What’s going to work? Teamwork!
Yes, as I hum the theme song of the children’s show “The Wonderpet”, I am reminded how true it is. “What’s going to work? Teamwork!” Even after last night’s moodiness it is with a great sigh of relief that I can announce that he finally gets it. He. Gets. It. Teamwork is how this is going to work in the long stretch. Not me blaming or him blaming. There is no blame, there is only this. What is before us now and that is what we have to work on together.
After six long years of being the financial planner, manager, and for the better part the overall “breadwinner”, I can now say that the finances are a team effort. Endless questions from him about the money, random spending by both, and then me left with the magic act of making money appear ended this morning. Until now, he never really saw the bills we have or the money we make. He never really had been that responsible of a spender prior to our relationship, so it was natural that he fall into my OCD ways of controlling the finances. But that’s over.
We created a budget together and stick with it at our grocery store trip. But the most important thing is he was a part of it. It wasn’t me telling him “no” it was a joint effort of deciding what we could and couldn’t afford. What a relief this is. I may still be by myself for eleven days at a time, but I no longer feel like everything is on my shoulders. This is such a freeing feeling.
Not even sure….
Shouldn’t I be the one to be moody? I am the one left here. Alone. Eleven days. Depending on my parents to get OUR child from here to there so I can still work the job demanded by our budget. Am I saying things are unicorns and rainbows for him? No. But, do I give in to the “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” attitude? Yeah, I think not.
Remember, I’m that stubborn. I’ve been on this roller coaster when he was only standing in line. I know my feelings. You would thing 8 hours plus driving would give you insight into your feelings. But, apparently not. We are still at the “I’m just going to bed” stage of psychology. Great. I don’t know if I have the patience to figure it out. Haven’t I worked through enough?
No running. I understand that. I don’t have on my New Balance. I’m just frustrated. I can’t draw it out of him. I have no third world tactics of getting the truth. Sigh. He wants things to be different when he comes home. Every eleven days. How? Our life, my life, the penguin’s life, this life, it’s what it is. I can’t have champagne and streamers every time he comes home. I’ve just ran the dirtiest of the “Spartan” races with no training, by myself, keeping that penguin and this house standing. Doesn’t he get that?