You Better Check Yo’self Before You Wreck Yourself

I’ve heard my husband say that over a thousand times.  “You better check yourself before you wreck yo’self.”

It’s so annoying because usually when he says it, he’s right.

And I want to punch him in the face.  Like, just for a split second.  A nano-second.  

But that’s my 3 year old.  My 30 year old knows better.  

That’s not a “soft start-up” in therapy terms.  

See, my husband is defensive, and after awhile, I go… well, I guess I’ll play offense.  

It’s not a good tactic and a quick way to destroy a good marriage.  

If you haven’t gathered yet, I’m a big spender. I like nice, luxurious things.  They make my world go around.  The best of the best?  Only.  I’ll take nothing less, thank you. 

I know that shadow aspect well.  I’m not big on credit cards, but you wouldn’t know we have the income we do by looking at our home.  We could afford a $500,000 home.  Easily!  

If we didn’t have student loan debt and credit card debt, and my hobbies, and my clothes, and the kids toys, and the vacations…

I get it.  I’m a big spender.  I don’t like LOTS of things.  I like NICE things.  

No, I don’t want to go camping at the state forest.  I want an Alaskan cruise, thank you very much.  No, I don’t want Target maternity pants.  Only the $88 USA made organic cotton skinny leg jeans can caress my beautiful pregnant behind, thank you very much.

My husband does a phenomenal job of keeping up with it.  He got a $48,000 bonus.  You know what he said to me?  I’d like some tshirts.  You know what I said to him?  I’d like a Vitamix and masticating juicer.  

I mean, he likes concert tshirts and nice pipes and artisan tobaccos and top notch cigars and craft brewery beers.  It’s not all me.  His is just generally cheaper.  Except for his Apple products.  That’s one of our credit cards.  He conveninently “forgets” about that when mentioning my spending.  

I mean, that’s for work.  But my hand made Waldorf toys aren’t.  Not the kids organic cotton tie dye socks.  Or my designer clothes that I don’t leave the house in.  Or my yoga.  Or my prenatal massages.  Or the exstravagant family vacations.  

So, bottom line.  We are both tremendously guilty.  

But money has been a hot topic since the moment we moved in together.  Even then he made three times my salary, but I still had to pay half the bills.  And provide for my son.  It’s a sore point.  It probably always will be.  Like… you were a dick.  And we were engaged. And I had a young son.  

We have been together almost a decade.  We’ve shared a checking account for a year, and even now his check is deposited into ANOTHER account and then he TRANSFERS it to our account.  So he could cut his losses after a month and not have to go immediately through the court system to put a hold on our account. It’s smart.  But it isn’t commitment either.  

I cannot honestly say that he has ever been fully committed to our marriage.  Which isn’t a big motivator for me.  

My kids are, though.  And so I’m here at 7 months pregnant.  

Sometimes I wish I could say that’s the only reason.  When I scream.  Or throw things.  But it isn’t.  I’m also here because I love him.  And in that love, my heart gets broken over and over again.  

And still I keep choosing him.  Because I can’t say I would want to be with anyone else.  Even when my heart is broken into a million pieces, shattered across the floor.  


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