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I'm awake and writing
I'm awake and writing
May 13th
Doing nothing. A day with the kids without an agenda. This would be about as good as it gets. A cup of coffee and some eggs on toast. Ohh toast. Yes, definitely buttery toast for the start of the morning. Mother’s day. Sleep in? Not likely. No dishes – even less likely. But who cares? There shouldn’t be a mother’s day or father’s day. There should just be a day that’s not filled with anything. A family day. I think this just used to be called – a Sunday. No cards, no brunches, no get togethers, just a nice walk outside maybe a bike ride to get ice cream. That’s it. That’s the perfect day. Oh and maybe another cup of coffee.
Apr 2nd
I hate spring. People ask, “What’s your favourite season?”. It’s not spring.
Summer, winter, fall, all good choices, each one with its own quirky characteristics but not spring. Spring is the asshole of the seasons. Strong words but you may come to agree with me.
Spring is a big fat liar, a temptress, a deceiver of the innocent and Spring clearly suffers from schizophrenia. Spring tries to be everything to everyone – spring is exactly like an untrustworthy acquaintance. All smiles and promises of sun and warmth and then WHAMO, you wake up to Jack frost and clouds. A weather report for a DAY in spring can read like a database of weather conditions: Sunny with a chance of rain later in the day, overnight thundershowers turning to hail and possible snow with accumulation of 1-2 cm, high winds expected also a high wind advisory if you live anywhere near a trailer park. Spring is one temper mental toddler. You just never know what you are going to get from one day to the next. No one wants Spring as a roommate, she’s just too moody, shifty and fickle.
Still not convinced? As you look out the window to see the sun shining in March, that’s Spring pretending it’s warm. Spring seduces you to go outside but as soon as you are far enough away from your house, you realize it’s chilly and there is a biting wind that cuts to your core. Spring tempts you to don a lighter coat only to make you walk around all hunched up and breathing into your jacket collar, hands stuffed into your pockets. Sometimes Spring even warms up but this is just a trick. It’s a trick that makes men think they should wear shorts with socks and sandals. It’s a trick that makes you as a mother look incompetent. “Mom, where are my short sleeve shirts and sunglasses?”. How do I know? Yesterday you had on mitts and a down jacket and now you want to know if you can run through the spinkler?
Does spring really hurt me? A chinook in the middle of March makes me cry because I haven’t had time to unfat myself from winter before sporting a tank top. I hate you spring.
Spring brings April showers and May flowers. Bullshit. Spring showers are icy, windy, chill-you-to-the-bone miserable days that blow your umbrella into an inverted condom. May flowers – yes there are flowers. May also brings mud and rain boots and wet dogs and damp gloomy days filled with the thought that it should be warmer BUT IT’S NOT.
Spring even owns the best marketing team in the world. Because people are tricked EVERY YEAR into believing that it will be fun to visit Niagara Falls in April. Haha jokes on you, freezing mist sucks in the summer, in the spring it’s like a thousand needles in the face without any Botox like benefit. Even Disney has you buy into the spring hype with fairies that work all year on preparing to go the the Mainland to usher in the season of change – Spring.
What marketing campaign talks about fall cleaning? Even the time change sucks in spring. Lose an hour, great – I’m dirty and I’m tired.
Spring sucks.
Where are you summer? I need someone a bit more reliable in my life. I need caressing warmth and patio evenings. I need long sunny days and cool summer drinks. I need you to help me forget that Spring tortured me into thinking you might never arrive.
I’m waiting by my window. I will check my weather App before seeing if you are here. I’ll know it’s you when I smell that sweet summer smell of babies with sunscreen and take afternoon naps when it’s a bit too warm to be outside. Hurry Spring, move along so i can sit with your friend summer who is calmer and quieter and doesn’t need quite so much attention.
What’s your favourite season?
Comments declined from uni-seasonal states like Phoenix and Florida. (criteria for uni-seasonal state: If you can wear sandals year-round you clearly cannot say you have seasons.)
Jan 17th
We have just moved to a new town. These three thoughts crept into my head while I was out.
1) In my new town, looking like crap is completely acceptable. Not because it’s the norm but because no one knows who I am. There is no ‘Friday night party clothes’ to compare what I could look like relative to what I really look like by default.
2) No more peer pressure. By peer pressure I mean other mothers at school. I can throw away the fundraiser forms with impunity because well, I’m new. Can’t exactly bake cookies, go on the field trip or sell crap door to door when I’m ‘just getting everyone settled’ could I?
