Contents Under Pressure

Ok so this weekend was pretty great, on a scale of 10 I would have to give it a solid 8. It would have been a 9 or 9.5 but there was one moment of insanity that just couldn’t be ignored. I had one of my RARE spells of craziness. I started a fight on my own, completely. I am glad to say that afterwards Tarzan and I were able to laugh about it, thankfully. For the sake of science I will check my pride out the door and show you how not perfect I am. Just be warned that it makes NO sense.

So we are on week 2 of keeping the house in the order I would prefer it and we are doing well. There has had to be some slight ‘nudging” when Tarzan and I just want to be lazy but in the long run it has paid off. Until Sunday afternoon, that is. The family returned from a very fruitful visit to the library and we were all still buzzing from the sights, smells, and sounds of one of our most treasured places. I was emptying the contents of the dryer onto the recliner with a smile on my face and a song in my head. That is where something in me snapped. It may have spurred from being sassed by Cheetah for the the 20th time in the past hour or it could have been my lack of ‘happy momma’ pills (I am starting to think I may need to be on something full time from now on, lol), who knows really. Sigh, here it goes.

I tell Tarzan that in this load are his work clothes so he may want to get hangers. He replies, “Are they hot” and I say, “Yes”. He begins folding the rest of the clothes as I return to the laundry room. Tarzan is getting on to Cheetah for sassing me when I notice that he has draped his freshly laundered work pants on top of the recliner (a haven for the cats so it’s COVERED in fur) and I interrupt him discipling Cheetah and ask, “What’s the deal with your pants? I am not rewashing them because they are covered in fur.” He replies, “They don’t need to be rewashed, just ‘warmed up’ in the dryer.” Furious I say, “Why didn’t you say something before I took them out of the dryer?” He responds, “I did. I asked you if they were hot and you said they were…but they weren’t.” Fuming I turn and say, “From now on I will be washing Cheetah’s and my clothes only. If you are going to be so particular then you can wash your own crap. I don’t care if you live out of the dryer. I am done.” Seeing my crazy eyes, Tarzan STILL doesn’t waver. He retorts, “Fine, are we going to alternate cooking and dishwashing too? Pissed I bellow, “No I will cook for the boy and I and you can fend for your damn self.” We continue cleaning up the house and putting away clothes in TOTAL silence. I decide to start cooking the family’s favorite meal, fuming. Midway through I decide that I am done with my tirade and I want to make this a peace offering. Tarzan isn’t buying it. Cheetah says, “Daddy why are you so quiet?” Tarzan responds, “I am just trying to enjoy the last meal that your mother will ever cook for me.” We both burst out laughing.

For the rest of the night and the next day (and I am sure for a lot longer than that) Tarzan has been making little jokes poking fun at my insanity. A whole 48 hours later, I am still trying to figure out what the hell that was all about. It’s amazing how things get out of control so quickly. I think the next tattoo I get should read, “Contents under Pressure”.