During the holiday season I tend, like many, to ride the emotional roller coaster inspired by the intensity of the season. So much joy is awe inspiring, but at times I am so overwhelmed by grief that I cannot breathe.
My father died when I was 22 years old. Throughout that particular year I pretended that it wasn't happening. I went through the motions of college life; I went to class and had an apartment. I studied and I partied. My roommates and I had Thursday night happy hour weekly with a keg in our bathtub.
All the while my father was dying from the inside out from cancer. He suffered and toiled along with my mother, letting me live my insignificant life to the fullest, trying not to burden me with his own pain.
This entry is dedicated to him. The pain I choke back in my throat at this very moment is just a small punishment for being a selfish and negligent daughter to a father who could stun me with remark, whose witty banter was an everyday occurrence until IT WASN'T.

Here are all the things that are missed when one loses a parent too young. Here are all the small, seemingly meaningless day to day occurrences that most people take for granted. When someone dies, the day to day seems huge.
First, 18 months after my father died I was married. I walked down the aisle, in a beautiful gown, on a picture perfect day, alone. I stood alone, and my father wasn't there to walk me down the aisle to shake my future husband's hand or kiss my face. I do not grieve for myself, for always of an independent nature, I was sure he would be fiercely proud that I didn't need anyone to 'give me away'. I gently rejected my loving uncles who offered their arm on that day. Instead, my husband met me halfway, on his own accord, to walk with me to the altar.
I am sad he missed it. I am sure in my heart he was sad before he died, knowing he would miss these milestones~the dance.
I bore four beautiful children with this husband. My father would never hold them, or smell them, or feel their breath on his face. He would never be able to read them a book, tell a story. My father would never be able to watch first steps, to console after a time out. He would never get the chance to watch them throw a baseball, or swim or learn to ride a bike. My father would never know that one twin snores all night, while the other inherited his passion for books and read to all hours of the night. He would never sit with my mother at a little league game or football game, then go home to analyze the referee or umpire. He would never see birthday cakes or new school clothes. Dad would never get to see a perfect report card, or hear 'through the grapevine' that his twin grandsons are incredibly intelligent, savvy boys who can walk in a room and own it. He would never know his grandsons' handshake. Or that they like milk from the Milky Way farm. He would not see the first turkey shot in turkey season, or the first buck shot in Pennsylvania snow. He will miss the sledding and laughing and the many Christmas mornings. The whims of a three year old granddaughter playing tea party or dollhouse will escape him.
The books we read together and separately have only one half a discussion, since he is not here for me to dissect a novel with. His red jeep has long since been sold. The factory where he worked as a purchasing manager has recently closed due to the economy, and he wasn't there to say how sorry he was to the workers who lost their jobs.
My mother lost the love she counted on. She has suffered her own hand of cancer, and has lost herself amongst the chemo treatments and radiation. He missed it, I did it on my own. Do I resent him for not being here? Of course. Do I wish he had to go through it again with the woman he loved? No, never.
My father will miss me the most. He will miss the rhetoric of our life. He will miss the piano I played and practiced and played for him. He will miss his books. He will miss the yellow legal pads he wrote on. He will miss the classical music, he will miss the hamloaf I make every Christmas Eve and the Tom and Jerry hot toddie drinks I make during the holiday season.
My children will miss an ardent and staunch supporter of their endeavors. My boys will miss the knowledge he would have bestowed them, the intellect he would have graced them with. They will not truly understand the real meaning of sarcasm or wit. My boys will miss long and lazy fall afternoons sitting outside on the patio discussing football or books. They will miss really delicious chili and a pretty good roast chicken dinner prepared by him. My children will miss a man who could laugh so hard no noise would come out and his eyes would run with tears. They will miss a man who would never miss a ballgame or match, who would stand and applaud even if they struck out. They will never know a pride so fierce as his or a love as loyal.
I think in the end, my kids will have been the ones who lost the most. Because, after all, I got 22 years of laughter, yelling, tears, hugs, long evening discussions. I got to kick and jump into leaf piles that took him time to create, but he loved watching me destroy them.
They will look upon photos of man wearing tortoiseshell, round Harry Potter type glasses, having a beer or a cup of coffee. They ask questions, child's questions, and I answer them as best as I can. But the man was indescribable.
He was simply my father.

