angry texts to my husband

Ellie wanted to play with the Barbie Dream House. I was all for it because it meant she would get lost in her own little world, singing and playing and being generally cute while I had the opportunity to get a sweet chunk of work done.

I went over to help her pull the mammoth thing out and set it up in a place that made sense (as opposed to the corner she was trying to drag it to where she would have to sit squished against the couch and the side of the house to get any playing done). I opened it up and was immediately furious. The middle piece was there, but the pieces on the side that folded down to complete the (very essential) top level of the house were gone. Gone. Disappeared. Nowhere to be found.

I immediately grabbed my phone and angrily poked at it. I used more force than usual in creating my text, hoping my husband would feel the anger (and obviously not reading it to check for autocorrect-induced typos [suing = playing]):

angry texts to my husbandI was not satisfied with his denial. You see, my husband has a tendency to steamroll through things. I mentioned it in my post about the worst date ideas ever, but I’m not sure if I got the point across clearly enough. He goes into this blind determination mode which no amount of reason can break through. He just needs to accomplish what is at hand, through any means necessary.

I could easily imagine him trying to open up the house and the pieces getting all jumbled and stuck and him tearing them off and being all “That’ll teach you!” and deciding they weren’t essential anyway.

His denial only furthered my rage, which was fueled by the fact that when I said out loud “What did he do to the other pieces?” Ellie replied “He took thems off.”

Our conversation continued (deteriorated?).

more angry texts to my husbandThe fact that he was denying it instead of just owning up to it made my cheeks burn in anger. Neither one of us was about to back down, so we more or less agreed to disagree and I tried to forget that he vandalized a piece of my childhood.

When he got home from work, he took the house out to “see what I was talking about” (likely story). He saw the pieces I was referring to. It looked as though something had been snapped out. Still, he maintained his innocence while I shook my head. The audacity. I mean, really. To acknowledge what I was talking about and still deny it? Ridiculous!

I headed off to Sam’s school to sign her up for after school activities, resigned to the fact that he got rid of the (essential!) pieces and was never going to own up to it. My girls were going to have to play with a Barbie house that only had a partial second floor (the horror!) and it was his stinking fault.

Then I received this message:woopsApparently the “essential” pieces I was so angry about never existed. It looked like something was snapped off because the sides actually snapped into the middle, which our seven-year old showed my husband when he took it out again to try to figure out what had happened.


Linking up with Dude Mom and That Suburban Momma.

Written by Jennifer Garry
Jen is a freelance writer and girl mom from New York. When she's not knee-deep in glittery crafts and girl talk, you can probably find her sprawled across her couch in the middle of a Netflix marathon with dark chocolate smeared on her face. The struggle is real.