I was laying in bed deciding whether to get up or not and I heard the Lord’s name being taken in vain, and maybe a few other creative swears mixed in there. My stomach turned icy. I totally hate it when my Bubba is angry, and he’s not one to drop the f-bomb very liberally (unlike some people I may resemble). So I got up to help him, only I found that the huge world-stopping problem is that he can’t find where he put his wallet last night. I told him to say a prayer to St. Anthony, take my debit card if he needed it and go to work.
So then when I got up for the day (the Bubba left for work by 6, like I’m going to get up for the day then when my kid’s still asleep!), I tore the house apart looking in drawers and closets and under things like the bed and the scary under-couch before I called him with the bad news that I couldn’t find the darn thing.
Oh! But HE had found it. Very shortly after he left home. In his bag. He just forgot to call and tell me so that I didn’t waste hours of my morning looking through and under things.
Now, I would be very frustrated that the morning routine was non-exsistant. But I shouldn’t judge. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately because his Big Important Deadline is Friday. I guess his fit this morning is the equivalent of me trying on everything in my closet an hour before we’re supposed to be at a party and then collapsing on the bed in tears because I’m too fat and I don’t have any clothes.
To each his or her own meltdown process.