6 month downtime...is over.

I have not blogged for six mos. Bad, bad blogger!!

Actually, more like BUSY BUSY FREAKIN' BUSY MOTHER AND WIFE AND DAUGHTER AND FRIEND AND OMG IT'S SUMMER AND THERE ARE FOUR KIDS HERE WITH FRIENDS!!! NOW IT'S FOOTBALL SEASON AND THREE BOYS ARE PLAYING AND THEIR FATHER IS THE COACH!!

Done.



School has begun, three mos ago. School is wonderful and my children are all in a very happy place in their lives, which warms my heart and soul and watching them leave in the morning, while in exciting in it's own right, is truly breathtaking. The laughter pealing down the hill as they run and skip to the bus. The twins are making friends and maintaining relationships that I can say will hopefully last their lifetime. They are intelligent and charismatic and fun. My 10.5 twins are also complete fools, clumsy, and say the dumbest statements known to humankind. They are a complete and total contradiction in what the world sees them as and what I know of them to be. What a fun combo.

Six yr old boy is so happy this year. He has discovered his gift from God, which the ability to excel at athletics. The sporting arena has taken him from sitting in the back of the room, too nervous and hesitant about raising his hand to being a lively, open child. I praise God for bestowing this child His gifts, because they have already begun to open doors for him.

I have fallen in love again with my husband. We are on the upward climb of the roller coaster of marriage.

Blessed peace is in my heart and I love it.



I miss my father more than ever this fall, as I watched my sons play football on the local field, where my parents spent every Saturday afternoon watching kids older than me, then kids younger. How I wish he could have seen them, the two older boys playing on the defensive line and offensive line (it is part of my family legacy to have at least one lineman). How he would have loved watching the six yr old start out being slightly intimidated in a halfback position to excelling and running like the wind, or being tackled without fumbling the ball. My heart swells with pride.



Do people believe in legacies? What is my legacy to my children? Can I show them their gifts that God has so graciously given them?

I am writing in green to signify my love of spring and the end of winter. It is May, and tonight we have to cover plants in danger of freezing...so technically, is it spring?
Baseball is here. It must be spring.

I know I had a great topic tonight to write about but I have lost it. When one has four children, it is easy to lose a thought or two (or your whole brain) once and awhile.

I guess I could discuss baseball. It's all we do as a family at this point in time.
Twins sons are not athletes. They really don't even pretend to be, it's just we like them to get exercise and socialization. It's important in life to be a team player, to know how to recognize authority and respect not only your coach, but the older boys and players who actually make the games possible. That make winning possible.
My sons do nothing at all to make winning possible. But they are there, physically, at the field, cheering on and supporting their friends and fellow players. They strike out almost every time at bat. They miss balls when thrown at them. They miss plays at almost every base, which is why they usually end up in the outfield.
I couldn't be more proud of them.
My pride is based on the fact that even though my twins are not the best, and in all likelihood, the worst on the team, they still want to go and try. They are humiliated every single game. They are nervous and anxiously anticipating a good hit or even a walk, if God would grant them one. Every single game, they are ready and willing to go with their father and be humiliated in front of their friends.
This makes me very proud of them. They do not complain. They don't criticize other players (even though their mother openly criticizes and complains other parents). They admire their peers and they eat humble pie every night they have a game. It builds character and I appreciate the effort they put forth in just 'trying'.
The other thing with the twins playing baseball is this: younger brother is naturally athletically gifted. He just is. There is no other explanation other than those three words. God gave him a gift. This is a child who for almost an entire school year would not talk at school because of a severe speech impediment. This child hung onto his 'bff' for dear life because of his insecurity of other kids and adults not being able to understand him. He has been given the gift of coordination, aggression, and speed. He naturally hits and throws, he is so fast and can easily make it to base. He will sit and watch the older boys and yell and try to memorize plays and tricks. How to slide, how to steal. The younger boy has the gift of being an athlete.
And the twins will sit and watch their younger brothers game and cheer for him and be so proud of him. There is nothing better than sitting in a vehicle after a little league game and listening to two older boys, who really are not athletic, praise a younger brother, who normally is getting in trouble for 'touching their stuff' or 'getting in their way'....they are proud of him and he soaks it up like a sponge.

