Shut Up and Reboot

Ken and I got off to a rough start this morning. He had his list of things for us to do today and we woke up later than he wanted. He was up a good thirty minutes before I was, but he had the coffee ready. While I drank a cup he was gathering tools. I knew we were off to a bad start already because he couldn't find anything he needed.

We are going to put in the drip irrigation tubing today for the tomatoes and the watermelons. It is best to work in the morning before it gets too hot, but last weekend we had Trevor and his family, and yesterday we had Christine and her family, so today is all we have. As much as I enjoy standing out there watering the tomatoes they have a better chance without having to rely on my mood. 

Ken is at the slamming drawers stage of this tool hunt. I pour him a bowl of cereal and hand it to him. Food really effects his mood. Mine too, but he has to deal with me, I have to deal with him. Here, eat this and don't talk to me until it's gone. He glares at me, but he eats. I pour myself a bowl too. I've had two cups of coffee at this point, but my brain still feels like mush. I just can't seem to think today. Lots of bad omens, but I trudge along following Ken's lead on what he wants to get done today. 

His tool hunt leads to emptying a hall closet. There have been two separate picking up the house events that involved throwing things in boxes and shoving them into closets. Perhaps the missing tools are in one of those boxes. Bad news is he finds a box of the kids projects from kindergarten/first grade/second grade. So many cute little stories, so many letters to Santa, so distracting. The sun keeps on rising and we are still putzing around in the house. 

Ken tells me his plan. He understands we are proceeding and doing A. I hear that we are doing B. He has moved on from A to C in his head and I didn't catch the transition. This is the way he works. He moves along and I anticipate what tool he needs next, keep the water full, ask little questions that keep him on task. But I have to know what the task is, and since I didn't really help do this before and my brain is mush and you really can't tell me four tasks at once right now because I just can't remember more than one thing at a time. By the time I figure out we are on plan D, his brain is moved on to J. We are completely out of sync. 

It's hot. This isn't really how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning, I'm still in my pajamas. I want more coffee. We seem to be missing one T connector and he really doesn't want to go buy one, we have to modify the design to work around it. I come up with two or three very viable plans, but he doesn't seem appreciative. When I talk I seem to disrupt his thought process going from Plan Q to R. He scowls and snaps at me. I realize as I'm standing there contemplating how many times this tube will wrap around his throat that perhaps I don't have to play. I drop (key word DROP, not THROW) my tools and gloves and without saying a word go inside. I start a cup of coffee and wash off some cherries. I'm standing at the island eating cherries waiting on the coffee when Ken comes in. He takes one look at me and gets a peach and goes to the other side of the island. We stand eating our fruit looking at each other over the island. 

Are you going to come back outside and help me? Hell no. Even if I say I'm sorry. Even then, I'm done. I wanted to get to work early this morning but you slept late. Just thirty minutes later than you. Well, then you started looking through those boxes. You were looking too and that's been the only fun part of today. Life isn't just fun all the time. Ken I love you very much but right now I'd trade you for a cup of coffee and a puppy.

That sends him outside. I eat my cherries and drink my coffee. By the end of the cup I'm feeling bad and go looking for him. He's in the shed. Oh crap. I have to get him out of there or I'm going to spend the rest of the day sorting through boxes trying to avoid spiders.

I invite him to come back inside with me and take a shower. He stands contemplating things and comes back in, but we aren't talking to each other. Clothing is removed, teeth brushed, all without talking. In the shower Ken scoops up all the little left over bits of soap and works up a lather on the poof and starts washing my back. The lather smells like a summer garden all mixed up together like that. By the time he gets to my feet we are laughing and when it's my turn to wash him all the frustration and anger of the morning has been washed away from us. 

New rule, from now on we start our day with coffee and a shower, or it's not worth doing. I agree with him.