Isn't it interesting how women view the "practice" of love and how men view it? For example, I feel that Kyle loves me when he does some random act of kindness - he cleans the kitchen when he knows I'm really exhausted, or when he moves all of his old junk out of the laundry room that has been messy since we met. For him, he feels loved when he has my time- undivided attention watching a movie together or sitting together for a meal at a favorite place. Not that I don't enjoy the time together; not in the least. I am merely referring to the fact that our cup gets refilled through different acts of love.
Thus the importance of communication, understanding, and compassion. Yesterday was one of THOSE days. The kind where no matter what I did, I ended up making more of a mess than I started with. Cleaning the kitchen I knocked over a can of just opened pop, which of course spewed across the floor leaving a sticky mess in every conceivable direction. The cheap trash bag split on the way to the dumpster so I enjoyed frantically picking it all up before the wind blew it into the neighbors' yards. I had to deal with an issue by phone that I have been trying to get resolved since September 7th. By the end of the day I had accomplished practically nothing yet felt as if I'd run the New York Marathon and then promptly been forced to trek to the top of Mt. Everest. Thanks to medications, motivation has been an issue for me lately. I was tired, cranky and pretty much just fed up in general.
Slumped on the couch in the late evening I said to Kyle, "Remind me in 10 minutes to go put the sheets in the dryer". I was almost done washing our bedding, and I was looking forward to crawling into a freshly washed batch of sheets and quilts. Kyle, ever-loving, seeing how tired I was, went to put the sheets in the dryer, and while he was there he thought he would "help" (i.e. practice his love for me) by washing the quilts (that I had already washed) together (when one is all that should be done at one time). So here I was thinking that all I had to do was wait for those sheets to dry and then I could go make my bed. Kyle went downstairs a little while later - I didn't think twice about why.
Forty five minutes after that I went downstairs to make the bed. But I couldn't find the quilts. The dryer was on even though the dried sheets were in the laundry basket, so I open the door and see both quilts knotted together and nowhere near dry. I was surprised (and now ashamed) to admit how quickly my ire surfaced. Instead of seeing that my loving husband was trying to help me by washing the quilts, all I could see is how it was making more work for me. More work when I couldn't even accomplish the work I already needed to do. I crabbily barked that we couldn't go to bed yet as the quilts weren't dry (as if there weren't anymore blankets to be found in the house). I jerked the quilts apart, threw one damp one in the basket and the other back in the dryer, slammed the dryer shut and turned it back on. I proceeded to fume silently as I jerked the sheets over the corners of the mattress.
And then I told myself to just rethink the situation. Kyle had merely picked up on my tiredness and tried to help out by starting another load of laundry. He wasn't down there evilly plotting to annoy me by a) washing clean quilts and b) washing them in a manner in which I would not (i.e. too much soap, too much load, etc.). He simply was showing me he loved me in his own way. I tried to swallow my pride and looked at the hangdog expression on his face as he helped me put the sheets on.
And so I said, "I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to help me out. I'm just having a bad day. I love you." We finished making the bed with another blanket on top and the world continued to turn.
It's a great lesson to me about the importance of demonstrating love, not just saying it; and then accepting it, in whatever form it shows up in. Maybe my life was robbed of an extra 10 minutes of time over this minor issue, but the fact is, I was fortunate to sleep beside the love of my life last night, when many people spent the night alone or apart from the people they love best. It was a humbling moment of realization that I am a very fortunate person, and not to take that for granted.
No comments:
Post a Comment