Four Score and Seven Gallons of Ice-Cream Ago…

Four score and seven gallons of ice cream ago, it was Saturday, February 10, 2018.  I didn’t know when I woke up this would be a pretty big deal of a day.  It was a whopper of a big deal day.

This particular Saturday followed a Friday. And Friday was the day I took a look at my banking and learned my husband had spent over a thousand dollars on Angry Birds in the past few months.  Angry Birds!the game a person can play for free.  The irony of being so angry about a game with the word angry in its title seems to fit how my life goes. I was one angry bird.  So I (angrily) confronted hubby, and insisted he delete the app altogether. That was Friday.

By Saturday morning, I had time to sleep on it, and felt like it’s just money.  And I can take the high road and be gracious about this.  I love him. I’m mad at him, but I love him. So Saturday, February 10, 2018, first thing in the morning, I sat on the edge of our bed and lovingly said I understood he probably didn’t realize how much he was spending. I said I thought if I were in his shoes I’d probably be embarrassed, and that I didn’t want him to feel that way.  I told him we can consider this water under the bridge — it just can’t be the way we’re spending our money going forward. And he agreed.

Here comes the ice cream part…

That Saturday morning, after loving my husband and offering the olive branch of forgiveness and compassion and understanding, I sat down at our family computer and saw yet another notification pop up from Susan. Susan. Who is this Susan? I clicked on the notification and from there it’s a downhill story.  My husband was having an emotional affair over the phone and internet with his high school girlfriend; Susan. 

We’re 52 years old, have been married for 32 years, and have raised five children together. It was an unbelievable gut punch. All emotions raged in me that Saturday. Fear. Anger. Heartbreak. Guilt. Sadness. Shame. Humiliation. Grief. Strong sense of grief. But mostly sheer fury, which I squarely sat on for the rest of that particular Saturday.

I’m not a professional writer. I haven’t taken journalism classes.  I’m not an expert blogger. I’m not a husband-basher. I’m not a doctor, or a trained therapist, or even someone who has had years of therapy. I just think I have a story that’s (unfortunately) completely ordinary, yet worth sharing for so many reasons. When we share our stories, breaking through our isolation to connect with others, we can heal.  We can learn and grow and have better days today, than our yesterdays.   There’s something comforting about connecting with people who have walked in your shoes or can relate through their own experiences. Birds of a feather… ha! (Last of the bird references for this blog post.)

Here’s to better days and ice cream!

The story continues …

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