It is moments like this that I am glad I am a mother.

The love of a parent.

The love of a child.



Is this different or the same?



This post will be only part of the 'history lesson' I had planned. My own personal history lesson could go on for hours, days, weeks. To try to write every idiom or criteria that my parents' did to nuance my personality...well, it would be a never ending story.



I watch my children look at their father, with such adoration, usually. I appreciate this because I know, for a fact, that they also look at me like that, only less frequently. I am the disciplinarian, most of the time. Not because my husband is inadequate, but because I'm the one who is physically present when the bad behavior arises. We are not a couple who 'waits around' to 'discuss' discipline with one another. Husband and I have total trust in one another's parenting abilities...and of course, I frankly, am better at most of them.



Do my children love me the way I love them? Will they ever know to what lengths I would go for them?

This is my thought when I think of my now deceased father, who was, at best...in the glossary of proper parenting, a mediocre example of fatherhood.

My father was many, many things. He was born into a family of Scandinavian descent. As in, my grandfather sounded like the 'chef' from Seasame Street. My father was born to parents who didn't love another. They separated when 'divorce' was still taboo. A big 'no way'...my grandfather left my grandmother when my father was six years old. For a younger woman.

My grandmother then proceeded to not only drag out any divorce proceedings, into the seven yr rule...but went on to preach to her two children, my father and aunt, that THEY were probably the reason he left.

My father was born into a family of pride and money. After the ugliest divorce settlement in the history of our small town, my father was bounced between two worlds. Both sets volleyed for him, like he was a prize to be won.

He went to college. Made it through undergraduate college in three years, with honors. Was brillant.

He was made to decide, immediately, whether or not to go to law school. He entered graduate school and at that time the Vietnam War was in full swing. My father deliberately quits law school and enlists into the Marine Corps. For the next decade, he served his country.

He still doesn't know what to do.

He returns to 'small town americana'...try to settle down, find a wife, have a family. Begins working for my grandfather the family business, which was a lumberyard.

He finds a wife. He marries her. The two then get deployed to Germany.

My parents live in Germany. They are homesick and without a baby to occupy them. My father starts drinking.



The last sentence should be a red flag.



My father was a brilliant human being. He could read a book a day. He could do math problems that college professors would blush at. He could speak 4 languages. He had a capacity for love without compromise. He enjoyed old people, young people. He liked kids. Kids liked him.



He was also an alcoholic.

He was also an abuser.

I never justified him being either. I never got to feel the impact of his anger or frustration. That was all for my mother.

What do we as mothers do to encourage religion in our childrens' lives? Is it our duty, as parents, to encourage them to thinkly freely? Or is it our duty as parents to guide them into spiritual equality? Do we force them into the small box that may be our own religious beliefs? Do we show them a literal sense of the Bible?

This is my blog for today.
I grew up in a home where God was simply OK, neither great nor bad. My parents had no religioius background to speak of, at least not to speak of nicely. My father was, at best, an agnostic, one who doesn't believe but who doesn't neccessarily not believe either.
My parents bought a new home and we moved when I was thirteen. Our new neighbors, along with having three kids for me to babysit, were also the head of a local church. They asked my parents if I would like to accompany them to church and sunday school. I was allowed and so began my religious life.
It was a non-denominational congregation. Lots of music, practical sermons and general "fun" atmosphere. A good fit for me, who had nothing to go on. I went to church there for ten years, enjoying learning. It was a great stepping stone to what would become a lifetime of questions.
That family opened my eyes to what "family" in church meant. Dad was pastor. Mom was teacher.

