I love my husband dearly. I feel it. I know it. I believe it. Then why do I take out my irritability on him?
The other day, he was directing me on the proper location of backyard sprinklers. As he sat on his scooter, he'd coach, "No, increase the distance at this angle, and decrease at this one."
I thought I'd followed his instruction, but the sprinkler was wetting the concrete thoroughly and little of the grass. Next he told me to adjust this and that.
Finally, I looked at him and said, "I hope I can be the supervisor one of these days instead of the grunt."
I know it hurt his feelings, because it also hurts him to watch me tackle almost all the manual labor around here -- so just when he feels he's contributing to a chore by advising me on lawn sprinkling, I snark at him.
The worst was a couple days back when I was helping him get from the shower stool to the transfer stool. He was telling me about something, but it made no sense. The words came out, but there was no logical progression from a to b to c in his point. As a result, I kept asking questions to clarify his story for myself. After another minute or so, his face screwed up and he whispered plaintively, "Sometimes you make me feel so stupid."
Those words struck my heart, so of course I cried and apologized, telling him I would never purposely hurt him, and promised to do better.
(This is Carla looking heavenward) "Do you hear that, Lord. I promised to do better, but I can't do it without you. Please give me strength and choose my words for me. Amen."