There was a time when I was always right.
Ah, the good old days. I think I was 30 before I realized it was possible that I could be wrong about something.
I think though, that if you now were to total up all the times I have apologized to my wife, they would outnumber the times she has apologized to me by a factor of 100. Why is that? Am I that much more wrong, or is something else going on here?]]>
Nice work Rusty, odd how that lesson never stays learned. You have to keep learning it and keep reminding yourself. Especially those of us who make a living by being paid to constantly argue as if we were always right. As occupational hazards go, that one is bourne inordinately by our families.]]>
Holy Ghost to woman, in a recent Ensign article: “Do you want to be right, or to save your marriage?”
I choose being right over happy as a matter of principle.]]>
So I’ve learned to be truly sorry for how I said it, for getting her upset, for the feeling I’ve created. Usually we can then open up to a more loving way to discuss or understand the situation.
I’m still learning….but I am getting better about sincerely appologizing. There was a time when I was always right and it was too bad someone else would take offense at what I said….it was their problem.]]>
And I like the idea of visualizing conversations. That way if you mess up and say something incredibly stupid, your spouse never hears it! Brilliant!]]>
I hate to iron. But hubby doesn’t mind ironing his thousands of shirts and pants. This is good. It works for us. He usually just irons things as he needs them –so there’s always a nice pile by the ironing board. I’m okay with this; I’d take a pile of clean clothes on the floor to hours of ironing any day. But one day, I decided I wanted to do something really nice for him. So I spent about four hours ironing everything in the pile.
While I was working, I happened to have a nice little conversation with my parents on the phone. I mentioned what I was doing and quipped, “I’m so bad at this, he’ll probably not be happy I did it and have to do them all over again” to which my wise father responded: “Well, if he does, you can’t be mad at him, because then what you’re doing really isn’t a service.”