Junk Food Wars

It was snacky time in our house and Monkey was demanding food. Stat. My dear, sweet husband takes out saltine crackers to feed the Monkey.

Me: Please don't give him those. . .

Husband: What's wrong with these crackers?

Me: They have no nutritional value and we have plenty of healthy snacks.

Husband: But he likes them. (He says this as if saying, anything Monkey likes, Monkey gets. This is SO not the case.)

Me: I know he does, but we've both struggled with weight. I'd rather him eat something nutritious.

Husband says nothing and returns the saltines to the pantry. Internally, I think, "I WIN!" Wrong. Out come Pop! Chips. Really?

Me: (Dramatic sigh)

Husband: What?!

Me: (Internal eye roll and dramatic sigh) Those aren't all that nutritious, either. How about some fruit?

Husband: Fine. You get him a snack.

Me: (Righteous indignation and eye roll AND internal sigh) Okay.

Internally, I scream, "I win!" This is also the man that tried to debate with me if frozen pizza is a junk food. (P.S. I won that one, too. I mean who buys a Totino's pizza for the health factor?)

Questionable Stupidity

How does anyone succeed in our day-and-time without basic computer skills? And by anyone, I mean someone below the age of 50 with a Master's Degree. Astounding.

I had a new employee in my office last week asking how to complete some documentation. When I suggested she 'copy and paste' information from one screen to another, she stared at me blankly and said, "How do I do that?" Um. Are you effing kidding me? I know my face probably screamed this thought, despite my best intentions to keep the judgment quiet. I calmly suggested that she highlight the text. Blank stare. Fuck. Okay, time to back pedal even further. . . and on it went.

I'm no computer genius, I readily admit that. What I wonder, though, is how this lovely lady completed any research paper in college? Was she plunking out her thoughts by rolling in paper page-by-page in a good old-fashioned type writer? It makes me suspicion that her skill deficit is that she's stupid is a global fashion. I know this likely isn't true. I do. It's just difficult for me to find any evidence that there's an excuse for her not know how to highlight text. Really? Have you used a fucking mouse before? I was waiting for her to ask what 'click' meant. I'm pretty sure that would mean me beating my head with naked abandon on a tabletop. No hiding those feelings.

All talk and no action. . .

Sometimes being bitchy can come back to bite me in the ass. I feel like with all the hate and disgust that I share regarding my in-laws I have to own up when they do something kind, right?

On my nicey-nice blog this week, I posted some of my insecurities especially in light of my almost-perfect sister moving though life so gracefully. Damn if my mother-in-law didn't send me the nicest-sounding email. She has all the right words. I'll let you judge for yourself:

Each time I read your blog I come away loving you even more..........I admire how you are able to share your innermost feelings and thoughts so candidly. You are an amazing woman, wife and mother and I just want you to know how much I admire you, appreciate you and love you. When I go on Facebook, which isn't very often, and I see a little post you've made about loving your husband, being a mother to Monkey, and enjoying your life, I am so blessed. I think you are a beautiful woman.........you have a smile that could stop traffic and don't EVER let anyone make you feel that you don't have style...........girl...you've got it!! I wish I had HALF of your style!!!

And, I think you are an amazing mother.........I love how you would wrap Monkey in those papoose blankets and rock him and love on him..........look at what a happy little boy he is??!!! And a smile just like his mother...........

You could write a book!!! No kidding!!!

Now you're thinking--how could this bitchy mystery-writer be so hateful to someone with such kind words? Ahem. I know it. And this, this is why my husband has mass quantities of confusion about how the hell to feel about his mother. Here's the secret: she's got the words, what she's lacking are the ACTIONS. Every time I think, oh shit, I've totally misread this situation--she really is a kind, loving mother and I've forced my husband to be alienated from his family for no good reason--I'm just hateful. Then I remind myself of the ways that his parents haven't been there and how his therapist says to run far, far away from that crazy lady and her words. While she sounds all nice and love in this email, trust me when I say she's all talk and no action. And sometimes, the talk without action just makes you want to bitch slap people because that hurts. I doesn't hurt me--I am not affected by her opinions, but damn it, it hurts my husband. Hence the desire to bitch slap. Turns out I'm all talk and no action when it comes to bitch slapping. Too bad, hmm?

Stating the Obvious

This conversation actually occured in my home today:
Me: Honey, did you wash Monkey's face after breakfast?

Hubby: Yes.

Me: Okay.

Hubby: Why?

Me: (And yes, I did have to answer. . .) Because his face is dirty.


So that wasn't the end of the of the questionable statements today. . .I tell you, it is hard to be the brain for a household.

Me(via text message:) I feel terrible. Pretty sure I have a sinus infection.

Hubby: Oh, I'm sorry honey. Go to the doctor.

Me: No need, just a cold.

Later, as I'm giving the little squirt a bath,

Hubby: So, you aren't better? You still feel bad?

Me: Well, I'm not miraculously better since 3 hours ago. . .

Hubby: That wasn't very nice, what you said just now.

Uhhh. I'm not nice? How 'bout he didn't think. . . for the second time today?

With Child

I temporarily channeled my less-than-nice side into relief from my feet pounding the pavement, but I'm ready to connect with my inner f-bomb again.

My mother-in-law is going to be a great-grandmother. Irony of ironies--GREAT-grandmother. Ha. If 'great' grandparenting skills involve seeing your grandchildren less than 10 times in their lives and maybe, maybe, sending a text for a birthday wish, then that woman is great. Her email to my husband said "I found out/discovered on Facebook that Sarah (her lesbian oldest daughter's child) is with child. Tara (claimed daughter, full sister of my husband)says that Laura (lesbian oldest daughter)has a chronic lump in her throat. I might call/text later to feel it out."