When I started dating in high school, I met and fell in love with a young man who had an extensive religious background. Only, it was a much more charismatic type of belief. I had a huge obstacle in front of me, since he was constantly trying to make me a "better" person. He had to "save" me from myself and my "sinning" parents.
Well, if my parents were sinners, were they going to hell? Aren't we all sinners of some type?

When I met my husband, I knew he was Catholic. I knew I had a huge hill to climb with this religion. When we got engaged, it was truly expected that I convert to Catholicism. I did so, not so much with joy in my heart, but with curiousity. I enjoy learning. I really enjoyed taking the classes and learning what my future husband already knew. Most Catholics are there bc their parents were. Going in as an adult, and with an open mind helped me to recognize that religion itself is an education. This is what I struggle with as a mother to four Catholic children.

I do not pretend to know what God wants from any of us. I know He made free will. I know He forgives. I think He would always want us, as disciples or followers, to educate ourselves and our children.
I hope my children know that God loves them. In loving my children, I feel closer to God, b/c I can imagine how much he loved his only son. I hope to educate my children to feel the presence of God in their lives. My husband and I are raising our children in the Catholic church, not because it's easy (although it is) but because we feel it will be a solid stepping stone for them to continue to learn his/her own personal faith. It's a journey. It's a personal journey. I never let anyone dictate my beliefs, I do not intend to dictate to my children what they should/shouldn't believe. They need to know God loves them. There are so many ways to show love back to Him, they will find their own path later in life.

Today is Sunday. We've been to church.

March...um...25?
OK, that works for me.
Been sick for days...pneumonia. Pink eye. ETC. One thing I've learned: the nurse (aka Mother) who takes care of the sick children is not allowed to be sick. EVER. So, this nurse has nursed the sick children of her home since March 4.
21 days o' fun. Little sleep. Much coughing, washing, vomiting, ETC.

So, while children are all seemingly better, I fade. The answer??? Make friends with your family doctor and drink wine.
ALL BETTER!

