Sometimes, when Jon does something that bothers me, i'll sigh and mutter (loud enough for him to hear) "For better or for worse…"
That usually breaks the tension and we both laugh.
Well, yesterday I made somewhat of a vow that has been harder to keep than I expected.
I said I would ditch complaining for two whole weeks.
Well wouldn't ya know, I just so happened to scrape my foot against one of our end tables, and acquire the most unwelcome splinter in the history of ever. I'm not so sure, "Ouch!" falls under the category of complaining. I don't think so, it being an almost involuntary reaction to such a sad fate,
but it took a whole lot of grit for me to keep my mouth shut while I, tweezers in hand, worked at removing the thing.
This morning I caught myself in the act when I said aloud, "Why do I even bother to leave the house when I'm always too tired to leave once we're all ready?"
When I realized I was complaining, I shut my mouth.
Then, while running errands I felt hungry, so I decided to try an Indian restaurant around our way.
I've had delicious Indian food, thanks to my sister-in-love, but this food was bland and horrid.
I sent my sis a text saying, "I feel like i'm eating dog food."
This not-complaining thing is tough stuff! (There's another complaint! Help!)
I complain about the dog staring at me through the sliding door when we've sent him outside for a while, and I complain when he's inside, following me from room to room. His loyalty is both sweet and burdensome.
I complain when Bekah complains.
I complain when I measure the coffee grounds incorrectly and end up with a weak cup o' joe.
I complain when my husband's alarm wakes me repeatedly in the morning,
and if I really stop to think about it, me writing this list qualifies as complaining in disguise.