Ungracious

Sitting at the oak kitchen table, fall sunlight bouncing off glossy green rhododendrons you could almost stretch and touch through the window to your left, staring into your laptop screen, you sense he has arrived in the kitchen with his lunchtime plate and mug.

Seconds drawing out as you belly clench anticipating his singular slight sigh as four feet to your right he stares into the bowels of the not yet filled dishwasher.

A sigh which, not long ago yesterday, would have been quite large and accompanied by a certain shake of the head.

Staring, paused as if concentrating, you dart glance right periphery as he begins restacking the plates you stacked 30 minutes ago last year. Forks are reversed.

Your dart glance landing, he emits a second quick sigh. You, muffling your mother’s voice which would surely imminently demand to know “what’s wrong with my stacking” slow breathes.

I mean, really, aren’t you deep deep glad you have a husband who stacks and empties.

Irritation burning fingers as you type.

Noticing

It is extraordinary how much can happen in just a few seconds of daily living. Keith and I have been married close to 25 years. A sigh is not simply a sigh. A plate being moved is not simply a plate being moved. Yesterday, thirty years ago, my mother’s voice and her history in our particular marriage all arrive in the kitchen at once.

I feel the irritation before I have quite thought it. Belly clenching. Fingers burning. A defense gathering speed against a criticism that hasn’t actually been spoken.

And then, somewhere in there, a pause.

I don’t become less irritated. Keith doesn’t stop restacking the dishwasher. Nothing is resolved. But I muffle my mother’s voice rather than give it mine.

A little space between what rose up in me and what I did with it. Relational breathing room.

An invitation

This week, notice one ordinary moment when your body gets there before your thinking does. The tightening belly. The sharp intake of breath. The urge to correct, defend, explain, retreat.

Don’t try to become nicer or calmer. See if you can just notice the moment before you act, and become curious about what your next reaction might create between you.