Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Is it next Tuesday yet?
You know, I was kind of excited for this summer. My job was supposed to be ending in June and I planned on taking some time to lounge around and do fun things with DD. We were going to swim and paint and putz and it was going to be really fun. Only, my job did NOT end in June. And keeping DD home for this time has proven to be one of the worst decisions of my life. She is constantly bored and hungry and whining and wanting something. By the evening she is usually in a pretty foul mood. And so am I for that matter. Our summer of fun has turned into my summer of counting the days, hours, and minutes until she goes back to school. I have become one of THOSE parents. The ones with the bags under their twitching eyes who look like something the cat coughed up, who give each other knowing looks that say "Soon. Soon they will be back in school and we will have part of our lives back". So sad. Dh doesn't understand this. "Sure she has her moments" he says. "But really, it hasn't been that bad". Of course it hasn't. Not for him. The man has spent maybe three hours total with her independantly this summer (if you minus our vacation). He gets to leave the house for work. Then he comes home and does his own thing while I make dinner. Then he eats dinner and does his own thing until it is time for him to go to bed (which has nothing to do with the rest of the house, by the way). Other than griping at her to turn the TV down or pick up one of her things, he might as well be living by himself. But then he would have to make his own lunch and dinner. Yesterday I was "allowed" to go out and finish school shopping for DD. She needed socks and undies, and a few new shirts. The minute I walked back in the house he was hovering and asking what took me so long. Didn't even offer to help me carry in the bags (not that I expected him to). After my last trip from the car, he thrust the phone at me. I was hot, tired - exhausted really - and in no mood to have him stand there with bated breath watching me carry in bags of canning jars and not even hold the door open for me. PLUS. We have a bush in front of the porch. Sometimes the branches start to grow inward and eventually it gets hard to cross the porch to get to the door without being brushed by them. Every day he walks by that damn bush, pushing the branch out of his face (usually letting it come back to swat whoever is behind him) and complains and sys "I really have to trim this off". Every day for a month. And every day for a month I have had to drag a clinging and crying daughter past that branch because she is deathly afraid a spider or wasp or something will be on that branch (and there is a good chance of that. Two bumble bees right down my top and a spider or two in my hair is how I know). I have tried reminding. I have tried not reminding. He doesn't want ME to do it (see, I take his thunder when I do this manly things that a man is supposed to do blah blah blah). As of last night with the last bag of canning jars and having him stand there grinning and holding the phone out at me while my hands were full I had ENOUGH. I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife we have...... And whacked that damn branch off. Then I threw it on his car. And I felt a little better. I am sure my sister thought I was insane. Heck, I am sure the neighbours and my DH thought I was insane. Who cares. The branch is gone. Let us hope the rest of the week brings better things. These are the kind of times when vacuums and closet doors get heaved out front doors and husbands go to bed to find their wet towels on their pillow and milk-filled cereal bowls in their sock drawers. And little daughters who whine all day and bug me while I am working get assigned bathroom duty and have to organize the plastic container drawer. I am woman - a woman counting the minutes until school starts. Hear me ROAR!