Let me preface this by saying that my husband is a wonderful husband. He puts up with a lot of crap from me. I don’t kid myself that I’m easy to live with.  But even if I was, he’d still be awesome.  He is also a wonderful father.  He works hard to be the breadwinner for this family while still making the time to bond with and raise his son.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to punch him in the throat sometimes, though.

I have been on edge lately.  So many little stresses are adding up into some big stress and I haven’t done a good job of carving out time to release my pent up anxiety.  As a result, little things tend to send me spinning and ruin my day.

Yesterday was a perfect example.

It was a long day for me.  Teething babies, nap strikes, and rainy weather in December created a perfect storm of irritation.  After the day I had, the last thing I wanted to do was go grocery shopping, but our fridge and cupboards were running on empty so I needed to make the trek to Target.  I try to only grocery shop once a week, and I save it until after Mac goes to bed because the store has quieted down and I can shop in peace while sipping on a Starbucks coffee that I reward myself with.  After mapping out our meals for the week and finishing up the long list of grocery needs, I headed to the store.  The minute I saw the parking lot, my heart sank.

At 8:00 on a Wednesday night, Target was as busy as I’ve ever seen it.  I was 12 different kinds of crabby and took to twitter to let everyone know just what a rage-aholic I was at the time.

I assumed that after working all day, preparing a meal for our son, cleaning up after him, and then running to the store, that The Husband would have taken the time to put our house back in order from Mac’s evening playtime.

Imagine my surprise when I walked in red-faced and annoyed from shopping and saw that the house was still a disaster.  That The Husband hadn’t lifted one finger to clean up the mess that he created when he was playing with out kid.  It was not a happy surprise.

The thing is, I know that the inside of the house is basically my domain.  I don’t clean toilets and I generally leave upkeep of the basement to The Husband since I don’t spend any time down there and it’s basically his man cave, but otherwise the cleaning of the house falls to me.  And generally, I’m ok with that, because I refuse to have anything to do with the needs of the outside of the house.  I have no interest in shoveling or gardening or mowing the lawn. Also, since I’m home all day, it’s usually a mess from me and the kids that needs cleaning.  So I understand that it’s justifiably my responsibility.

BUT, every once in a while, it’d be real nice if The Husband could pitch in.  It’d be nice if he’d notice how worn down I am every so often and offer to clean up the crime scene after Mac’s meals.  It’d be nice if, instead of zoning out to the TV while Mac and I eat dinner (sometimes he’s not hungry by the time Mac is. I? Am always hungry.), he’d take the time to pick up the living room.  It’d be nice to have some backup.

It’s not a big deal.  But last night, it was.

Am I the only one going through this?  Am I the only one who has these days where I act like a total martyr and then blog about it so I don’t explode on my husband?  Am I the only one who conveniently forgets all the times her husband actually does pitch in and then whines about how he never helps?