Here are my issues:
1. Who the hell uses a term like "with child" without a hint of humor?
2. Really, if anyone normal found out from FACEBOOK that their grandchild was with child would it be admitted in such a blase' way? Is there no feeling of being ashamed?
3. The complete lack of emotional response to finding that a grandchild (I use this term only technically) is having a child is appalling. She is single. She is without an education. Perhaps a little concern, excitement, something might be appropriate?
4. I sure the hell hope that I can provide some genuine concern to my child/children when they are grown. Remember, this is her first-born. The oldest child that she abandoned. I suppose in light of your mom leaving when you are 8, a text to ask how you are feeling is considerate, heh?

She really disgusts me. Really freaking disgusts me. The lack of sincere emotion turns my stomach, leaving it roiling in a greasy, hungover feeling.. . . or maybe that's the leftovers from the last cocktail of the evening. Either is possible.

Taking Responsibility

This week has been so freakin' crazy that I simply have had no time to post about my irritations. No. time. Mostly my irritations have been inwardly-focused. . . I don't know if that's good or bad or if it just is. I say stupid things. My inner voice torments me with thoughts attacking my self-esteem. Why? Is this the truth for all thinking people? Sigh. I don't know. But I do know that after seeing a disgusting picture of myself, I am determined to make some changes to make myself healthier. And truthfully, I've been convinced my whole life that if I were skinny, I'd be ridiculously happy. Yeah. Not true. I think?

Anyway. . .my husband got angry with me today for forgetting to remind him to take his checkbook to pay or childcare provider. Angry. Because he doesn't remember 'dates like that.' I am still puzzled as how this is more my responsibility than his. We both work. We both parent. How is his oversight my fault? Yeah. I don't know either. And before you wonder, I didn't in anyway shame him or blame him. .. only suggested he stop by the bank to get cash to pay her.

It makes me ape-shit angry that he can't accept responsibility for ANYTHING. Of course, as it might be apparent from other entries, I blame all of this on his parents. Parents that said things like, "Why did you do that? What are you--stupid?" I still can't freakin' fathom how anyone could say that to their child. Or any child. It turns an incident in his grown-up life from being an "oops" to a full-blown blame game which in turn, leads to an argument. All because I can't let it go. In my head, letting it go would make me that subservient wife, and surely that's not me.

Let me tell you a little ditty:
Once upon a time, many moons ago, my parents, husband and I went to a baseball game. A baseball game in the blazing heat of early June. Now we stayed because we were devoted, sweaty fans. After escaping from the heat, we stopped at Sonic, the source of all that is good in frozen-drink land, to purchase PowerAde slushes to refresh our sweltering souls. Ahhhh. Relief.

Predictably, a few miles down the road, my mom and I had to use the facilities. Stat. There was no way that we could make it the hour and a half longer to reach the comfort of our own homes. We stopped at a convenience store to run in. My dear husband and I were riding in the back seat of my dad's extended-cab pick-up. You know, the kind where the back half-door opens the opposite way? Well being the considerate child I am, I placed my liquid-gold slushy in the cup holder at the bottom of said backwards door. Unbeknownst to me, when I closed the door, the top-heavy cup turned over and spilled my frozen treat all over the floor of my dad's beloved truck. Oops.

I believe my dad something like, "Oh, let's clean that up." No big deal, because it was an accident. You may now be wondering why I would recall such an inconsequential episode? A valid question, to be sure. It is embedded in my memory because my dear husband (boyfriend at the time) was AMAZED that my dad wasn't angry. Amazed. This is such insight into his reactions and his childhood. Why would my dad be angry with me over an accident? Even if it was a sticky mess? I wasn't careless. I wasn't being irresponsible. It was just one of those things.

And this, this is why my husband can't take responsibility. And it is also why he makes me want to scream and beat my head against the wall. Or yell "fuck" really loudly. Or even all of the above. All while praying that my child can grow up to take responsibility and that I'm not jacking him up in the way my in-laws did to my husband.

Family Always Welcome?

My sister-in-law invited herself to visit us. I know family is supposed to have an open invitation and all that, but not when it's my husband's family. And there was not even an obligatory phone call to me to arrange details, although I did get a trip itenirary today with her suggested travel dates and her selected flights. Great. (please read in your head with the most sarcasm possible)

Compounding my distaste for this visit is that my husband works on weekends, with Monday and Tuesday as his days off. Every weekend. He's had this schedule for 2 years. Two. Years. We (read: husband) have told the sister multiple, and I mean multiple, times of this schedule, but her alcohol-soaked brain hasn't retained the knowledge.

Her visits are never quite as bad as I anticipate, but I hate pretending. The Sister is ALL about pretending that she has the greatest parents in the world and pretending we are all one happy family when the last time she had a conversation of any depth and meaning with her brother was at least two years ago.

Her visit to us when our son was 6 weeks old consisted of asking if he "did anything else" when he was lying on the floor. Umm. Yeah. She also attempted to distract a group of two four year-olds by turning around, lowering her pants while simultaneously lifting her top to show of her tramp stamp. This, while saying, "Hey look kids, wanna see my tattoo?"

It was an SNL skit brought to life and so bizarre that I cna't make shit like this up. Needless to say, I am thrilled about this impending visit.

Did I mention that she also never shuts the hell up? Should be fun. No wonder my husband will willingly take vacation in order to prevent me from being alone with her for extended periods of time. Smart choice. Yet another reason I love this man.