Check this out.

I knew it all along. Suppress your anger and you’ll die from inverted rage. My instincts always told me to let it all hang out when I had something to say.  After I read this, you bet I couldn’t wait to get home and tell the hubby.

“Yeah, no chance you’re gonna die from suppressing anything,” was his response.

Our trip last weekend to Frisco, Texas, put me in mind of that article.  In fact, after last weekend, I’m pretty sure both my husband and I, and our marriage, are going to live to a ripe old age.

What happened last weekend, you ask?

The hubby and I spent LARGE amounts of time in our car.  Alone.  Together.  In Frisco, Texas, a city we never drive in.  Trying to find multiple locations.  Plus the drives to Frisco and home from Frisco.

All this time in the car together began at 7AM on Friday and ended at 11:30PM on Sunday.

Our younger son’s basketball team was competing in the Next Level Ballers Basketball Tournament in Frisco.  The team had chartered a nice, new bus, and all the boys were riding the bus.  Parents were invited, too, but I sure wanted my own vehicle once we got to Texas.  Anyway, team bonding for Anthony and all.  He didn’t want his parents cramping his style.

Other than the fact that I was a complete insomniac the night before we left, the trip started off just fine.  We got up early, drove to Kansas City and dropped Anthony off with the bus.  Hit the nearest Starbucks for my dry grande cappucino WITH an extra shot of espresso plus a boring black coffee for Sebastian.

And we were on our way.

Due to the fact that Sebastian drove the whole way to Frisco, and then did pretty much all the driving once we got there, I suppose this post really should be about how grateful I am that he put up with all my griping.  But what would be the fun in that?  Why make him seem like some long-suffering hubby trapped in a car with a harpy for a wife?  Why make my own self out to be some unreasonable type-A control freak?  Oops.  Did I just say that?

To be truthful, the drive down to Frisco was relatively calm.  The only advice I had to give the hubby was to quit cruising in the left-hand lane.  Since he’s left-handed, he seems to think that the highway protocol for left-lane driving doesn’t apply to him.  He has no problem drifting into the left lane on the pretense that he’s going to pass someone and then just hanging out there while speedsters pile up impatiently behind us.

“Why don’t you get out of the passing lane?  Just speed up and pass.  There are cars behind us.”  I’d have to repeatedly remind him.

“I am passing.”

“No you’re not.  You’re coasting.”

“Carolyn.  I’m passing.”

“Whatever.  You know you can get a ticket for driving in the left lane?”

“Not in Oklahoma or Texas.”

“You don’t know that.  You’re just making that up.”

Really though, it was a beautiful Friday and the drive was easy.  Just one slow-down.  Actually, a standstill due to a wreck.  But okay.  We just opened the windows and listened to CDs while inching along.  We made it Frisco, went to dinner with the teams, coaches and parents.  There was early curfew for the boys, so we all tucked in pretty early.

I know what you’re thinking.  “What’s the big deal, Carolyn?  Where’s the drama?”

Well.  If you insist.  Things started to get dicey between the hubby and me  in the car on Saturday.  That’s when we had to start finding stuff.  Like a Starbucks — my lifeline — and multiple gym locations.

We had the Garmin with us — affectionately named “Garmina.”  How hard should it be?

Well, in Frisco, Texas, actually, it was pretty darned difficult.  Streets were not named what Garmina thought they should be named, and they weren’t quite where she thought they’re supposed to be.  So Garmina would lead us to the correct general location of a gym or a Starbucks, but then we were left to our own devices to figure out the specifics of getting to the actual locations.

We found ourselves second-guessing Garmina.  I found myself second-guessing my better half.

“Well, are you programming the address in right?”  I hinted.

“Carolyn.  I use a Garmin every day for work. I know how to program an address.”

“Just asking.”

We DID find the nearest Starbucks.   And we DID get to all the gyms, where we really enjoyed some great wins by our boys in their pool games.  But this was not accomplished without Sturm Und Drang. That’s German for what I could otherwise call a marital death match.

I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say that my husband was probably strongly considering driving off into the sunset without me the first time I dipped into a ladies room.

In looking back, I have to say that the funny part of our ongoing drama was the fact that we were able to call so many truces during the day.  We had a great time watching the games, visiting with the coaches and parents between games, even joking about arguing about driving.  We had a great lunch with Sebastian’s sister, who lives nearby.  But as soon as we got into the car, alone and together, the battle was on.

The pinnacle of our discord came after the last game of the day on Saturday, which was scheduled for 9:45PM.  Of course, the game didn’t actually start that early.  And it was 11:30PM by the time the game actually ended.

We had actually gotten to the gym for this game just fine — having earlier driven in several circles to find it for the first game of the day.  We enjoyed a hard fought game, which our team ultimately lost, but just barely.  All that was left to do was return to the hotel.

Not so easy.

At that point, Sebastian decided that he was tired of driving and tossed me the keys.

“So you want me to drive for the first time here at night?”

“Come on, Carolyn.  I’ve been driving all day.  I remember how to get back to the hotel.  I’ll help with the signs.  Plus we’ve got the Garmin.”

Famous last words, right?

