Tag Archives: husband


12 Aug

Our firstborn, our manchild doesn’t really qualify to be present in my blog, as he has entered his twenties. However, he has moved back home (already!) and does not earn an independent living, or specifically contribute to the maintenance of our household, which would make him one of us. Therefore, he is, by default, one of them, and so bears the honorary title of teenager. (Defined in this blog as n: someone who knows everything, as opposed to parents, who know nothing.)

The thing that keeps coming to my mind about life in general is that it is what it is, except when it’s more of what it is. I just made that up, but it’s true. That baby came out of my womb and acted a certain way, almost from the very first little actions he made. Twenty-plus years later, he is still doing the same things. It’s just not very cute any more.

Let me further illustrate my point. I ran across a photo not too long ago on a mommyblog (why do I still read these? I’m knowingly just torturing myself.) anyway, a mom had posted a photo of her adorable little cherub lining up a set of play tools she had just given him. It was a cute little vintage set, and there they were all lined up exactly right, and there he was in his little tiny madras shorts and little blue polo shirt with the little blue sandals. Just like my son so many years ago. She had written a little blurb to him to accompany the photo about how adorable he was that he was such a little perfectionist, and how he was always lining things up and it was such a cute little habit, and he only liked to wear matching clothes…blah, blah, blah…and I wanted to jump through the screen and shake her and say “Get him to the nearest counselor NOW! He is already dealing with perfectionist issues and mentally taking notes about the myriad ways he doesn’t measure up! By the time he hits high school he is going to be on Prozac just to get through his nightly homework!”

I look back on all those little quirks, and I just shake my head. How could I have been so blind? Why did I not see that when he was stacking his blocks and threw a fit because he couldn’t get them to line up just so, that it was a symptom of a problem that wasn’t going to go away with a few well-placed “Good job, Buddy!’ ‘s If I could go back and do it again, I don’t think I would be quite so free with the mindless praise. I did think he was amazing, and I was proud of him for every little accomplishment, but the thing I missed, or at least didn’t fully comprehend, was that he didn’t. Totally missed the boat on that one.



12 Aug

So much of what I am about anymore is conflict: creating it, avoiding it, minimizing it. Sick of it.

Today’s conflict is brought to you by the husband, and child#2, a female.


those of you with one of each are already saying to yourselves:

‘Major conflict.’

But I will digress right here and say that this relationship is a fairly stable one in our household. She has him wrapped around her pinky, and he is perfectly happy with that arrangement. The conflict enters when he realizes that he has not been paying very good attention to the butter on his bread, and decides to interject on my behalf in the perpetual conflict that seems to be my state with said female.

Onto today’s storyline:

He is out of town, but calls regularly to check in and see if I am dead yet coping. I love that he does this, and today I really needed to hear from him, because lots of crap is kinda coming down all at once on us these days, and we manage it better together. He could tell immediately that something was wrong, and asked what was up. I tried to refrain from giving him the dirty details, because he is at work, and after all, I am a perfectly competent adult. So he asked again, and reminded me that he might just worry himself into  a stroke if I didn’t spill the beans because he can create stress like no other. He’s really good at it. Knowing this, I dive right in.

This little boy rang the doorbell today, and started in with some story about how he was riding his bike, and the chain fell off, and he tried to stop his bike but he couldn’t and he ran into the little car that is parked right over there and broke its’s ear off, (yes, he said ‘ear’–too cute.) and was it ours, and he was really sorry. I looked, and sure enough, girlchild’s car had a mirror dangling from it’s door. I told him not to worry, it was a piece of junk anyway, to which he solemnly nodded in agreement, and then I asked him if he was OK. He said yes, he was just fine, and I thanked him for his integrity and he said you’re welcome, so I told him “Have fun! Thanks again! Be a good boy!” to which he grinned and biked on out of the driveway. I then tried to tell girlchild the recently transpired events, and she rolled her eyes and made some snide remark about being white-trash enough without a missing mirror.

My husband listened until I finished the story, admired the little boys integrity and then asked what the problem was. When I reminded him that this was girlchild’s car we were talking about, he told me (that which I already knew) that she didn’t like the car anyway, and she better have a decent attitude because having a car was a privilege, not a right, and did I want him to call her and chew her out? I said no, I really had just wanted to vent because I was tired of her crappy attitude, and thanks for listening, love you, talk to you later.

I hang up, and 5 seconds later I hear girlchild’s phone ring. Then I hear keening and sobbing and cries of ‘white-trash’ coming from her bedroom…and finally silence. I then get a text from husband along the lines of “well, I told her.” And since then I’ve gotten nothing but the icy stare-down.

*sigh* What did I do?