my separating the laundry?  Go for a run, whatever, but you need to stop controlling this before I truly begin to not like you. 

I have been around the block enough to know that directly after a move, I can expect him to be an ass, that I know he doesn't mean to be an ass, but while he is stressed about learning a new job, he is indeed behaving like a colossal ass and needs to chill before we all revolt.  He will get a bit defensive, his voice will raise an octave or twelve, I will raise an eyebrow, walk out of the room, and about five minutes later he will follow with an apology,  recognizing his tenseness about the new job.  All systems return to normal. 

Before a trip or big event, the roles are reversed.  I am extremely guilty of acting all PMSy/high strung. He only has to deadpan the word "seriously" and I acknowledge my own colossal ass-i-ness.   And he has learned not to ever, ever, put my stuff in the car without asking me.  Or anything, if I am being honest.  He is a patient man.

Friday morning, my husband woke at 5:30, which is earlier than normal.  All morning he proceeded to dick-tate his way around the house.  The night before he was micro manager extraordinaire, so my inner alarm put two and two together and came up with the answer of him freaking out over something.

But what? Oh yeah, he has a take home test this weekend.  The same weekend he registered to run in a half marathon five months ago, waaaayyy before he realized he would have a take home test.  And our friend is on his week break from Afghanistan, so he will miss out on that and playing some golf with him.  And he hasn't had the time to train for this race.  And we are knee deep in taxes and neck deep in nightly battles  debates conversations over renting vs. buying when we move to a very expensive part of the country this summer.  And he just turned down a fishing trip in the morning because of the pesky test.
The list goes on.

Poor dude.  I cut him some slack, but when he approached dangerous territory, the call was made...he was informed he was being a big ol Dick-tator and needed to back off.   He denied, an eyebrow was raised followed by my exit, and he soon followed and admitted he was a bit stressed.  No voices were raised, no one was injured, and peace was restored.

Well, until our upcoming house hunting trip.