After the kids are tucked in, I'm too exhausted to do any of the million chores on my list. My husband is back to staring at his computer screen all evening. There's nothing to do but follow suit. And like a zombie, I sit in front of my laptop clicking aimlessly around the internet. Sometimes, I'm so bored that I actually will work. Sometimes.
The past few days, this predictable routine has been frustrating. Mostly because my husband and I are so stuck in our routine that we barely exchange any words aside from the occasional text message about who is picking up dinner. When we do have free time, he's predictibly zoned-in on his computer. We've probably only had one real conversation this entire week. That conversation was on Wednesday when I asked him about a work event and he responded. It probably lasted two minutes.
Aside from that, he hasn't really said a word to me all week. At first I was slightly annoyed and would try to initiate a conversation here or there. But now, I'm furious. I've been purposely not saying anything to him to see how long it will take him to realize that he hasn't made any effort at communication. Sadly, either he doesn't even realize there IS a lack of communication or he doesn't freaking care. I can't decide which is worse.
Today I lost it. Jacob was having a tantrum in his room and screaming at the top of his lungs. Ryan was being clingy and fussy. My husband was, duh, sitting in front of his computer. Earlier in the week he had texted me about the possibility of going to a movie this day. I waited for him to bring it up all morning and afternoon. Nope. And stubbornly, I wasn't going to bring it up first. As 5:30 approached I realized there would be no date. With the screaming of both kids in my ears and the equally defeaning silence from my husband, I wigged out. Without saying a word, I grabbed my car keys, put on my shoes, and walked out the door.
I had no destination in mind. In fact, I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to keep driving. I wanted to sit in the peaceful car and think. How hard is it for a couple to say "good morning" and "good night" and "goodbye" and "hello" every day? I never get any of those unless I say it first. When was the last time either of us actually said, "I love you." Not this week. Don't even get me started on our lame 5 year anniversary celebration last Saturday.
I started to cry. I fell into the self-pity trap. I thought about my ideal relationship-- a husband who kisses me goodbye every morning, who gives me a hug for no reason, who will randomly tell me that I'm pretty, who makes me feel loved without me having to seek out affection, who can sense when I'm upset and will actually care enough to ask me about it, who will tell me about his day, who will ask about mine. Then I compared that to what I got this week. Silence. Unacknowledgement. Apathy. Obviously whatever is on his computer screen, it's more interesting than me.
I continued to drive. Past the grocery store. Past the new housing development. Past the on-ramp for the highway. I drove in circles in a parking lot. Then I stopped the car. I sat there in the dark. In the quiet. I felt alone. Angry. Frustrated. I cried. I saw a couple holding hands as they walked to their car. When was the last time we held hands? I cried harder.
STOP. I forced myself to stop. I wiped away my tears. I stepped out of the my pity party and put my mom-hat back on. I ran into the store and grabbed something for dinner. I also grabbed a huge bag of chocolate to bury my sorrow in. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I arrived home to find everyone sitting in front of the TV. Not a word from my husband. With tears left uncried and sadness still unresolved, I slipped back into that dreaded routine again.
Now the kids are asleep and here we are. Both back at our DAMN computers. I don't know how to break the silence. Why do I always have to make the first move. WHY?!
Appropriately, this was the fortune in cookie with dinner tonight:
I drowned myself in chocolate but it didn't help.
*****UPDATED******
I confronted my husband and....it turns out he's pissed because I "scratched his car" on Monday.
WTF.
A '94 Ford Probe that barely runs, sits in our garage, and that hasn't been driven since my husband bought his 2010 Jetta. A car that is less valuable than the sum of its parts sold separately.
The silent treatment continues....
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