OK. Now to write. What shall it be tonight? I've covered pottying. Hmmm...
I know!
My poor cousin has had a baby and she is sad. She doesn't feel well. Too many visitors. Baby doesn't sleep. Too bloody. Too sore. Too tired.
This is all part of the process that people DO NOT tell you when starting to think of having a family. I should say "having a baby" because once the first comes, most people do a lot of hardcore thinking before making a "family"...as in, more than one child.
I had little experience with children growing up. I, being an only child, had (THE FREAKIN BEST LIFE EVER) little involvement, other than occasional babysitting.
I always felt maternal, very maternal in fact. I never doubted in any form that I would marry and have a child. I liked other people's kids, in general.
So, I marry. My husband had one little neice, who was just born when we started dating. She was not even two when we married. I adored her. She lived four states away and we saw them infrequently. I just loved the heck out of her. She was good. She was cute. She wasn't mine.
I wanted her.
So, I marry. Unbelievable as it seems, I get pregnant five weeks later. Not planned. At all. OK, here we go. First nine weeks go by fairly quickly...we make the big announcement at Thanksgiving. "WE'RE PREGNANT!!!"...
On December 23, 1998 (yes, this is how clear the event was) my husband and I go into our first ultrasound experience. I was about 11-12 weeks pregnant. I was not even showing yet, maybe had gained 4-5 lbs. Still wearing amazing jeans and high heeled boots.
We go into a little dark room, and they prepare to do what is called a "transvaginal" (fun, right?) ultrasound. We do it. I lay there and the tech had the screen facing her, away from us. She studied it for a long, long time. Husband and I hold hands, waiting for her to say, "here is a heartbeat" or "see this blob?". So, while we hold hands waiting for the magical moment she turns the screen and says "there are two, you're having twins". Magic moment over.
HUH? I can remember feeling how sweaty our palms got holding on the other hand. I know my heart rate exploded, because I could feel it pounding.
Twins?
I don't know anything about kids. Husband knows less. Twins?
We go home and make a big announcement on Christmas "WE'RE HAVING TWINS!!"
Ten more weeks go by. I am tired, or so I think. I'm starting to round out a little.
20 week ultrasound. "Please have one girl"....is resounding in my head.
Two boys.
I don't speak for two days. I am disappointed. Isn't that terrible?? I'm awful, but at least I'm honest. Two boys? Gross.
Here we go. Twenty more weeks go by. Yes, I'm accurate, I carried them full term in the middle of summer. I am probably the ONLY woman ever to carry twins full term in July. I didn't want them to come out!
Labor: is a whole other story. Fast, hard, done.
I resented those babies before they were even born. That's the first time I've EVER admitted that. I am not sad about it. I wasn't ready to be a mother first of all, let alone to TWO BOYS.
So, we bring them home, it's not like we could leave them at the hospital, although in the weeks and months to follow, I'm sure it would have been easier.
Welcome to hell. Newborn twins are not a dream come true.
No one tells you that:
you bleed for weeks and weeks and weeks
your breasts are foreign bodies, used only for food
your stomach is like a deflated helium balloon, and you can't even use it for fun voices
your hair falls out
Plus, guess what??? Babies cry. Like, a lot. And I even had a colic baby. One good, one colic.
People were dropping into our home constantly...people I hadn't seen in years! Like we were a side show from a circus.
We were. Or rather, I was.
Acceptance is key here, I know this because I've gone on to have two additional kids and really come to like it.
A new mother needs to accept the following:
Labor is not fun. But it is one day. One really, really sucky day.
Babies are not fun. They also suck, literally and figuratively.
Bellybutton care is not for wimps. It is gross and hard to work around.
Nurses do not like you if you are pretty and/or have a good looking husband.
Stomachs do return to post pregger look. I know this because I do at least 300 crunches a day.
Hormones are NOT A MYTH.
MIL are not like your mom; and no matter what anyone says, in those first days after a new baby (or two) all you want is your mom.
IMPORTANT: there is NO SLEEP. EVER.
Husbands really want to help, but do not know how...by the time the fourth comes, mine screws up jobs on purpose so I don't ask him again.
Vaginas are awesome. It will return to it's original state.

These are not even all of the things I didn't know BUT NOW DO.
I will return for more on having a new baby.

Remember I said I thought 'wine' was part of my recuperation?? It is, was, and now I'm barely keeping eyes open!!

Thanks for reading, anyone.
I will return for more at a later time..

Today I am blogging about something near and dear to me. Potty training. Or the myth of potty training, and believe me, it is a myth.

I have a two yr old daughter. Wonderful, bright, energy filled child. She occasionally goes on the toilet, for fun. She is far too busy in her world of baby dolls, Dora, coloring, cooking at her play kitchen to take the time to go in a go potty. Like I said, she goes in the bathroom for FUN. As in, let's-take-off-my-clothes-and-run-around-nudie fun.


My MIL feels as though she should be going to the bathroom on a regular basis, fully and completely potty trained. I mean, she single handedly potty trained her three children by the age of 6 weeks!! No, seriously, she pottied her children by or around age 2.
Twenty/thirty years ago, babies and toddlers were wearing cloth diapers (gag)....if I were a baby, I would potty train myself!! It is no wonder we, as toddlers, were going to the toilet by age 2! Yuck.
Now, astounding as this may be to my MIL (she forgets incidentals) I have actually potty trained three little boys prior to my fourth installment. And there are some things I learned...I will grace the world with my knowledge.

