I’m normally a chipper person. But every so often, depending on the shape of the moon, I can get a bit... cranky. Oversensitive. Melancholy. And, let’s just say, irrational.
Maybe you can relate to this lovely scene.
Early on a Saturday morning, my sweet husband went shopping for groceries. Fantastic, right? He willingly takes on this chore so I don’t have to juggle two little supermarket companions during the week. I write the list, he wheels through the aisles at sunrise collecting the goods. It’s one of the hundreds of practical reasons I love the guy.
So when he returned home and we began unloading bags together, I batted my lashes in dreamy gratitude and adoration. Awww, he bought my favorite apples. My hero.
A cheery tune buzzed through my lips while I stacked tuna cans and folded the sacks. My husband settled in a kitchen chair to sip coffee and scan the newspaper while our girls slurped chocolate milk and Cheerios. We were a billboard of domestic peace.
Until I opened my trap.
“Honey, where are the diapers?”
He jerked his head from the paper, eyes wide, and blinked. “What diapers? They weren’t on the list.”
Slowly, I ran a fingertip down the crumpled shopping list to ensure I wasn’t about to perjure myself. Right there in my tidy penmanship, under the bold “Baby Aisle” header, glowed the word DIAPERS.
“Yes, they were.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I missed it.”
Blood bubbled from my toes to my forehead. My mouth twisted into a beastly scowl, hot drool dripped off my teeth, and smoky flames escaped from my nostrils. I do believe I felt a pair of horns sprout just above my ears.
“You missed it? We buy diapers every week.”
“Well, then, you should do the shopping next time. You’re better at it.” He stuck his nose back in the newspaper. The girls scooped more cereal into their mouths, oblivious.
I squeezed my eyelids shut, dug my fingernails into my palms, and squelched the urge to scream. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! He forgot the diapers?! Where has he been for the last five years!?! We are diaper people! My husband is useless! I hate my life!
Hold on a second. That’s not true. How could such terrible thoughts creep into my brain? I popped one eye open and peeked at the calendar on the fridge.
Oh. That explains it.
Hormones can turn even the holiest woman into a sniffling witch overnight. When I wake up in the morning with an urge to flop on the sofa with a bag of Oreos and some earplugs, I know biology is to blame.
There was a time when I used this hormonal rollercoaster as an excuse to unleash the hag. But then I got cozy with Proverbs and realized—there are no excuses.
“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down,” (Proverbs 14:1).
Ouch. Cranky moods, overreacting, snapping and nagging—all of these conspire to tear down the loving walls I work so hard to build. Don’t get me wrong—I testify that hormones are a valid cause of feeling crummy. But acting crummy is a choice.
When the hubby-bought-no-diapers incident conjured my inner witch, the Holy Spirit fought back by hurling into mind the words of Proverbs 14:1. Oh, the value of memorizing Scripture! So I clamped my tongue, mounted my broom and flew into the bathroom for a time out.
Lord, I prayed, please don’t let me tear down my house today.
“Honey?” My husband tapped on the bathroom door. “Do you need me to run back to the store for diapers?”
I drew a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled the doorknob. “No, it’s okay. I’ll go. I need something else that wasn’t on the list, anyway.”
“What is it?”
If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like The Mirror, Love Is Not Easily Angered, and When You Don't Feel Like Doing Your Job.
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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Wifey Wednesdays, Things I Can't Say, Grace at Home, and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.