Why are you still yelling??

I’ve admitted every fault I have. I talk to much. I worry too much. I don’t clean the house enough. In my defense I’ve been busy… 7 kids and all their pets, sports, and educational activities, my full-time college career that’s been going on for a decade now, the job I try to hold down, the paperwork I’m stuck doing that leaves my desk three feet deep, but yeah, I admit it. I’m sentimental and I saved a pair of baby shoes from all of them and I have some of their pacifiers in a box and I have baby teeth hidden in the drawer and I can’t part with the seashells I hunted with my grandpa 30 years ago. All of those heartstrings hold clutter.

I’m not all bad. I make the bed. I love fresh sheets. I’m creative. I love to make things beautiful. I try. Why can’t you understand anything about me? I’ve spent 20 years giving you everything I have.

You know I loved him. I wanted him. I let him go because it was taboo. You felt threatened for a moment and suddenly you showed me your love, and with this family we built, I chose you. And as soon as I did, I heard my heart shatter.

You’re screaming at me because your socks aren’t paired up. I worked all week, took the kids to practice, made it to the games, cooked dinner, repainted the bedroom that has been a God awful yellow for 17 years, repaired the sheet rock that we should have replaced 5 years ago, cleaned up after the puppy that hasn’t quite mastered going outside, and meanwhile you worked in the day and went hunting every night. You didn’t grocery shop or drop off the water bill or deal with the teacher who felt disrespected after a day of trying to wrangle one of our boys. You didn’t wash 12 loads of clothes or clean out the Yukon overflowing with cleats and potato chip bags. You didn’t write a paper relating arts integration with core curriculum that had to include over 48 specific points and took 18 pages to complete. But hey, you went hunting, so you definitely didn’t have time to fold the socks.

The more you scream in my face, the harder it is to connect to you. I can’t close my eyes and long for your touch. I can’t spend my day waiting to see you. I can’t feel that feeling I used to have whenever we were apart. I can’t miss you. I want to. But you’re calling me a fucking idiot because I left the shower nozzle on the wrong shower head and I’m closing my eyes, wishing he were here.

He’s never yelled at me. He’s never expected me to do so much. He’s stood in the shower and watched the water run down my hair, shaking because there was so much temptation brewing between us, and then kissed me on the forehead and said he’d give anything to be in your shoes. He wouldn’t even let me betray you because he knew the guilt might bring a tear to my eye. Then he fed me cheesecake. You would scold me if I even looked at cheesecake.

But there you are, still yelling, and here I am, wanting to love you, and missing him. But I’ll choke back those tears because these boys have your name, I gave it to them, and I made a promise, and I wear jerseys with that name printed across it. I pledged my allegiance, and you’re still yelling….

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