It's Monday and I'm blogging.
Amazing, isn't it?
I usually clean pretty well on Monday, but I figured, hey, the mess doesn't bother the kids and I could learn to live with it for a week since the one person I keep the house clean for won't be here all week.
Yes, that's right. The husband will be gone all week.
That poor, poor man. His job. It does suck. His boss. He does hate him. His hours. They are long.
But he's not going on a business trip. Oh no.
He's going to Colorado skiing with a friend.
Because, how did he put it? He'd go cccrrraaazzzyy if he didn't get away from here.
And by here he meant HERE. Our house. Our family.
You know, because we drive him so fricking crazy for those twenty or thirty minutes he actually sees any of us in a day.
He deserves it, really, because he works so hard to make money so that WE can live in a nice home in a nice neighborhood and eat. Oh. My. Gawd. The nerve of us to do all the eating that we do. And we play, play, play all day. There is much laughing and happiness, why shoot, our every day is nothing but lazy, delightful vacation days because what I do cannot be considered work. NO. How so very lucky I am to watch television and go shopping every day! I am living the life of Riley. Oh, yes I am.
That's two vacations in two months, you know, if you're keeping track.
And that's seven vacations to my zero. Oh, but I forget. My whole life is a vacation.
I totally get that my husband hates his job and wants some time away. Boy, do I get that. I want him to have that time away, really, because he does deserve it because he does work in a crappy job he hates to keep a roof over our heads. I am not, though, understanding why he cannot eat dinner with us, like, ever, because his schedule is so full, but he can suddenly take a weeks vacation. Twice. And how, also, his friend's pregnant wife is going with them, gonna just hang out and rest while they ski, but I wasn't even invited. Sure, I don't ski, but damn, I sure can rest.
I did not complain when he forgot to arrange my fortieth birthday party.
I did not complain when he bought items for the house for MY birthday.
I did not complain when he did not buy me a Christmas gift.
I did not complain when he did not even acknowledge Valentine's Day.
I did not even complain when he told me he was going on this ski trip.
But I am complaining about not getting the respect I deserve from him.
I blame his mother.
She was not stable and in the end didn't even raise him. He had no role model to show him what a mother does. His dad raised him alone and worked two jobs to do so. He was never around. The husband became a latch-key kid at nine and while that made him a complete whiz at laundry and sandwich making, it did not show him how a dad actually deals with his children. For this, I am sad for him.
As I have gained more tenure in my mothering career, I have gotten better at it. I know I am a better mother than my MIL. I can deal with my three kids more easily than I dealt with my one kid. It took some time but I have learned not to sweat the small stuff. Kids make messes. They act strange in public. They need their butts wiped. Not my idea of a vacation, but I can deal with it. I like it even. Yes, it's my life, but it's also my job. I work at it. It's not sugar and candy every day. I'd like a vacation from it also. It's hard to work 24/7/365 and get no respect. Or a break. Or a little help.
The husband should get that.
And for that, I am complaining.
Day One Hundred Eighty-Six
23 hours ago