Friday, January 6, 2012

MEN! They are the WORST! I swear...

These are my boys cowboyed up. The Photographer (now eleven) is on the left, taken when he was seven, Hose B is on the right, taken when he was six (he's seven now). Being a city girl by nature, I wasn't initially in support of the cowboy lifestyle that they have embraced, but they're boys and I strongly believe in letting them find their own style and their own "thang" so I let them. Plus, they are adorable AND so handsome.
They give me hope for man with their wonderfulness as much as their father takes that hope and smashes it like so many water balloons on the concrete sidewalk.
I swear the only reason men get married is because they are sick of picking up after themselves and they are too grown to move back with their mommy. I have accused my Darling Husband of this many times to which he vehemently denies, but as he has done NOTHING to disprove my theory, I'm sticking to this belief.
Case in point - last night and this morning.
DH came home earlier from work because he and I were supposed to go to Roundtable, which is the monthly meeting that the local BSA District holds. He and I both volunteer for the Boy Scouts. Him with the Boy Scouts and I with the Cub Scouts. When DH came home 45 minutes after I, the house was a mess and the boys were in front of the TV and I was blogging. He spazzed out on everyone and started ordering the boys around barking instructions left and right. He has this habit of acting like a tyrant. I keep telling him about the difference between vinegar and honey, but he doesn't seem to care. He decided to skip the meeting and stay home "because someone needs to discipline the children" (almost punched him in the face). Being more than happy to get the heck out of there and leave him alone to be the better mother than I am that he thinks he is, I went to get ready to go to Roundtable. Just before I was to put my shoes on and leave, I got horrible stomach cramps and a stabbing headache. It came along so suddenly and I ended up fetal on the bed for an hour or so.
It doesn't matter what state I'm in, I'm still the one everyone goes to when they need to know something. While I was in the bathroom I was interrupted twice. Once by Huey who wanted to know when I was going to be home from my meeting, and once by Dewey who had been sent by Daddy to find his reading folder. CAN'T THEY SEE THAT I'M BUSY? I once saw an IT guy with a t-shirt that read "let me drop everything and deal with YOUR problem". I feel like I must have an invisible sign around my neck that says that very same thing. All three testosterone possessors in my house seem to be blind to any activity I am engaged in and are of the mind that I am there for their purpose and theirs alone. I get that I have made my bed by jumping at the smallest beck and call for help, but I also know that ALL men act like they are helpless babies so that the women in their lives will act like servants. I think it triggers some sort of mothering instinct and we automatically react to helpless babies. I constantly hear queries of "where is the (fill in the blank)" or "have you seen my (you name it)". They even call me if I am not present to ask me if I know. As if I am the warden of the stuff and I know where everything is. The problem is that I usually do know where everything is even if I have NEVER EVER even touched the thing.
So last night, I feel like I'm being stabbed from the inside and I have no idea what is wrong, so I can't give my husband a diagnosis let alone a prognosis or even decide what to take to make the ailment go away so that I can get back to the task of doing whatever the heck it is he wants me to do, and he won't leave me alone. When he's sleeping or working or doing whatever, I just take care of things like he's not here and leave him alone. No one would dream of making DADDY drop whatever he's in the middle of doing to help them with homework/logging on to a pencil/or whatever. Most of the time, when DH interrupts me to do something for him, I am in the middle of doing something that he's constantly nagging me that it never gets done and intersperses his request with criticisms about how the house is a mess. "Are you seriously griping at me about not cleaning the house while I'm cleaning the house?" is my constant arguement. That drives me nuts. How stupid do you have to be to tell someone that they never vacuum while they are in the middle of vacuuming? Isn't it obvious that I am vacuuming RIGHT NOW? Are you effing blind?
So while I am curled up in a ball in my bedroom, I have to constantly answer the questions that are being posed to me. What is it about the brain of the mother that she can NOT turn off or tune out or ignore the things that are going on in the house at any given time? I try to tell them to pretend that I'm not here or that I'm dead, but I will inevitably hear DH ask Dewey about something and I will need to answer to straighten things out because I can't stand listening to them arguing back and forth.
Finally, the boys went to bed, DH went back to work and I could finally relax enough to fall asleep.
The next morning (this morning) I was not feeling normal. Having had a terrible night's sleep and not running on all cylinders, I was behind on getting everyone up and ready. Since DH works late, I do my best to make sure everyone lets Daddy sleep. I take care of the dog, get the boys up and fed and dressed and off to school, make the lunches and get myself ready too. Normally this task is easy to accommplish, but I was feeling super crappy. I ended up having to take the boys to school in my jammies and coming back home to shower and get ready for work and get to work. I didn't even dry my hair and I was still 40 minutes late for work.
When I was putting my make-up on I double pumped my foundation because 1 pump didn't look like enough (sometimes the pump misfires) and I ended up looking like I did when I was in my Mime phase. I tried washing it off and matting things down with powder, but that only made matters worse. I should have just washed my face and went to work sans make-up, but I was already so invested that I just went with it. When I came home from work and was putting my hair up into a ponytail I noticed the very visible line of foundation along my hair and jawline. I had my hair down and was wearing a turtleneck, so hopefully no one at work noticed my stellar spackling job.
While I was stumbling around, DH was wide awake and ordering the boys around and disrupting the whole morning routine. He was so helpful in informing me that the dog was barking and bothering the neighbours. I kept getting distracted by his requests and tidbits of super useful information that I kept forgetting what I was doing while I was in the middle of doing it. I love him, but what would have really helped was if he did something like this: "Hey Rantgirl, you look like you're still not feeling well. Since I'm up and wide awake, why don't I run the boys to school so that you can get ready for work in peace?"
Why can't he open his eyes? Why do I have to spell out everything in minute detail what I want or need or expect. Why can't he think? Why doesn't he know? Why can't he figure it out? What is wrong with him? I know that he's not blind and I'm fairly certain that he's not stupid. We've been together for 15 years, why hasn't he figured me out? I know he knows me pretty well by the way he pushes my buttons with such proficency and by the nice presents he gets me, so how can someone know someone only some of the time. I'm not THAT complicated am I?

No comments:

Post a Comment