Monday, August 28, 2006
I thought weekends were restful?
Sometimes I feel more tired after a week-end than I do after a full work week. Not so much overly busy, but rather lack of rest. DD spent the day at the Michigan state fair, as a guest of the Karmanous Institute (where my mother works). My parents took all the grandkids except for the oldest, who was away. She had a wonderful time, although there were some disappointments. She wasn't old enough to try the bow and arrow, nor shoot the pellet gun. But she did catch a fish, milk an artificial cow, and see both a calf and a lamb being born. She would have seen a sheep sheared as well, but the poor thing decided she had to give birth right THEN (which led to the lamb birthing experience). DD has decided that "this birth business" is pretty gross and at this moment she insists she wants no part of it. And at this moment, I have no problem with her feeling this way ;). Then we had a campfire at my brothers house, but really we should have skipped that. DD was tired from her busy day, and I had spent the day cleaning and doing stuff and was tired, in pain, and miserable. DH and I had pretty much fought all day, so I was emotionally tired as well. There have been issues lately, family issues, and I really don't know how to deal with them. I have mentioned them to the therapist but we haven't set on what to do. First of all, I am a little tired of the television business. There are shows that I like to watch too, and I admit I can sit and knit and listen to the food network for hours at a time if I let it happen. But see, I don't let it happen. I have other responsibilities that take precedence over the boob tube. My husband has a more difficult time with this. He spends literally days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, going to the bathroom, and watching tv. Then he spends a lot of time being frustrated and miserable because he got nothing done. He feels inadequate, but instead of DOING something about it (which means doing SOMETHING), he wallows and continues to do nothing. Then I get frustrated because he is miserable and demanding and impossible to live with. He picks fights with DD over nothing, which sets her mood then she picks fights with me. It makes it very unpleasant to live here. And frankly, that scale that weighs the good against the bad, the scale that determines whether a person stays or goes....well....it's starting to tip again. And not in a good way. He started building the workout room. In two days he had it framed, and drywalled. I was thinking hey, he's really making progress. Although I will admit I was getting frustrated at being called away from whatever I was doing every five minutes to see the new screw holes and massage his ego. Just fricken do it and I will see the finished product, know what I mean? But then, he lost his steam. He did too much too fast, got tired, and has done nothing else since then. Except for watch tv, of course. Saturday I wanted to get a good base cleaning done because I want to hire a housekeeper. It is stupid, and it is lame, but I cannot sweep wash or vacuum my own floor. I feel like a whiner and a sucky baby, but if I sweep the floor I have leg cramps for days, get a sore neck, and my back feels like my spine is made of dry sticks. Same goes for vacuuming and mopping. Washing by hand is no good, crawling around is worse than sweeping. Hundreds of times we have gone over this, that I can't do these things and he needs to do them. Sweeping is a daily task. I feel he should just know to do it every single day without my having to ask him, and having to ask him causes it's own little paradox. I don't know how your husband is, but mine runs along the defiance lines. If I ASK him to do something, then he cannot do it on principle because I nagged him about it. However if I don't ask him, he claims he is not a mind reader and how is he supposed to know I needed it done if I didn't ask him to do it. So we play this game, and dirt piles up, and two months go by and the floor has not been swept, let alone washed. I take out the broom and prop it against the cupboards, hoping a visual prompt will help. Nope. Maybe I need to video tape the broom and play it on tv, that might get his attention. So Saturday I filled and emptied the dishwasher countless times to catch up on a weeks worth of "deadline dish pile up". And I did load after load of laundry. With each load, he chided me on carrying the basket either up or down, yet at no time did he leave his chair or attempt to take the baskets from me. Cleaned the kitchen counters and cleared the mountain of stuff on the table, the bathroom, and what I could of the living room (don't even get me started on that, there are still things from the yard sale piled in there and I might have stroke if I think about it right now). Picked up in every room - why must my family throw things on the fricken floor???? I am not supposed to bend, it's like they want to hurt me on purpose. I grocery shopped and put the food away, and I admit I was getting angrier by the moment. At one point I was trying to open the door with my arms full of bags, only to see him standing there STARING at me, scratching his ass and yawning. I waited, he didn't move. Kicking the door with a satisfying bang! I yelled "You wanna open the f***ing door???" which offended him so deeply he went back downstairs and - you guessed it - went back to watching tv. Boy, isn't it a good thing he PVR'd Dumb and Dumber? Could you imagine if he had MISSED seeing that movie? That he has seen a hundred times and has on both VHS and DVD. But I digress. In case you haven't noticed, when I get frustrated or angry my language gets very bad. Potty mouth. Swear like a sailor. Not when DD is around, because she is a parrot that not only repeats but SPELLS the bad words afterwards. Through no fault of our own, we managed to survive Saturday, which brought us to Sunday. I was running late, and asked DH to help DD get ready. She needed to wash her face, brush her hair, and put on the outfit I laid out for her. This should take, oh ten minutes and only because she is a dawdler. I was running late because I was running around trying to get things done, and he was sitting and watching tv, but again, a digression. I emerged from my room 15 minutes later, fully make-upped and dressed and pantyhosed expecting to simply get in the car and go. To find them both sitting downstairs watching Spongebob Squarepants and laughing like loons. She was not washed. She was not brushed. She was not dressed. I was not happy. We make it out the door, half an hour late. When we got to the baby shower, DD was in a mood because she had been rushed. She refused to eat what they were serving. She refused to sit in her chair. She would not be quiet. Then she did the ultimate, something that made me see white hot and almost kill her. She BIT another child at the shower. She never went through a biting phase as a baby, and now at the age of six she BIT another child? I don't think I have ever been that angry in my life. There I was, already feeling like a piece of garbage, and suddenly I have a hundred pairs of eyes staring at me. The mother of the awful child that just BIT a toddler. And I could see it in those eyes. Bad mother. Inadequate. Can't take care of her house, can't control her daughter, can't motivate her husband to get off the couch. I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to be here anymore. I don't think I wanted to BE anymore. I grabbed my purse and my child and fled. When we got home, I was greeted by a counter full of dishes and a pile of dirty dishcloths, and DH's first words to me were "What is for dinner?". I sat on the floor and cried for an hour, while DD laughed at me and DH looked uncomfortable before drifting back to his beloved tv. I cried while I cooked, I cried while they ate, I cried while getting my daughter ready for bed. I cried while I did yet another load of laundry and I cried while making my husbands lunch before going to bed only to cry some more. Who needs rain when there are tears to be had.