3) I could ‘rejuvenate’ and no one would know. A little Botox, some Restylane and maybe just a wee bigger cup size and who would be the wiser? You might come to visit from my, Old Town and think, ‘wow, I should move up here too. Heather looks so, I don’t know, refreshed.’ Yup, refreshed.
Soon my secret will be out. Little by little people will get used to seeing me and then it’s a slippery slope to putting on makeup and having to remember people’s names. Sadly, the masquerade will end once I start pretending to care about mundane day-to-day topics with burgeoning neighbours and acquaintances. Right now though, I will savour the calm and ironically the beauty that comes with new-town anonymity. If you haven’t thought about moving, I would highly suggest it. I won’t tell anyone that you’re new. Your secret’s safe with me.
Jan 7th
Any mom that tells me they get up an hour early so they can have “me-time” makes me wonder if they are secretly meth-moms? When they say, ”It’s the best time of the day” all chipper and giddy sounding, I can’t help but think they could only be this perky with the aid of an illegal stimulant that requires quite possibly both smoke and mirrors. These are the same moms that say, “oh-I don’t nap, sometimes I will have a little rest and put my feet up but I couldn’t possibly sleep in the middle of the day”. Right, that’s because you go to bed at 8:30. Of course you can’t nap you’re asleep before I’m finished dinner. Their smug attitude that ‘the morning’ holds the secret to the universe lends me to believe they also hold up John 3:16 signs at their kid’s soccer tournaments.
‘Morning Moms’ make my life miserable for four reasons
1. I’m obviously not one of them.
The truth is; having kids that get up when there is a five showing on the clock makes me feel like I am in jail. The only thing that would be worse is if my kid said, “Mommy it’s 5am, come on…let’s go jogging”.
2) Morning moms make me look bad.
Literally and figuratively. I already think I’m in jail, wearing my pajamas, a baseball hat and smeared mascara to school drop-off only completes the look. You’re a morning mommy, I’m a convict mommy.
3) I hate the morning. Talking to morning people makes me hate them too.
This utter distaste for the AM trickles over into how many days a week I can get three kids out the door with all the right crap for each one. Gym day, pizza day, library day, inside-out day, and every other ridiculous thing I’m supposed to remember to bring, take, buy, or carry to school each morning. At least everyday is fundraiser day for some God awful thing. I usually shove my kids out the door with a bag of money and hope that Terry Fox thinks it’s enough. Perhaps one day soon there will be help a ‘convict-mommy’ day and make-over people will show up at my door with unelasticized pants. Un-crappy morning mommies have the morning routine sorted, labelled and colour coded. Please, don’t talk to me, just let me drink my coffee and hate you silently.
4) I’m only late in the morning. Mostly because I would rather die than get up.
I never realized that having kids would force me to integrate into this cubicle lifestyle. Because more of the world likes to get up in the morning than stay up at night, I am eternally seen as a disorganized slacker mom. I bet moms that home school are also night hawks like myself. They got tired of living in morning jail hell and figured they might as well exchange it for teaching hell. At least they wouldn’t have to be on time.
And this my friends is why I can’t wait for my kids to be teenagers. No longer will I be a crappy convict mommy in the eyes of the PTA. but I will be the mommy that knows what time your kid got home, how long they sat in the car and what they sexted while parked. When this time comes, I will put you morning mommies to shame with your inability to ‘understand’ your teen They may hate me and call me stupid but at least I will be awake for the fight.
Please, comments only from night-people. Morning chatter people are enough in real life…I’m pretty sure I also don’t want to read what you have to say.
Nov 19th
Recently I overheard two moms debating which was healthier, a spread that looks like chocolate but is technically derived from nuts or liquid corn syrup that pours out of a bottle shaped like a 1950′s skirt? This makes me laugh on the inside for two reasons:
1) Because I have both in my cupboard
2) There really is no debate.
Of course there are pros and cons to each one, but my best friend Tina @threeinthebed said the following question was the litmus test:
“When you are alone amongst piles of laundry, dirty dishes, lunches to pack and a looming work deadline, which one would you rather eat?”
And here my healthy dedicated moms the answer was simple. Dipping a spoon into the wide-mouthed jar of creamy, nutty chocolate-ness and letting my tongue slide over the elixir of life wins every time. Can you honestly imagine trying to emotionally fulfill your secret dreams and fantasies by popping the syrup lid and taking a swig? Ew.
