I can really relate to this post from Melissa at Suburban Bliss:
The anxiety and fear I felt for that last hour was tinged with the worst kind of aggravation. I resented him and John for not thinking through the event. For not thinking to put a map in their bag, for not putting a couple dollars on them, for not doing what I would have done had I known they would be so unprepared.
I felt angry that I take ribbing for being 'anally retentive' and a 'worrier', when my worrying is what keeps my husband from spending an hour in hell roaming New York City alone after surviving 26.2 miles.
In our family I'm the planner. I'm the worrier. I'm the printer of directions. I'm the thinker of timelines. The maker of lists. I line up the babysitters. I think ahead about the fact that we'll even NEED a babysitter.
Abel: not so much.
He doesn't work out timelines and is almost always late. He doesn't make lists and often forgets things. He doesn't print directions. Okay I'll concede that he rarely gets lost. But still.
Then my lists get made fun or. Or simply ignored. Or they start a fight.
I get anxious and worry and am told that I'm worrying for nothing. That I should just chill out. That everything will be fine.
And yeah, it probably would be fine. But things sure do move alot more smoothly because of my planning. And that deserves some respect.