First of all, I am not in charge of his/her poop or pee. At all. My kids can all fart on command, but defecate?? I don't think so. I have not been able to command the attention of my childrens' colons at all. If I was in charge, one would think I would command my son to poop before heading to the supermarket. "No, no, no...I don't have to go" or "Mom, I'm fine, I totally pooped this morning." GREAT.
So, while in the supermarket at least one, if not all, sons always have to take a dump while I'm looking for creamer or milk. This is not a joke. And, usually if one son has to go, the other two will follow suit.
Point being: if I was actually in charge of the fecal matter, wouldn't I encourage them to go before leaving the house? Of course I would. I am not in charge of this.
Secondly, it is hard to travel when potty training. Like downtown. Or to the pool. Or for a walk. It's so so so much easier to throw on a diaper than to stop or ask every 26 seconds if he/she has to go to the bathroom. We have three sons in little league this year. I personally, do not plan on spending a lot of time in the "port-a-potty" with the two yr old. I plan on watching my sons' play baseball and chatting with bffs.
Also, the toddler at large who is/isn't potty training has to be able to give a 45 second warning. "Have to go potty!!!" while actually urine is running down leg doesn't count!

I have a real problem with mothers who are in a big hurry to potty train. In such a hurry that they put little cute undies on their kids, and go on to pack 4-5 outfits along the way. Because toddler will go wee in underpants and soak through clothes. Well, no kidding!
"My child is potty trained!!"...smug mother smiles and nods.
Ugh, no. That's called shitting your pants. Wiser and meaner mothers (me and bffs) know this.

When you have as many kids as I do, you try to make less work, not more.

Potty training is basically something that toddler 'decides' it is time for. Albeit, it should be before age 5...toddlers are usually prime for going to bathroom at or around age 3, in my experience. They can communicate their needs more effectively, clearly. They know the 'feeling' of an exploding bladder or an uncomfortable colon!

MIL. (sigh) God bless her. If she would like to come to my home and potty train any of my kids, she can feel free to do so. I have laundry to do. Groceries to buy. Dinners to prepare. Playdates to play. Bills to pay. Floors to mop. Dust to dust. Exercise to do. Showers to take. Clothes to fold. I don't plan on sitting in bathroom on floor waiting for two yr old to take a one second pee, fourteen minutes to play and pretend to wipe with the toilet paper that has now been totally unwound....seriously?

Not going to happen today.

The Start: Today is March something

Today is the day!! I'm starting to blog. I need a creative outlet for myself and this is apparently going to be it.
My friends will be thrilled, as all of them want me to write a book. Which I would love to do if I didn't have four children who are in a rotation of illness.
I dedicate this blog to:
MYSELF because I have earned this time to "use my words".
MY CHILDREN because without them I would have nothing to blog about.
MY HUSBAND because along with being a saint he is also an idiot.
MY FRIENDS because they make me sane and accept the insaneness.

So, here we go. Wish me luck.

