Wednesday, April 28, 2010


My husband believes in fairies. Really, it's true. There isn't any other explanation.

He's been stuck in an annoying phase for some time now, and it's past the point of grating on my nerves. It's not really anything new, this phase of his. But for whatever reason, it goes through peaks and valleys of annoyance. Right now, he'd better be nearing the peak. Because I've about had enough.

I love my husband. But there are times that I want to kick him in the teeth too. Like recently, at least since he's been climbing towards the peak of most recent annoyance.

He has a job. One that requires him to be away from home a lot. Up until a few weeks ago, he was gone almost constantly. Tax season. Ah, the joys of living with someone in the public accounting field. I cut him some slack during tax season. He isn't here hardly at all, I have to do literally everything. Literally. It's funny to me that people on the outside of the industry always express sympathy for him, and how hard it must be for him to work all those long hours. Interesting. It doesn't occur to most people that all that extra time he is gone means that I have to do everything he should be doing at home on top of everything else I already have to do.

But tax season is over. I'd like a break, please.

That just doesn't happen though. Because now that tax season is over, he joined a tennis league. He needs to go practice or play games or hit the gym on the way home from work. I can just go to the gym anytime, he thinks. Well, anytime that all the kids are healthy, don't need picked up or dropped off from anywhere and are willing participants in the daycare room. Those three things hardly ever happen. But in his eyes, they do. His eyes need checked.

I have gift certificates for massages and pedicures that are unused. Because I can't make an appointment for anything I need to do and keep it. Something more important for him inevitably comes up. I've needed a haircut for a while now. The last two times I got my hair cut, I took the kids with me. He goes alone every time he needs his done, why can't I? I literally never, ever have time to myself.

Yes, he works. And he works hard. I'm not contesting that. But his day is easier than mine is on most days, I guarantee it. And, honestly, I just want him to recognize that. His day involves going to the bathroom alone. Eating his own lunch without having to feed someone else. He isn't in constant negotiations with whining preschoolers and chasing a twenty pound wrecking ball.

Instead of recognizing it, he mocks it. Tells me that I have no room to complain about all the things I have to do, much of which is cleaning up after him, a perfectly capable adult, because I don't have a job. This is my job.

I don't have an issue with being a stay at home mom. Really, I made my peace with it a while ago. I have to admit being a little envious of the friends I have that have managed to perfectly balance work with home, who developed home based work environments in the fields they are trained in. I never had the chance to do that. My kids came sooner than planned. Part of me wishes that I could be like them. But a bigger part of me stopped asking what if a long time ago. There isn't much benefit to wondering what if.

What bothers me, angers me even, is the fact that my husband seems to have little appreciation for all the things I do around here. He acts like my contributions to our family are meaningless because I don't get a paycheck at the end of the week.

He couldn't do what I do. He wouldn't last a week.

I've had "real" jobs. They are far easier than what I am doing now. Far easier.

I've tried to force my husband to believe that fairies don't exist. But in his world, they do. I've tried. I let the laundry go for an entire week once, just to show him that it matters. I have gone on kitchen strike before too, refusing to do the 2-3 loads of dishes we generate a day. He doesn't care. He won't do it. It's like he doesn't see it. Eventually I give up the game, because it all drives me crazy long before he notices.

He really and truly believes, I think, that the stuff just magically gets done. That someone cleans the house, picks up his shoes, buys his deodorant, fills the fridge with food. Cause it can't be me. I don't have a job.

He'd better be near that peak and on the way down. I've had it.

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