I know we all have these days but today is mine and, for better or worse, you're all going to hear about it.
When is it my turn?!!
When will I come first?!!!
And don't tell me when the kids are in college 'cause I'll virtually come through these internet waves and slap you right now!
I've lost count as to how many colds I've had since Xmas - I think this is number five or six. It seems when the kids are not laid up or calling me to pick them up from school, interrupting my "me time" (which is, of course, me eating bon bons watching daytime serials - you believe me?- oh pleeeeese!), I'm the one feeling shitty. But do I get to spend my days in bed? Sleep in? Have meals and tea brought to my bedside? Ha!!!
Which begs the question, "Does it ever balance out???"
I think what started this train of thinking, rather what brought it to the frontlines, is the moment on Sunday, when after a tough week with my son, and my husband just back from a business trip, I
told asked my husband to do the dishes so I could get some work done. (I have a business in my home - ha! It would be a business if I could devote real time to it!!!) Anyway, when my husband saw the oatmeal pot from earlier that day he looked at me and said, (wait, if you're not sitting down, park it, fast!) he said, "Didn't you do the breakfast dishes?" Pointing to the dirty oatmeal pot he continued, "This is yours, I'll do the rest" and proceeded to put the pot aside for me.
I stood there motionless but inside I was screaming a Munsch-like scream and pounding my fists into his large, muscular arms. I could have let go with a tirade of everything I do for him and the kids but I'd be repeating myself and I didn't have the energy (it was all being used up by the Munsch-like scream). So instead I asked, "Are you kidding me?" in my most intimidating, once a New Yorker always a New Yorker, tone. At this point, I would have thought he'd get it and just quiet down and clean the fucking thing. But noooooo! He pushed his side of the argument asking why he should have to clean my dishes. He explained in his best voice that he washes his own dishes (bullshit!), that he would prefer to take care of his own laundry so he can wash them in cold as he prefers (bullshit! and not only that but now he's criticizing my laundering abilities!!), and, well, I won't bore you with his other
excuses reasons because they were all BULLSHIT! Needless to say I seethed all day, and two days later, I'm still seething because, though he did ultimately wash the pot, that whole episode made me feel so un-fucking-appreciated.
How many years have I spent (15, but who's counting) accepting compromises so my husband could build his business? There was always a reason why he
couldn't wouldn't come home for dinners or spent weekends working; movie premieres, client dinners, it was pilot season, staffing season, development season, he worked for himself, he worked for someone else. In the famous words of Roseann Roseanna Danna (oh, how I loved her) - "it was always somethin'". Do I dare tell you about the time he went off to New Zealand for two weeks on "business" leaving me home with two very young children? Years, and some therapy, later, he admitted it was a pleasure trip. I'm over it now. Maybe.
These days, a few months into me actively pursuing my writing and a home-based business (what was I thinking starting both at the same time?), goals which, mind you, he has always
pushed supported, he has already made numerous complaints about me not focusing on him and the kids, about having to help around the house, and, oh get this one, this one really burns my boobies, he complains non-stop about no longer having his man-space (now my office as well) to himself.
The day I moved in my office supplies , he literally threw a tantrum, a real pissy, puerile tantrum. Tough shit, baby boy. I've got enough children. Deal.
So, now that I've ranted and raved, expelling the venom from my body and onto all of you, I'm going to go take some cold medicine so I can clear my fuzzy brain and move to OUR back office to do some work before carpool shift begins at 3 and ends at 6:30.
Oh, and darling hubby, in case you're reading this, today's oatmeal pot is in the sink, just in case you feel the
guilt need to make things up to me. Oh, right, you won't be home 'til late, karate, I think you said. Oh, and sorry for airing our dirty laundry (we know I'm a bad laundress) but you said the blog was a good idea! Ahhhhhh, you were right.
P.S In hubby's defense, he is a good guy, but a guy nonetheless, and right now I'm slightly peeved.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
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