Saturday: AKA, The Day My Husband Nearly Got Himself Castrated.

WARNING:  The following post is brought to you by a raging case of PMS and is rated PG13 for animal cruelty, language and violent imagery.  And it’s crazy long.  Sorry.

This past Saturday night we had our best friends over for dinner.  The big kids were playing upstairs, The Beast was in the living room watching Dora, and we were sitting at the kitchen bar enjoying some adult beverages when the topic of golf came up.

Now, I’m not going to bore you with the details of our conversation, because even if you’re only as smart as a Kardashian, you should be able to figure out that the general opinions about golf were divided down the gender lines.

I try to be as tolerant as possible about Virginia Slims Man’s love of golf.  However, as the stay-at-home mom of a toddler who may end up being peripherally or directly involved with the actual Apocalypse, you can probably imagine that I’d prefer that Virginia Slims Man not golf every weekend, or even every other weekend for that matter.

After some discussion, I started to make this genuinely sincere comment to Virginia Slims Man: “Honey, I know you work hard during the week and you deserve time to enjoy golf…”

Now, before I tell you what he cut me off to say, I feel like I need to mention that normally Virginia Slims Man is a really good guy.  Everyone in my family and all of our friends adore him.  He’s incredibly patient and will do nearly anything to make me happy.  And I am a raging bitch most of the time, not to mention borderline insane, so he really does put up with a lot.

But for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand, he cut me off and said, with all the snark in the world, “Yeah, like you work so hard all day taking care of The Beast.”

Sweet Mary Steenburgen, what malevolent spirit has possessed this man who is normally a saint?  Surely, a man who was hoping to play golf the very next day didn’t just suggest that taking care of a child whose nickname is The Beast isn’t a job?

I briefly thought that since I can be rather sarcastic, maybe he didn’t realize that I was being sincere.  But everyone else in the room could tell I was being sincere, so I can only assume that his brain was out of order and his thoughts and verbal processes were temporarily being rerouted through his ass.

I could feel my blood start to rise into my face.  Our friends looked at him with sadness.

To my credit, I was standing right next to the knife drawer when he made this comment and I did not reach into the drawer, take out a knife, cut off his testicles and shove them down his gullet.  And every one of my family members will tell you that in itself was a miracle.

So since I held my tongue and acted all mature-like, and to show Ginny Slims (that’s what I’m going to call him when he ticks me off) that I do actually work, I thought I’d share a little bit about my day, lest I be accused of sitting around eating Bon Bons all day.

MY DAY:

