Initial titles for this blog were Pissed Off and Deep Case of The Shits, but I decided my subscribers might not like receiving those message titles in their in-boxes. So I’ve downgraded it to Anger Management (after flirting with a piss-weak Really, Really Cross), which barely scratches the surface of how cranky I am.
I vented my fury this morning on a nervous, silent Sprog 2, treating her to a big, long rant along the lines of: “How would you like it if you had to spend the whole day tidying up the house? Because that’s what Mummy is going to spend all day doing … AND IT’S JUST NOT FAIR … sniffle …”
Speaking of messages in my in-box, Lorna Jayne sent me one this week called “What makes you HAPPY”. Lorna seems to think her sale will make me happy, but she’s wrong. Here’s what would really make me happy:
* A child who remembers her own fricking keyboard for keyboard lessons, so I don’t have to drive home after school drop-off and get it.
* A child who notices her school clothes are covered in food and changes them before I belatedly realising the disaster at school drop-off. Fortunately I was already going home for the keyboard so I could grab a clean skirt while I was at it.
* Children who don’t put all their dirty clothes back in the cupboard when I make them tidy their rooms, so I don’t know they need to be washed. Those undies are RANK.
* A toilet that’s not constantly brimming with old, smelly, yellow urine. (How many times do I have to ask? How bloody hard is it to FLUSH?)
* A husband who stops accepting non-paying additional-to-his-job roles that mean he’s too tired to do anything other than watch tellie when he gets home at night (My god I HATE cooking dinner AND washing up AND tidying up the fricking house every damn day.)
* A house that doesn’t constantly look like a hurricane has ripped through it. Mrs Woog reckons this is what relaxing and lowering your standards looks like … pffft, that’s what my house looks like “tidy” … If you really want to know what lowering your standards looks like Mrs Woog, see examples A, B and C, below …
And, just for the record, it doesn’t make me feel more relaxed living this way. It makes me feel like a slattern.
But what weighs heaviest on me is the sense it’s my responsibility because I don’t have a job. Cooking, cleaning and hustling the kids around are my occupation … when I’m not blogging. As much as I resent Husband for coming home at 8pm every night and parking himself on the couch (after reading the Sprogs a chapter of Deltora Quest, I must admit) with his microwaved dinner, ignoring the dirty dishes in the sink, then waking the next morning, getting himself – and just himself – ready for work and
escaping leaving at 8am, is it really fair to expect him to work insanely long hours then tackle household duties as well?
I don’t think so.
But what happens when/if I get a job?
Hell in a hand basket.
In the meantime, Husband has promised to organise a three-day conference to discuss all my grievances/fears/simmering resentments … as soon as the non-paying-sacrificing-two-days-of-his-holidays-plus-one-day-of-his-weekend three-day conference he’s attending this week is over.
Hurrah. No exclamation mark.