This begs the question, which one is actually healthier (still laughing, this time out loud). Consider ‘mental health’ the dark horse when it comes to debates about the effects of healthy eating, it clearly takes the lead in this mommy’s health and wellness. I will end this discussion for these moms with a recipe that can fix the bleakest of days:
Secure two slices of soulless non-organic white bread
Put in toaster
Apply ample butter
Layer on chocolate spread
Eat
Sigh.
Debate over.
Jun 1st
In this crazy world of Google self-help I entered the words “angry moms”. Why? because there are times, mostly by 8pm that I am an angry mom. Not a “crazy-angry beat-my-kids at Walmart mom” more like a deep simmering ‘grrr’. So here it is:
I am angry at the world. I am angry with my husband. I am angry at the kids – in fact I look around and feel exasperated and angry. With online therapy in mind, I set out to see if there were other angry moms in cyberspace that might be able to help.
Google: “angry moms”
#1 hit: 2 angry moms
Great, here we go. Two angry moms. It reads like my best friend and I talking on the phone after the kids go to bed lamenting, ‘why can’t we be better moms?’. I click on their website:
“We are two angry moms.”
Perfect. This is the kind of online support I need.
“The cafeteria at our school promotes unhealthy food choices over the healthy lunches we pack.”
Huh? You’re angry about what your kids are eating at school? Oh lord. I’m angry at the world and you are angry at the cafeteria ladies. I’m angry because 82% of the domestic chores are my responsibility and you are angry because Pepsi owns half of all the products in the grocery store? Clearly you two angry moms are not the kind of angry mom I’m looking for. In fact your complaints just add to my angry resentment of all moms trying to be uber perfect. Fit, healthy, anxiety laiden moms that organize princess birthday parties with excessive loot bags.
Back to my quest. Aren’t there any other angry moms out there? Am I really the only one? Am I the only person that wants to tell their kids at least once a day, ‘to shut the eff up’? I didn’t grow up in a trailer park, my mom and dad loved me unconditionally and I have a university education. I waited to get married until I actually found someone that I could hang with for at least 20 good years. What is wrong with me? Why am I angry and why does it appear that Google, the God of all answers , is denying that I exist? I mean honestly, type in some weird sort of fetish and you will get at least five links to forums and meeting groups but type in ‘angry mom’ and you get women that are worried about the vegetable intake at their school?
That’s when it hit me. No one says they are angry unless the are on Dr Phil (The new Jerry Springer). Anger is a no-no word. I retried my search on God-gle with the following:
GOOGLE: Stressed out mom
Sure enough I had found the motherload – literally.
Yup. Moms are disguising their anger with the words ‘stressed out’. What a load of crap. I’m not stressed, that’s a word I like to use when I’m talking about the breaking point of metal or a very complex project with multiple timelines. Stress has ‘tools and techniques that can be applied to help you deal with uncomfortable occurrences’.
HA HA. I’m pretty sure it’s anger I feel and I have a pretty good understanding of why. Here’s the formula:
Ingredients:
10 extra pounds
8 bicycles in one garage
2 pre-schoolers
1 house with not enough bedrooms
1 infant
1 husband
1 work at home mom
0 maternity leave or pay
Take above ingredients and mix with chronic sleep deprivation, add a dash of children with ears painted on and season with hunting weekend husband. Once those are mixed together combine with additional spices like, birthday party, school play, vaccinations, taxes and a pinch of family obligations. Bake in the oven at $400 dollars per grocery trip and you have created the perfect dish: Angry mom. Best eaten alone. No one wants to share Angry Mom Dish.
To all those out there that are angry – breath easy, I am here for you. It appears the angry mom recipe is not such a hot seller – no problem we will just rebrand it to the less factual – Stressed-Out-Mom dish.
To all you moms out there – I hear your cries. They didn’t call the number one game app “stressed birds” nope – who wants to play that?. Just grab a glass of wine, let the dirty crap pile up and get some rest. Send this to all your friends so that Google will have this column come up first when you type “angry mom” instead of the great cafeteria broccoli debate.
Good night. I feel significantly less angry – I mean stressed.
May 9th
This is an actual email from my mother. She was on her annual trip to Florida with her “Book Club” girlfriends. Although I would hazard to say that no ‘real’ books are read on this trip. If you don’t know my mom – it is helpful to add that when she travels, she suffers from a bit of anxiety about trip details. It should also be noted that whenever bad things happen to our family it seems one of us is out of the country.