  1. Wake up at 5:00 when my alarm clock goes off.  [In theory, I’m going to go run on the treadmill before everyone wakes up.]
  2. Walk to the bathroom where I keep my alarm, shut off the alarm, go back to bed and wake up at 6:15 because my damn dog who refuses to combust barks to be let out.
  3. 6:30, The Beast wakes up.  I go to his door and he screams at me that he wants Daddy to get him out of bed.  I tell him that Daddy is still sleeping and he can either go back to bed or get up and be with me.  He gets up.
  4. Pour The Beast cereal for breakfast.
  5. Clean up The Beast’s cereal that he has decided to dump on the counter because that’s way more fun.
  6. 6:45, wake The Good One up for school.
  7. Break a glass bowl while getting a bowl out of the cabinet for The Good One.
  8. Scream at The Beast to stay out of the kitchen.
  9. Clean up glass shards.
  10. Feed The Good One.
  11. Remind The Good One to get all of his stuff together for school.
  12. Clean up The Good One’s dishes.
  13. Pack a lunch for The Good One.
  14. Load the dishwasher.
  15. Tell The Beast that he cannot have a T.V. show.
  16. Tell The Beast that he cannot have a T.V. show.
  17. Tell The Beast that he cannot have a T.V. show.  [He’s a quick learner.]
  18. 7:35, say goodbye to Virginia Slims Man and The Good One.
  19. Change The Beast’s dirty diaper.  Get him dressed.
  20. Attempt to drink a cup of coffee and check my e-mail, but The Beast sees that I’m on the computer and screams for me to play with him.  I put on a show for him.
  21. Yell at The Beast for hitting my computer.
  22. Feel the urge to pee.  Because The Beast cannot be left alone, I have to take him with me.  Try to pee quickly so that The Beast doesn’t have time to destroy my bathroom.  [As I type this, there is a bowl of cereal in my bathtub that The Beast poured in there yesterday because I peed too long.  Still haven’t cleaned it up.]
  23. Pack snacks, iPod, milk, water and treats to occupy The Beast so that I can run while pushing him in the jogging stroller.
  24. Get back from run and put a load of laundry in the wash.
  25. Fold the load of laundry that was in the dryer.
  26. Realize that The Beast is being too quiet and find him standing on top of his sink in cowboy boots playing with the light switch.
  27. Make him get down, lock him out of his room.
  28. Refold the load of laundry that The Beast has now dumped because he wants the laundry basket.
  29. Put away load of laundry.
  30. Push The Beast around the kitchen in the laundry basket.
  31. Make lunch for The Beast.
  32. Yell at The Beast for using his fingers to fingerpaint the chair with his applesauce.
  33. Clean up the applesauce.
  34. Change The Beast’s shirt because he refuses to eat in a shirt that has applesauce all over it and I’m too frustrated to argue with him anymore.
  35. Yell at The Beast for shoving an entire peanut butter sandwich in his mouth.
  36. Bang on The Beast’s back to dislodge the sandwich from his trachea.
  37. Remove sandwich from The Beast’s mouth and pray that his gag reflex has not been stimulated.  [2 out of 5 times I’m cleaning up vomit.]
  38. Give The Beast a hug and tell him I love him.
  39. The Beast hugs me back and says, “Best friends.”  [I think I might be letting him watch too much Dora.]
  40. Chase The Beast into the bedroom so I can change his dirty diaper again.
  41. Put clean clothes on The Beast.
  42. Play trains and cars with The Beast.
  43. Tell The Beast it’s nap time and start cleaning up the toys, all the while saying, “Beast, if you don’t help me clean up, you don’t get books.”  He throws the last three Hot Wheels into the bin.
  44. Carry The Beast, screaming, into his bedroom.
  45. Read books, sing songs, put The Beast down for his nap.
  46. Pee a slow, blissful pee knowing that The Beast will not use the opportunity to strangle himself with my flat iron cord or eat all of the dog food.
  47. Shower.
  48. Do my hair if the mood strikes me.  (It almost never strikes me.)
  49. Make the beds.
  50. Eat lunch.
  51. Throw another load of laundry in, reminding myself to check the dryer in 20 minutes to hang the items that need to be hung.
  52. Check email, attempt to write a blog post.
  53. Remember that I forgot to check the laundry.
  54. Check the laundry and curse that someone (me) has left a tissue in a pocket.
  55. Hang the items that need need to be hung.  (Yes, they are a wrinkled mess but I no longer care.)
  56. Get The Beast up from his nap so that we can pick up The Good One from school.
  57. See that the pick-up line is a mile long, so I park and walk to get The Good One, carrying The 35 pound Beast in my arms because if I put him down he will run away from me.
  58. Get back in the van and drive home.
  59. Feed both boys a snack.
  60. Attempt to occupy The Beast with crayons so that I can help The Good One with his homework.
  61. Yell at The Good One to focus on his homework.
  62. Have this conversation with The Beast: “Mom, we go outside?”  “After The Good One is done with his homework.”  “Mom, we go outside?”  “After The Good One is done with his homework.”  “Mom, we go outside?”  “After The Good One is done with his homework.”  [Length of conversation — ETERNITY!]
  63. Check The Good One’s homework.
  64. Realize that The Beast is being too quiet and find him under the kitchen table coloring on the tile with crayons.
  65. Yell at The Beast to color on paper only.
  66. Make The Good One do the parts of his homework that he skipped because he was too busy playing with the Harry Potter magic wand he recently made out of a stick.
  67. Stop The Beast from escaping through the doggie door.
  68. Clean up the kitchen from snack time and head outside.
  69. Play Mommy Monster and dodge ball-tag.
  70. Watch The Beast bury Hot Wheels in the mulch and then repeatedly pretend to have trouble finding them when he playfully says,  “Mommy, find my cars!”
  71. Tell The Beast and The Good One that it’s time to go in so I can make dinner.
  72. Carry The Beast, screaming, into the house because he doesn’t want to come inside.
  73. Wash The Beast off since he’s covered in mulch.
  74. Call Virginia Slims Man at work and find out that he has to work late.
  75. Make dinner (or cereal, depending on my mood.)
  76. Clean up the kitchen.
  77. Give The Beast a shower.
  78. Yell at The Beast to stop climbing up the shower wall, standing on the back of the tub and jumping in.
  79. Yell at The Beast to stop climbing up the shower wall, standing on the back of the tub and jumping in.
  80. Hear a loud clunk because The Beast has climbed the shower wall, stood on the back of the tub, jumped into the tub and banged his head.
  81. Get The Beast, screaming, out of the shower.
  82. Dry him off, get him dressed.
  83. Make The Good One take a shower.
  84. Play cars with The Beast.
  85. Let The Beast watch Dora and attempt to write a post.
  86. Start cleaning up the toys, all the while saying, “Beast, if you don’t help me clean up the toys, you don’t get books.”  The Beast throws the last three Hot Wheels into the toy bin.
  87. Carry The Beast, screaming, to his room to get him ready for bed.
  88. Attempt to brush his teeth.  Give up after 10 seconds and justify it by telling myself they’re only baby teeth.
  89. Read books, sing songs, say prayers, tell The Beast goodnight.
  90. Leave The Beast’s room.
  91. Re-enter The Beast’s room because he’s screaming “MOM!” at the top of his lungs.
  92. Give The Beast the hug and kiss he asks for even though I know he’s only doing it to stall, because despite the fact that he’s an evil supervillain, he’s crazy adorable.
  93. Leave the room and pray that I get out before he asks for anything else.
  94. Print off a list of all of the Harry Potter spells for The Good One.
  95. Tell The Good One it’s time for bed.
  96. Sigh in frustration when The Good One asks for a snack, because, like Pavlov’s dog, he becomes hungry the instant I tell him it’s time for bed.
  97. Make The Good One a snack.
  98. Put The Good One to bed.
  99. Pour a tumbler of wine.  [I think I may have discovered the reason I can’t wake up early to exercise.]

