I love my husband. I really do. He has a very big heart. He has a bigger imagination. He can sometimes come up with the most random (helllooooo ADHD) and unique stuff to delight the kids with. Think Foam Machine. Or the time he found a bunch of old electronic garbage at the thrift store and turned the kids loose on the kitchen floor with his tools to wreak havoc. There was also the time he brought home about 50 boxes when he worked at Barnes and Noble and we had a play date in which Giant Box Tower and Giant Box Tower Demo was a thing. He makes awesome homemade bread (my ass thanks him for that).
But we all have our faults or times when we are not necessarily so heroic. I can’t do anything with a car beyond drive it and put gas in it. I’m not proud of that, it just is. I’m intimidated by power tools. Even after 2 babies, bloodwork and IVs skeeve me out beyond all imagining.
For my husband, it’s not necessarily one thing (other than spelling….he’s pretty bad at spelling). It’s more how he interacts – or not- with the normal day-to-day minutiae that absolutely makes my blood boil. Here is a typical evening at home. My comments are in italics, because 95% of the time I don’t say them out loud – it’s just self-talk. Did I mention that conflict avoidance was one of my major strengths?:
Scene 1: I am trying to prepare dinner while the kids swirl around my feet. I am not comfortable with this as, you know, stuff is hot.
Will (sitting on couch, on his laptop looking at Amazon): You need to make them respect your space.
Me: You know, you could get off of your ass and help out. Maybe distract them a bit? Put on a SpongeBob?
Will: I’m telling you they don’t do that to me.
Me: Probably because they like me more because I’m not, you know, all sanctimonious and shit.
Me (out loud): Thanks for the help. (Giving him the eat shit and die look)
Scene 2: I’m trying to bathe my 5 year old daughter who loves baths but can’t get her cast wet dammit. This is problematic, as I had just “trained” her to do everything herself. And, of course, she’s a mermaid and all mermaids have to swim. From the other room, Felix is hollering for “cold water with ice mama.” Will is still on his computer. Will comes into the bathroom and smacks me on the ass as I’m trying to rinse Stella’s hair without dribbling into her F’ing cast.
Me (out loud): Could you please give Felix some water?
Will: Did you know ghkladjkoaiewoignasodignsodns? (It’s some tech-speak that I know or care nothing of.)
Will wanders off. Felix is still hollering for “cold water with ice mama.” Stella suddenly is lunging for the rinse bucket. That’s bad news on a day when little people are NOT in casts as the flooding potential is very high. I’m struggling to pry it out of her freakishly strong left hand without knocking her slippery self into the bath thereby drenching her cast.
Me: Will, could you PLEASE get Felix some water?
In my frustration, I toss the rinse bucket into the hallway. (I’m not proud.)
Will: Do you need help?
Me: No, I need an army of Mary Fucking Poppinses. And an open bar.
Scene 3: At last both kids are fed and bathed. This is down time, chill time, before I have to get back up, help them brush their teeth, and read. Felix really loves his mama. He demonstrates this by climbing on top of me and doing the equivalent of stage dives off of my head. He is also a fan of the wrap-my-hands-around-your-throat-and-squeal move. Will is
still back on the couch with his laptop open.
Me (out loud): Dude! Cut it out! It’s quiet time. Go play with some gears.
Felix: (to the tune of Ride of the Valkyries) Duh duh duh DUH duh, Duh duh duh DUH duh, Duh duh duh DUH duh, Duh da da DAAAA. Fognut, Mama! (Jumps on my head)
Will: I’m telling you, he’s doing this because he’s male.
Me: What the fuck is this? Wild kingdom?
Will: I mean it. He’s trying to assert dominance.
Me: Sooooooo, does that mean he’s going to kill his sister and try to mate with me, since I’m the only female available here in the
Serengeti living room?
Will: They only respect physical violence. You need to pick him up and set him down. Show him you mean it.
Me: Holy shit. Reincarnation IS a thing. I’ve married the ghost of Dr. Spock. He knows absolutely everything about children and parenting.
I don’t mean to be mean or disrespectful, but this is EVERY NIGHT. It this just me? Is it the ADHD? Is it the penis? Please help.
**At the very least, if I ever get arrested for throwing a laptop and beaning my husband with it, there will be evidence that it was most likely a crime of passion. And if I get at least 3 wives/moms on that jury, I’m walking out of there.