Mom’s Email to me:
“Very very very upset…, almost had a stroke - was so upset .. we arrived … After the flight delayed…. Waited 1/2 for them to check us out with the car…. Accident over the bridge( -10 min from here) delayed 30 min in traffic( first time ever) … Got groceries ( yuk) and then .. Was told our balcony was under repair ( all the balconies) … And can’t be used – the balcony is our salvation!!! And not available !’ Soooooo upset and angry !!!
Anyway … Sat at the beach and watched the waves and sunset and tried to calm down ..,All is ok -just upset ..No wifi at the pool or beach .. so limited … Love and hugs xx mom”
Darling Daughter’s Response:
Well – your opening line almost gave me a stroke! Here I am thinking someone has died (literally) and it turns out – no death, not even the smell of death, in fact not even a bit of blood, blood clots, hernias, herniated discs, sprains, strains, gallstones or irritable bowel syndrome.In fact it appears that in sentence number two you might have been in an accident but, you just drove by one. With my heart still pounding (thinking something terrible has happened) I see that getting groceries was yucky (albeit cheaper than here) and that your “salvation” (not that anyone died and went to heaven there) but your earthly salvation, the balcony, is under repair at which point you were forced outside – in the Florida weather and elements to sit by the ocean during the sunset. It is here that you were unable to ‘connect’ to the place that is cold, raining and forecasting storms for the entire day.Whew – I am hoping you have wine, some pepcid and make sure you take gravol – then the three of you can have a snoring contest and tomorrow the sun will shine, the sky will look like heaven and you’ll listen to the beautiful waves oceanside.I will be there with you in my dreams:) Enjoy your trip, there is no one screaming at you, no one asking you to feed them, no small human hanging from your nipple and there are no men there to fuck up your day:)I love you – and I am sincerely glad no one actually had a stroke. I know this is upsetting to you – but you shall prevail! The three musketeers can drink and dance away any balcony blues – dip into your champagne and have a toast to friends and all the suckers that are here with jackets and hats on.I miss you and I love you - PLEASE DO NOT DIE. Oh – if you are going to have a stroke, perhaps it would be better if it was a big one (like DNR style), you know,my diaper schedule is already pretty booked up here.Love your #1 daughter.(ps – I will be gone all day tomorrow at the training course – also not a good day to die or try and reach me) I will be reconnected by 6pm.
If you don’t know my mom, her email may make her appear to need a ‘head shake’ but there are three things that you could never know from reading it about my mom.
Mar 31st
There are long lists and debates over the world’s most life enhancing inventions. Computers, vaccinations, space ships – lots and lots of things that have changed our world for the better.
There is one and exactly one invention that by far outstrips all others for the grand title of the worst piece of crap ever created.
Two words: Self-Scan.
I like to call it Self-SCAM. (profanity advisory) When I am really angry it’s dubbed Fuck-U-Scan. For anyone that doesn’t know what I am talking about, these are the self check-out lines at grocery stores and Walmart like establishments.
Where the bar code was revolutionary in the way retail purchases were processed, the Fuck-U-scan was only invented to waste human life hours. This horrific-ness is compounded by the fact that those that promote it – think that we don’t get the fact that it saves them money. Like try, a bajillion dollars a year.
Beware Walmart and Superstore – people against U-scam will be heard. They will revolt against your money hoarding. Somewhere right now, a mother of 3 is inventing a device that will ‘render you dead’ if you ever try to incorporate machines that waste our precious time while doing the most under appreciated task in the world.
9 Reasons why I’d rather starve then use U-Scan at the grocery store.
1) Sometimes there is a line at the U-scam checkout. Can you believe it? Not only do you have to do all their work you have to wait in line. Who invented this? The government?
2) U-scam is supposed to make you believe that you will save time. Right, I’m pretty sure that when I pay the price on a peice of food, it used to include someone using the cash register and placing my item in a bag for me.
3) I have 27 cans of spaghettios. Is it really necessary to make me scan each one? Is it that I am so stupid that I can’t type 2-7 and then it would multiply the cost by 27? Holy shit balls, I need Ritalin to finish this order.
4) Maybe there should be a discount for people that use U-scam? This would make it mildly plausible why someone would choose this option. This way all the people that don’t value their time – like students and senior citizens can squander their remaining heart beats on processing their grocery order in hopes of saving 14 cents. I hate it when you are in the regular lines anyway, bunch of no-money, baggy-pant wearing punks and coin purse digging old ladies. U-scam is bringing out the worst in me.
