Pivotal Points

I look back over my married life and I realize that there are these snapshots that I took in my mind of pivotal moments.  It's as if I knew at the moment that it was significant, but I didn't know why.  Painful things.  Things that hurt.  But, I couldn't label them with why they hurt me so much.
We had been married for only weeks when I looked out the window because I heard our dog whining.  He was yanking her ear hard.  Trying to make her stay.  She would, but she would stand up again and he would pull her ear again.  I yelled out the window.  I was furious.  Hurt.  Sad.  Repulsed.  It wasn't simply the act, it was the place and time and the look on his face.  She was supposed to be able to play outside.  She was a REALLY well behaved dog.  Heel.  Lay.  Sit.  Fetch.  Go to your bed.  She did it all.  But, outside was where she was supposed to play ball.  Run.  She didn't understand.  He was mean.  I was angry.  Told him so in no uncertain terms.  Angry because he took her "good time" and made it discipline time.  Now I get that it is important for him to be able to control...even the "free" time.
Flash forward a few months.  I was pregnant.  Exhausted.  Working full time.  Sick all day.  One afternoon, I got home and laid down on the couch.  He came home.  He walked by me to the basement where there was a small pile of laundry.  He proceeded to make a big deal out of putting laundry in.  He was letting me know that lying around when there was laundry to be done was unacceptable.  I told him it hurt my feelings.  He told me that those things need done. 
Second child was born.  I went with my foster mom and took both kids to see HIS parents because they weren't going to be able to get up to see the baby.  When I got home, the house was pristine.  Good, right?  Wrong.  It wasn't about a nice gift, it was about showing me how he could do it better.  How it SHOULD be done.  Again, I told him that his attitude hurt me.  He said that if I did it then I wouldn't feel badly.  Not those exact words.  But, the thing was that I should feel guilty that he could and had had to do it. 
Trip in Texas.  Had planned fun times.  I was going to get to see my friends from my college town.  Were going to go to the Magic Time Machine restaurant.  His mom said no.  He sided with her.  We never went.  Ever.  In all of the years that we went to Texas, I only got to go see my friends twice.  Once was because we met some common friends in that area. 
Then there was the family photo taking in Texas.  His mom would not allow our soon to be adopted son in the photo.  We should have walked out.  Instead, he let it happen.  He didn't even apologize to our son.  He did fight with his brother later about it, but he never made it right and told his fmaily to accept all of us or none of us.
The day he was mean to our adopted son.  Competitive and mean spirited.  Impatient.  It happens.  But, after the son ran out the door to run away, he said that he wasn't worth it.  I slapped him.  At that moment I despised who he was.  But I felt guilty.  I paid the cost of having to grovel.  He always acted and acts to this day like he's so accepting, but he doesn't have it in his heart. 
There are these snapshots of moments.  Moments when I knew that something was wrong.  Where I almost got it....but it eluded my grasp.  He looks like such a nice, helpful guy.  He works all of the time.  Women were always gushing about how he would do the dishes.  I could never bring myself to explain that it was his way of showing me how I was coming up short.  How I should be doing these things.  Keeping. up.  Doing it "right".
I have had a lot of really good times.  I have learned a lot.  But, those snapshots have finally come together to create a story.  A painful story.  I am ready to write a different chapter.