It didn’t take three minutes before I missed an exit.

“Recalculating,” said Garmina.  That was the last word I wanted to hear at 11:30 at night.  It was a word I had heard WAY to often during the day.

“Wow.  I thought you were gonna tell me where to turn?” I snapped at Sebastian.

“The Garmin just told you which exit to take.”

“Well, she said Exit 448A and all I saw was Exit 448.  When I passed it she started recalculating.  You said you knew the turn.”

As we argued, of course, we were getting further off track and Garmina was furiously recalculating.

Suffice to say, this little spat ended with me pulling over and Sebastian taking over.  I stewed all the way back to the hotel, fearing that we were mysteriously being led further and further away from the hotel and my baby boy.  It was late.  I was tired.  I was sure that Sebastian and Garmina were plotting against me.

Sebastian was sure that I was being a HUGE baby, and was completely and totally exasperated with me.  He even said so.  Usually he just tunes me out and trains his focus on his inner peace when I’m venting.  But I guess every man has his breaking point, right.

Anyway, somehow or other, Sebastian and Garmina got us back to the hotel at about the same time as the bus. I was much relieved, and I think I managed a humble apology before dragging up to the room.

And I have to say that once we were all back in the room with Anthony, talking about the day’s games, everything seemed normal again.  I guess you can get that instant positive bounce-back when you’ve been married for going-on 20 years, right?

We woke up Sunday to another beautiful day in Frisco, Texas.  Despite our navigational turmoil in Frisco, I have to say that it is one pretty city.  In fact, it’s one of the cleanest cities I’ve ever been in, and the bright Texas sun just lit it up on Sunday morning.

I had somewhat braced myself for more driving drama.  But, as the day progressed, it appeared that the hubby and I come to a driving detente, instead.

In fact, we only had one gym to find on Sunday.  We already knew where the Starbucks was.  The charter bus driver gave us perfect directions to the gym.  We turned Garmina off, and found it all by ourselves!

That’s when I knew everything was gonna be fine.

After our teams’ games, we collected Anthony and took off for home.  Garmina tried to take us up Interstate 75 through Tulsa, but the hubby and I agreed (yes, actually) that we’d rather take the more familiar Interstate 35, and turned Garmina off again.  Anthony immediately fell asleep, and the hubby and I just chatted away until he woke up and asked us to find a Braum’s.

I took over driving for real for the first time all weekend after the Braum’s, and Sebastian dozed off for what was probably one of the most deserved naps of his life.

We made it home to the welcoming full-body tail wag of Princes the Wonder Lab.  Snacky and Quent were still up waiting for us.  Hugs from Snacky, a sort-of grunt/semi-welcome from Quent.

A snack.  A glass of wine.  Then bed.

And Monday?  Business as usual.  Marriage intact and none the worse for wear.

However, the hubby is still gainfully employed and helpfully paying all the bills.   Which means he keeps a hawk eye on the money he’s spending.  While this is plenty convenient in many ways, it has spawned one small, ongoing marital battle during this uncommonly and painfully long winter we’ve been forced to endure here in Lawrence, Kansas.

When we bought this house, one of the very first things I fell in love with was the gas-powered fireplace in the front living area.  Our kitchen, dining and living areas are one big, open space, and the fireplace makes the whole area SO nice and cozy when it’s cold.  There’s nothing I like better on the coldest of nights than sitting on my couch with a glass of red wine, with the fireplace going.  Absolute nirvana!

When the first big snowstorm hit us the day before Christmas, it was only fitting that I turned the fireplace on. After all, we WERE snowed in. And then the weather stayed cold, the snow hung around, more snow and ice came. . . In short, the cold hung on relentlessly.

I don’t do well with cold weather. It ruins my mood. And I’m already kind of moody, so that’s not good. My one solace while winter was slapping me upside the head was my fireplace. It created a cocoon of warmth, allowing me to . . . well, not exactly forget the cold. But at least ignore it temporarily.

Well. They say all good things come to an end. And this one came to a screeching halt about mid-January.

Sebastian had begun to voice a sneaking suspicion that our gas fireplace was driving up our gas bill during the winter months. He has a couple of buddies who work for the gas company, and he decided to run that theory by his buddies. These guys told him that running the gas fireplace does indeed hike up the gas bill.  These guys told him we should only use the fireplace sparingly.  This seems a little counter-intuitive to me.  If you work for the gas company, shouldn’t you be encouraging folks to buy MORE of your product and not LESS of it?

How smug is a husband with a little ammunition for his argument? Don’t even ask. Sebastian presented the testimonials of his buddies to me, and went on a little about how high the first winter gas bill was. Yawn.

Ultimately, he drew his line in the sand. He explained that HE pays the gas bill, so he gets to call this particular shot.  I suppose he has a point, but I won’t ever admit it to him.  I’ll lie quietly in wait.  Then, as soon as I start to bring in some real money, I’m taking over the gas bill. In the meantime, I’ve backed off. Mostly because it’s March and spring is around the corner . . . at least it better be.

Sebastian has (temporarily) won this battle. But, loyal readers, rest assured that I will inevitably win the war. It’s one of the things I do best!