I could start with a history lesson. It would be helpful in understanding why I do the things I do. But, I am not sure I have time and/or patience for a history lesson. It's complicated, as I am. For those of you who know me, and I doubt many others who do not will ever read this post, you know what and who you are dealing with! I think I will opt out of the history lesson. We'll just muddle through together!
Today started with the coughing. COUGHING. Lots and lots of coughing. I hate coughing. I'm not speaking of my own personal coughing, I'm speaking of one of my nine year old twin's constant and pained coughing. He has had an asthma flare up. I am making a mountain out of a molehill here, I think, because many millions of children and people are afflicted with asthma and have problematic coughing episodes. But those people are not my child. And he suffers and suffers and coughs and I'm just wiped out!
Some people speak of hearing "something go boo" in the night...that instills fear in them. Nothing instills fear more in me than hearing a child cough in the night. It is the single worst sound I know. Makes me break out in a cold sweat.
At any rate, I am on no sleep for multiple nights now. I will survive! Get up other twin and six year old, feed, brush, out the door they go to school. Two year old daughter now up. Have to be at hospital for chest film in approx. 20 minutes. No time for shower!! Asthma twin dressed!! Two year old dressed!! I am dressed!! Out the door we go.
Chest film. McDonald's. Grocery store. Home. Lunch. Two year old up for nap. Folded two loads of laundry. Emptied dishwasher, reloaded. Asthma twin resting while watching movie. Here I sit, blogging. New for me. Could prove interesting.
Groceries are still in car, didn't want two yr old to see certain things and want to open and make mess with fruit roll ups I buy for lunch boxes. Better go attend to that. Actually forgot until just this minute.
OK. Back. Obviously, this blogging will take me awhile.
Talked quickly to two bff's on phone while folding laundry and taking care of dishes. Our husbands think we spend WAYYYYY too much time on phone, but don't realize that we are actually multitasking. I never just SIT down on couch to talk on phone.
Should be working out on elliptical. "Operation Major Weight Loss" has momentarily halted, due to sheer exhaustion and new love of blogging. I'm not fat. At all. I just have all these amazing clothes that are exactly one size too small to wear. I will not buy new clothes when I have beautiful clothes already.
I feel as though this blog will be more of a diary and vent post for me than anything interesting to anyone else, except perhaps my friends who are in hopes of my life turning into a made for tv movie, something everyone everywhere can laugh at.
Interesting fact: all marriages go through the "two week funk"....my bff1 and I were just discussing this. My marriage, in fact, just went through it! And I have a great marriage. Truly great. He is very kind and a wonderful father. Very handsome even though totally bald (although some women find that awesome)...great job, hard worker. Provider. Key word here, people! Provider. I can define that myself.
"Provider: a man who works 40-50 hours a week, graciously lets his wife stay home all day and do not very much other than an occasional load o' laundry, and sometimes cooks."
Or:
"Provider: a man who busts his breaking back every day, comes home to a hot meal on the table with four well behaved children and a supermodel wife."
Or:
"Provider: a man who has a job. His wife gets unexpectedly preggers five minutes after wedding. She stays home to raise family, which keeps growing, as does her work. He goes out the door every day, comes home with a smile, eats, lays on the couch and kids jump on his head while wife looks at mess from dinner, which no one actually ate or said 'thank you' for. He heads to garage to tinker on snowmobile, while wife struggles with nine yr old twins homework, six yr old's tired outburst, and two yr old's poop. He comes back in as everyone is finishing bath, getting on pj's. Reads two yr old a book. Gives kisses. Walks downstairs, out the door and back to garage to snowmobile, truck, woodpile, or something else of utmost importance. Wife walks up and down stairs approx 14 times trying to get everyone in bed, with drink, cough, medicine, wardrobe for school, bathroom, don't forget to brush teeth....etc. Wife comes downstairs, finishes kitchen, starts laundry, packs lunches for tomorrow, checks schedule. Folds laundry, picks up family room. Sits down with glass of wine to watch Friday Night Lights on NBC. Provider comes in, says it's time for bed, goes upstairs and waits for wife to come up for sex." PROVIDER.
I love my husband. I do. But the past two weeks have just plain sucked. He is so stubborn. Why, oh why do I get no credit for anything? It's fine. It really is. I decided a long time ago to just be happy, to just make myself happy. I have a great life. I love my kids. I love my husband. My dog is ok. My mother lives with us but that is a WHOLE different part of my story.
So, two weeks of funky, no communication. We have nitpicked one another every day for 14 days, for no reason other than we just felt like it.
Two nights ago: asthma twin is upstairs coughing. I'm worried. Husband says "if you had taken him to the doctor last week none of this would be happening." Are you kidding me? He is always complaining that I spend TOO MUCH TIME in the doctors office. So, that set me right off. Ten minutes later, I open his cell phone to find a picture of a nude woman, from the waist up. I'm sorry, again, are you kidding me???? So, I completely blow my cool. Not only have you been rude and snippy at me for two weeks, you make me feel guilty about asthma twin, and now you have porn on your phone. Not acceptable. So, I yell and cry and flip out. Picture was a joke message from one of his less desirable friends. Why is it still on your phone? Because he didn't erase it yet. Why? No answer. I do not have time for this! I have asthma twin hacking and not breathing, and a two yr old crying for some "rocky" in her rocking chair.
Two days followed of extremely tense relations. One bouquet of flowers went flying out the back door, still in the tissue paper wrapping.
Last night, asthma twin has sinkable episode in shower. I'm alone as provider has very important baseball mtg to attend. I call him. He's home in 4 minutes to help and rescue.
Two week funk over.
But he is so not getting laid in the near future.