Now, I know that my day is no different from any other stay-at-home mom, or working mom, for that matter.  In fact, many moms have days way harder than mine.

But if Virginia Slims Man ever again suggests that I don’t work, he will be eating a testicle sandwich.

P.S. I was going to draw a picture of me shoving Virginia Slim Man’s testicles down his throat, but I thought it might border on the verge of being violent porn, and I really didn’t want anybody who happens to be Googling “testicles in throat” to end up on my blog.

Keepin’ out the riffraff.

You are welcome.

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6 thoughts on “Saturday: AKA, The Day My Husband Nearly Got Himself Castrated.

  1. I (bestie) have no choice but to point out the “I know you work hard all day running errands” (dare I insert your adjective of snarky here?) comment that precipitated the “and you work hard all day taking care of the beast”. Then again, that conversation happened before my comment that we really wouldn’t have to worry about golf for much longer anyway because winter was coming and it would be too cold. That 3rd glass of wine is never a good idea and you should know that about me. The rest of the conversation is EXACTLY how I remember it, though. We all did look at VSM with great sympathy, after the initial shock that he actually said that. The sooner these men realize golf is for retired people, the better off they will be.

  2. Wowza!
    1. I’m totally exhausted by reading that. Where’s my wine?
    2. OHHH he’d be SOOOO deadsies if VSM were mine. Oooof.
    3. It’s definitely not okay to be gone every other weekend/every weekend for hours leaving you to watch the kids, which is your FULL TIME job already. It’s not like he has to go in the office on the weekend and keep doing HIS full time job when you have lunch with a friend or something.

  3. I’ve read the updated post and the other post.
    Yes, kids are exhausting.
    Yes, husbands are SO funny (eye roll).
    I feel hugely bad for you, I would rain pity on your pity party (pitty? pity? pity is right I’m sure but pitty TYPES more right) because I remember days like those (should I say but with 1 child only or will that just make you feel worse?).
    But besides all that really awful stuff. Back to the “hobby time” that started it all LOL

    Not putting myself into YOUR family scene.

    But I have a sort of relevant story. When I was annoyed with the kid’s dad for spending hours on his “hobby” on the weekends I complained and I grouched. Then *my* dad shared his disappointment with my lack of sense. Did I really begrudge the kid’s dad some time of his own that wasn’t work? What if I wanted some time of my own that wasn’t work? DING! Finally, the momma-of-a-toddler smog cleared and I started taking time to visit bookstores or libraries, plop and read. I dealt with wacko adults all week so I didn’t go looking for hanging out with friends or anything because I always felt damaged LOL Books were a good retreat.

    What’s really baffling is that my sister still complains and grouches about her DH and his all day/all night saturday hobby even though she spends an all day/all night shopping. (not grocery – for fun shopping) Thats when you know its not just pms its bitchiness. 🙂

    Post something when you feel better and then I can share about the day I realized a smack in anger was a lot different than a spanking like from my childhood (well – *I* was never spanked – I was The Good One!)

  4. As a fellow mom who dealt with a big dose of passive aggressive BS from her husband this morning, let me just say: I feel ya. And my husband doesn’t golf. Regardless of PMS or snark, I think you were perfectly justified in becoming angry. I’m sorry you feel bad for smacking your son on the leg, but if it’s a one-time thing, and you know how bad you feel, I think you can gently let yourself off the hook. I know I sometimes have to walk away from my middle child so I don’t scream my head off at her. That thought—walking away from the Beast—probably fills you with dread. But a 10-second breather can help. I also want to say: Hormones don’t invalidate your feelings. You were angry with VSM for a good reason, it’s just that hormones made the anger stronger. So don’t dismiss your feelings just because of hormones. Maybe you overreacted because of them, but your feelings are still valid. Hang in there. I hope writing about this stuff helps; I know it helps me!

  5. I sort of want to google “testicles in throat” just so I end up on your blog and you can count that search. I think I will. You are welcome.

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