Afternoon battles...

Ahhhhh, Calgon.....ahhhhhh, York Peppermint Patty....ahhhhh, someone, take me away to some kind of zen moment like that....please.... After this morning's lovely stand-off at the breakfast cafe (see "Breakfast Battles"), we eventually made our way to Target. Now I'm not whining here, but I just want to establish that being a mom, for me at least, is a colossal feat in multi-tasking that I never really feel quite good at. Particularly when you have an unsupportive spouse running a non-stop critical commentary about everything you do all day. On the shopping trips where the kids and I were actually allowed out of the car, as usual I kept the kids while Derek strolled through the isles deciding what to buy. Oh I am never allowed to make any purchasing decisions. If I get something and place it in the cart, he either tosses it back, or requires an explanation as to the necessity of the item, and then usually tosses it back. If it's clothing for me, he must approve it or it goes back. So rarely do I get involved anymore in shopping; I just feel grateful for the time to stroll around and sip a soda. Today I was in even more of a clutzy, dis-organized shevel than I usually am; getting a soda and then spilling most of it on myself while simultaneously trying to put the change back into my wallet and stop Ella from waving the tampon around that she'd grabbed from my purse. "Hi!" she said to passersby while waving it like a queen's scepter. In his wanderings, Derek picks out two pair of shoes for me. I like them. I find another pair, on sale for $7.99 and throw them into the cart. "Ugh, awful." he says, "Put them back." And that's his decree. It's not about the money, you see. It's about the control. At the check out counter he sees the $7.99 shoes humming their way along the conveyor belt. As they made their way to the cashier, the veins in his neck were pulsing so hard I thought one might burst. Just as the cashier is about 'beep' the $7.99 shoes over the little beeping thing, he grabs them out of her hand and throws them back onto the conveyor belt. "Ring these seperately," he spits out at her, "I'm not paying for them." And with that, he storms out toward the parking lot. I'm left standing there feeling mortified, and the cashier just gives me a dazed look. A little shaken, I pay for my contraband shoes and push everything out of the store: the kids, the bags, the huge box with the new car seat in it, and my criminal shoes. When I exit, he's waiting in the running car, seething. He sits there as he lets me load everything: all the bags and both kids. When we start driving he explodes in anger: “You are really something!” he shouts, making Dillon jump, “How dare you defy me by buying those shoes! You heard me say I didn’t like them and you just do whatever you want anyway, you don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself! You are a horrible, awful, selfish, person, that’s for sure!” Then he just shook his head in disgust. A real charming guy. I want to scream at him. I want to kick him. I want to kick him out right this minute and never see him again. But I have to keep it together. I have to take it for the sake of my kids; don’t try to convince him he’s wrong, I say to myself. Don’t talk back. I know it’s over, so just shut up. But it’s so hard to take it, to get slapped over and over and over again, and in front of Dillon is even worse. And then there’s that: the way he treats Dillon: not a kind word all day, not ONE. Just labeling criticizing, belittling, bullying, and hurting poor Dillon. I hate him. Finally I had to cancel the dinner we had planned with my father for that night because of all the fighting. I had to lie, like so many abused women do. Imagine that: I’m lying to cover for my husband’s actions. I was incredulous when I realized it. My God it’s true. He may not have literally hit me, but he’s verbally pounded on me all day long, he’s hateful and spiteful, and his venom is unwarranted. He’s hurting me, and I'm lying about it. Isn't that something. So that's how it happens. Little by little. And now I'm there. Well I'm fixing it. Little by little, too. I wish it were faster! But it's coming together. Until next time, dear friend...