I had a somewhat fershit weekend, which I'll get to but first I want to tell you how absolutely lucky I am to have 2 terrific daughters.
For you younger moms who usually read this blog for the 'horrible warning' side more than the 'good example', I will tell you that getting to THIS stage of mothering makes the empty bank account, full calendar and crapped out car totally worth it... I'm still not sure about all those poopy diapers.
Not only did they bake the cookies and decorate the tree but they had fun and they got along and, get this, THEY CLEANED UP! Okay, that's not what makes it worth it but it surely doesn't hurt. No, the bonus is that they are always there with hugs and smiles and lots of love for their dear old mom. I love them and I'm keeping them.
That said, the rest of my weekend was sort of an emotional junkyard - some jewels, mostly trash.
I left work Friday in a raging snowstorm. Since traffic was moving almost backwards, I decided to detour though the surface streets and break up the drive with a few stop and shops. I hadn't been able to get ahold of Homer so I had no idea if there was a dinner plan. I decided to stop at home to pick up a return and then throw myself at the mercy of the mall. Oh, there's Homer. Back from skiing, napping on the couch.
I bought some presents and then stopped off to pick up my glasses, that were being fixed... except they couldn't find them. Yes, they called and said they were ready... yes, they should be there... but weren't. They were nowhere to be found... until I was back home... when they called and asked if I wanted to drive back in the raging snowstorm to pick them up. No thanks. So... it's 7:30. Looks like Homer has gone to bed. Poor guy, I think. Rough day on the slopes. I did some laundry and cleaned up and finally went to bed.
Saturday morning I notice that the noise is worse in my left ear and the pressure seems greater in both. I was two days off of the big steroid bump they gave me to try and... I don't even know what. So I'm cranky because I have a lot that I want to get done - most of which involves public interaction. For some reason, I am a chat magnet. I am often asked for directions, my opinion or help. I realize that being almost 6' makes me a good top shelf picker, but small talk? Really? I don't think I appear all that friendly. Maybe I look like a challenge. Whatever the reason, I'm usually more than willing to oblige... when I can hear. When I can't, I have two choices: pretend that I know what they said and smile, hoping that the conversation is over OR stick my right ear in their personal space and say 'Sorry, what did you say?' which makes me feel like Nelda Nursinghome.
Yeah, I know, get over it Jane.
But I accomplished a lot on Saturday: picked up the elusive glasses, purchased some gifts, finished two scarves I was making - one knit and one crochet (Meg, are you proud?), put together my Christmas centerpiece - Marthaverymuch, and shoveled the driveway... among other things. Homer? Oh, he was a real trooper. He kept that couch from sailing away ALL DAY. He might have risen once when he called me at Target to make sure I remembered the list of recipe items that he gave me a week ago. The same list of things that I suggested he could buy with a little time carved out of his busy schedule of, oh, a ZERO hour work week.
So I said to him 'Okay, then, let me just step out of this REALLY long line and go get your F#&$ing stuff!' Yes, I used the real word and judging from the looks on people's faces, I used it quite loudly. Sorry Target guests.
Oh, and then there was the prescription that I forgot to fill at work and took to the local pharmacy. It was new and I realized it might be more expensive there but... $150!!! Um, no thanks. She tells me it would have been $700 without your insurance. This matters to me... how?
Okay, you can see that I was getting a real butt-nasty mood on without even telling you about how the moronic dipshits parked at the mall. But I brought home the Homer-requested dinner ingredients. Except the peas. I don't do peas. Sorry. So he SAID he would take care of dinner. He was going to make Shepherd's Pie since he found a recipe and we have never in our lives had
Shepherd's Pie. Oh, did ever make it? No. I guess the couch started to jump a little.
By the time I go to bed on Saturday night, I have some serious insight. I'm sometimes clever about piecing things together and it's become pretty plain that he is pissed at me because I can't hear. I realize it's probably not all that clear to you because I have left out most of our recent interaction about how he complains can't talk to me but still he turns away from me and mumbles or yells from the other room. If I ask him to repeat he YELLS in my face. But apparently this is HIS problem. I am making his life difficult and not paying enough attention to his problems. That's why he can't get off the couch. Because I am making his life TOO HARD. This goes hand in hand with his policy of 'if you get mad at me, I'll get madder at you.'
I am probably going through the MOST DIFFICULT thing of my entire life so far, which has happened to coincide with my dad's major health issue and Christmas. But whatev. I realize that life goes on and I am doing what I can. I do not want pity. I cannot for a minute imagine pulling the covers over my head and shifting to poor me mode. I truly think I can handle whatever is sent my way. All I'm asking is for people to temporarily handle their own real or imaginary crises. I can deal with the millions of holiday minutiae but he can't make it to the grocery store?
Yes, I'm angry. BIG angry. There is not a font large enough for my angry.
Oh, and then when I went out to get the paper on Sunday morning I noticed why Homer had parked the SUV off to the side... which he never does because it is a considerate move. It looks like the front bumper has been smashed in. Wonderful. Someone backed into him he thinks.
This morning? It gets even better. I realized that I really can't taste much anymore. And just now I got a call from Omega. The SUV overheated on her way to her friend's last night and she doesn't dare drive it home... and Homer called to see if I can stop and look at it on my way home from work.
So why am I telling you all this? Good question. Mostly because I am on the verge of exploding, which would be a shameful waste of the 5 cookies I just ate. Partly because I need to decide which one of you I can trust with my Blogger password. I'm thinking there might need to be some posts deleted from my blog... should there happen to be a suspicious death in my family in the near future.
Shupe? You're in charge of the shovel.