Conflict

The following conversation took place in our house during a certain debate at a certain little college in Kentucky.

Ainsley: Why is Mommy hiding her eyes?
Me (from a fetal position on the couch, my voice muffled because my face is buried in my lap): I hate conflict!
Jason: I live in conflict every day at work.
Ainsley: Do I live in conflict?
Jason: In this house? Yes.

And then he looks at me and laughs, as if he has just said the funniest thing in the world.

Oh, it is on. You want conflict? I will so totally show you conflict.

(Actually, his hysterical-to-himself comment lingered with me for a while, and I realized I have been a little belligerent and hard-to-get-along-with of late [and by "of late" I mean for like, the past 20 years] and I have promised to be a kinder, gentler mother and wife. At least that's my promise for now. New promise next week when the shine wears off and I go back to being cranky.)


((And yes--I also hid my eyes for much of the most recent debate. For as much as I love to antagonize and verbally spar myself, I absolutely cannot stand to watch others do it. The only way I could ever moderate a debate would be if the candidates were okay with me asking questions while crouched under the table with my fingers in my ears during their responses.))