Last week was a rough one.
Our son is turning 3 tomorrow. He is learning to voice his opinion and express his personality.
I love this. I can’t say that I’m love everyday of this. But I love that he’s gaining his own identity.
As most sleep-deprived parents of toddlers know, we don’t always listen to every single thing that is said to us. I hear it. But by the end of the day, I may not be fully listening and comprehending every word.
I am aware that this is not a good thing.
Last week as I was brushing my teeth wondering how the hell we are going to make it through the teen years, my husband nonchalantly said to me, “I’ll be late tomorrow night. I’m going to a street fight.”
For those of you that know my husband, you know that he would never, I repeat NEVER, go to a street fight. (Do street fights even happen in Boulder?!)
The next evening as I was growing impatient by his lack of response to my texts about dinner, I vaguely remembered something about a “street fight”.
Wait, what? A street fight?! Like, Fight Club, beat the living daylights out of each other, street fight?! (Minus the hot, sweaty scenes I remember of Brad Pitt, that movie scared the crap out of me).
I started a police report in my head (yes, I used to watch way too much Law and Order). What was he wearing when he left for work? Why would he be at a street fight? Who was he with? Was this work related? I don’t remember him mentioning anything about any problems at work. (Mind you, he works at a tech company. Last I checked, street fighting in the parking lot of Whole Foods over lunch break wasn’t a common occurrence).
Finally, as I was nearing an anxiety attack, he rolled in just in time for dinner.
And … he was wearing his business attire.
No blood. No sweat. No black eyes. (Not that I didn’t think he’d win).
Immediately, I started hounding him about said street fight. “Who was there? What was the fight over? Where did it go down? Why the *@#$ were you at a STREET FIGHT?!”
For those of you that know us, you know that Mark and I are polar opposites. He is rational. I am emotional.
Just as calm as ever, as he heads upstairs to change his clothes, he says, “oh, the data street fight? Yeah, it went well”.
The what?!? DATA street fight?
First of all, I have no freaking clue what the hell a data street fight is. I’m just pumped he wasn’t at the real thing that I played out in my head. (I pictured it going viral on YouTube).
This was the day I made myself (and my family) a promise.
Regardless of my state of stress or exhaustion, I must learn to be a better listener. I truly hope this will avoid any unnecessary anxiety and confusion in the future.
the wife of a [data] street fighter