It really is my favorite day of the week. My day off, the husband takes the kids to school, and I don't usually have any errands to run aside from fetching the school boys at noon and three. I am currently watching some strange new show on Nick Jr. with Elizabeth in our pajamas. Did I mention we slept until 10? Love me some Monday.
I am also so very relieved Sunday is over for another week. The husband came home from church and locked himself into his study until 5:30 when he went next door to be wonderful to the neighbors at their annual Super Bowl party. He even gave them my great-grandmother's serving bowl because he's so nice to others like that. Can we say passive-aggressive?
Jana hit the nail on the head when she suggested he's just a little pissed off every Sunday because he is not a part of the perfect family. It's sad, really, because in comparison to many, we have a pretty decent life. Our kids are extremely healthy, we live in a nice home in an even nicer neighborhood, and we can
Anyway, my husband would love to have the perfect life. I think it's something he's wanted all his life because goodness knows his childhood life was not even close. His mother is mentally ill. It won't matter how many medications she takes or even if she takes them religiously, she will always have problems. She will never be able to hold a job, drive a car, or make a complex decision. She hasn't been able to do that since Derick was a toddler. She's different. And weird. And it's very noticable. His dad has different issues that I have sworn never to divulge in this blog. We don't even talk about it, it's that distressing to him. I am sure it was all pretty embarrassing to the teenage husband. I'm thinking this is when his imaginary perfect life began.
So many people we meet tell me how great my husband is, because, well, to them he is. He's helpful to the neighbors, he can carry a great conversation, he plays with children, and he really would offer them the shirt off his back. Or, even my great-grandmother's serving bowl. I just smile and nod and resist the urge to tell them, yeah, he CAN be a super guy. We'd LOVE to see more of that ourselves but I think by the time he gets home and done putting on his perfection front, it's too exhausting to keep it up. Just a guess.
Today is Monday. My husband left a cup of coffee for me and made sure the boys were quiet enough so that the girl and I could sleep in. I saw him for just a bit and he told me to have a good day. Sunday is over. His demons are gone. Today.
I wonder often if he is in the beginning of his own mental illness. Maybe he's struggling with is own inner demons. Maybe he works too much. Maybe he wasn't taught how to be real with people, I mean who was there to teach him? Maybe he's just an ass.
Hopefully 2011 will bring us both some answers.