5) it’s not enough that we now have to bring our own bags and bag our own groceries but now you still want me to believe that U-scan is a good idea? If I were a grocery cashier I might have to find the bar code on bacon 76 times in one day. I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE BAR CODE IS ON BACON. I am a guest at your grocery store, I don’t get a paycheck. It’s like inviting friends over and asking them to find your favourtie socks. They’d probably say, really? I’m not sure where to look since I don’t live here OR WEAR YOUR FUCKING SOCKS.
6) “please get cashier assistance” Sure, now I have to attract the attention of a 15 year old texting with the other laz-about u-scan attendants to help me? Is it not enough that I drove to the store, picked out the groceries, scanned them, bagged them and paid for them but now I have to also get the attention of the one person WHOSE JOB IT WAS IN THE FIRST PLACE?
7) “For large or heavy items please see cashier”…see number 6.
8.) “Do you have any coupons? Please present them to the cashier”. Hang on – oh I just killed myself, you’d better call someone to clean up the aisle.
9) ” Do you want cash back?” Yes, for doing your fucking job.
MAKE IT STOP. Take a stand against U-scam. Better yet, load up your cart with about $400 dollars worth of groceries then notice that only U-scam is open and leave the whole cart for them to put away.
My prediction? U-Scan will be the next place someone goes ‘postal’ and flies a prop-plane into the grocery check-out line. Post comments only if your pants have a belt and you don’t rummage around in your purse for exact change.
Feb 4th
Warning: this blog post contains bad language and some politically incorrect statements that you may find offensive or possibly funny. Just letting you know.
I’m sure when you read the title of this blog, there are a multitude of names that come to mind when referring to the opposite sex in a demeaning hurtful way. Before you shelter your eyes, there will be no words rhyming with hunt or locksucker. This is really about the most hurtful name you can say, not per se, the crudest name you could use. So the word itself may not make you cringe – but the lasting effects are what make it profound.
The NAME:
Dear Men,
If you want to crumple your wife to the floor and shake her shell of confidence as a partner, a wife, mother, lover but most basically a woman, look her in the eye and in a measured voice say the following, ”you’re a bitch.” That’s it. The bitch offense will make all other conversation come to a halt. Of course there will possibly be some crying and yelling about how crappy you are as a human – but ultimately, you as a man, have rendered your wife defenceless and possibly mute for any further discussion about what you may have been trying to resolve. We all know there are more profane words – but calling a woman a bitch goes to the core of what we try our entire lives not to become. We actually spend time talking about other women that are clearly bitches and pat ourselves on the back for not being “that wife”. Ultimately we don’t want to be the nag, the ball and chain, the bitch.
Dear Ladies,
If you are interested in stripping a man of his ego, his soul and possibly his manhood, the following phrase although may not stop them in their tracks, will resonant around in their brain for a later time when they are fully capable of comprehending the implications. I would suggest a verbal pause, an inhalation of breath, followed by the following phrase: “you’re an infant” or a “4 year old” or any number that represents the fact that your husband is suffering from a bewildering case of permanent pre-adolescense. Now, before you call me out and say, “Heather, you said one word. What you have given me here is a phrase.” You would be right, but let me delve deeper. The actual 2 words I would chose are retarded asshole. Stop. Don’t get on your politically correct high horse, the word ‘retard’ means: cause to move more slowly or operate at a slower rate. The word asshole, has a variety of meanings but in this case it’s just an excellent all round description of your spouse at the time of invocation. So for the sake of simplicity and political correctness, and the fact that I said ‘one word’, if you want to make them walk out the door just say, “honey, you are useless“. Or in the verbal crossfire, “You are a useless asshole.”
Men want to be productive, important, even profound – when you invoke the ‘Useless” incantation, it makes them burn – smoulder and produces a shut down effect like no other word.
THE CASE: From the woman’s lookout.
A small percentage of the time I spend chatting with my girlfriends we are complaining. Mostly about men. Usually the main man in our lives. These can vary from specific complaints – like, ’I wish he would turn the door knob when he is closing the door instead of pushing it shut so it makes that slamming noise’ to broader complaints like, ‘why is there a trail of crap from the front door to every spot he has travelled in the house?’
