When we told people we were going to build our house, they all looked terrified. We heard horrific stories of house building disasters: couples driven to the brink of divorce, bankruptcy, insanity… It was a pretty bleak picture of the home building world. Every story had a common thread: The Crazy Wife. I made a decision that just once in this marriage I would absolutely not play the role of The Crazy Wife. With one small exception, I succeeded.
Overall our experience was smooth. I can’t recall any significant fights with Baby Daddy. Expenditures were kept more or less in check. I had just one meltdown. But it was a humdinger. I threw a spectacular fit when we went to the nursery to pick out trees and bushes for the yard. I wanted an oak that would turn orange in the Fall in the front yard. I had my heart set on it. I could imagine decades in the future kids would be climbing this tree and it would have orange leaves. I’m not sure how all my hopes and dreams about future children got tied up in orange leaves on the tree at that particular moment, but it became imperative that this tree have them.
At the nursery, the woman said she “believed” the tree I was looking at would turn orange. Believed? BELIEVED?! I told her she better KNOW! I was cranking up to mortify myself and Baby Daddy in complete The Crazy Wife fashion when the owner rushed over to assure me it would. He knew The Crazy Wife fit when he saw it coming.
I should not have acted like that. I could have gotten what I wanted without the fit. But yesterday when we turned the corner on our street, Monkey Boy gasped, “Look at Mommy’s tree!” At that moment, The Crazy Wife fit seemed kinda worth it.