Inevitably as women we continue along, picking up and shutting up because it’s easier than actually getting our spouses to do what it is we are trying to accomplish. Now, if you have been married for more than – oh say, a day and a half and you perhaps have 0-3 kids thrown into the mix you can understand what happens. Little by little we start to suggest ways in which it would be helpful for you to remember to do things that make our lives easier. It goes like this: suggest, ask, question, assert, nag, and finally bitch. We break. We become the cliche we have strived to avoid. No woman wants to be called a bitch. And let me tell you, it’s not when things are at their worst – no such luck. We snap and move to raging bitch when it appears the simplest thing has gone wrong. Here is the unintended result:
1) You see us as crazy and avoid us thus making us crazier than before
2) when nothing changes from this verbal exchange, we go back to sucking it up until the next straw. Inevitable the next straw comes at closer intervals. Then of course we are labelled temporarily insane.
That’s us. Women are the multi-taskers of the universe. We usually manage the kids, hold down a job, do the majority of the cleaning and the child care as well as the planning and managing the household. When we want you to take care of something we aren’t talking to you in ‘space’ and would be wet with excitement if the task was completed. Oh and if you are going to do what we ask – don’t do it half ass in the hopes that we won’t ask you to do it again. I’ve never seen my husband pack for a hunting trip and forget, well, anything. (See, even the writing is bitchy.)
This is where the Useless label comes from.
1) Managing to plan a trip with your guys friends down to the last detail of who will be preparing each night’s dinner and the appropriate corresponding scotch but not be able to pack your kid’s lunch box without an item that contains nuts. (thus sending a letter home, reminding ‘us’ that other children could die if we weren’t more considerate with our lunch choices.)
2) After spending 4 hours alone with the kids, because mommy ‘gets’ to go out and run errands, arriving home to find that kids have not eaten, the house is a disaster, the kitchen appears to have been the assault of an IED – and your first words are “I feel cooped up – I would like to get out for a run”.
3) After multiple lists, yellow sticky notes and patient discussion of what you will need to bring to the party because I will be coming straight from work and have already prepared the food and taken care of all the arrangements for said evening event, you show up without anything and have forgotten the hostess gift thus making us look cheap and lazy.
THE CASE: From the man’s lookout.
Guys talk to their guy friends about 1) Viral videos, 2) Sports things 3) Getting together to: drink, watch viral videos, do sporty things or some combination there of.
Guys like to have fun, they like to go out, work out, eat out and have sex. Guys generally like to build things, fix things, install things or break things. They mostly enjoy working on their bodys, their vehicles, their projects or watching funny You Tube videos
Lots of our guys have a good job, they are decent men, good fathers, and loyal. They are the kings of the “one-off”. Completing projects that are generally one time deals. Building the deck, organizing the garage, setting up the internet, or fixing the drywall hole (more than likely – created by them). Most of our guys are also the caretakers of the lawn, the car maintenance and the snow removal. Call it stereotyping because it is and because it’s mostly true.
Once a guy has finished his day at work, mowed the lawn, emptied the crap out of the car and played with the kids he patiently listens while we make our first set of requests. ’Honey, can you please bath the kids” or can you please make arrangements for our flight to Florida” or can you please tidy the kitchen while I get ready for a project due for work”. Here’s the problem. No matter what the task – we inevitably complain about how it got done or when it got done. This is infuriating for men.
Here’s how we get labeled “bitch”.
1) It doesn’t matter what the task is, we mentally grade your result and then proceed to list our complaints: Tidying the kitchen? “oh I wish you had not left the dishes to dry in the sink” “Why did you put the strainer here? It goes in this cupboard.” ”oh don’t worry, I like the feel of crumbs on my feet, I’ll just sweep again”
We forget to utter even a small word of thanks for doing the task and more often these are the things we say, “thanks for tiding the kitchen, pause, it would have been great if you… (yikes I can hear myself).
2) It doesn’t matter that you took the kids for a great outing in the park. We will complain that you forgot to feed them, why are they still wearing their pajamas and most hatedly, we greet you at the door with words like, oh did they sleep in the car, did you feed them – wow, you didn’t wipe their faces? Rather than a ‘hi honey – I missed you and thanks for taking the kids out”.
3) We foster complaints like mold on bread. We let them develop, ferment and then linger. We have conversations in our minds about how we will tell you how disappointed we are and then we will rehearse them until it has the perfect bitch tone or quality. Inevitably we unleash these complaints at the worst time like when you are happy.
Why? Why do we do this. Why can’t we just be nice and happy to have a husband that is caring, thoughtful, and faithful? Why can’t we just have sex with you on a regular basis without prompting? Ahh these are questions I ponder every day.
Why are guys useless and why are women bitches? I do have some answers…next week will reveal new and startling insights into these two questions.
For now – post your comments on why you think this to be true. Or post a comment telling me you are of course the exception to the rule and how your relationship could make a shit pile smell like roses:)