It’s 6 pm. I am trying to make dinner, keep the cat out of my laundry (laundry is his enemy, and he must vanquish it), and head up the Toddler Peace Summit Summer 2014. I quit the Summit after 5 minutes. I’m not smart enough. I started pretending that I was from Chechnya and needed a translator and nobody could find one. That was kinda fun.
Hubs will be coming home from work soon. He will be thrilled to be home, let me tell you. It’s because it’s so peaceful here. So… calm. I’ll be greeting him with a big red-lipsticked smoocharooni, a martini, and a lovely pot roast.
Well. Nix the martini. Sometimes I hand him a glass of water. It even has ice in it.
And really, not so peaceful here. Wanna know why? Because Toddler Peace Summit 2014 has taken to the streets. There’s loud protesting and currently the toddlers have taken the cat hostage and they are all working on their Manifesto.
All of this makes Momsie rather… tense. The toddlers, being toddlers, have absolutely no clue what “tense” is. That’s their job. In fact, I think it’s part of their Cluelessness Manifesto. Momsie is tense = WE MUST AMP UP THE TODDLERNESS!!!!
And because of this ampage, a terrible, terrible thing happened. I burnt my biscuits. My precious, my preshus lovely fluffy little biscuits. So ready to be smooshed with butter and honey, now huddled on the baking pan like sad hockey pucks.
And I. Had. HAD ENOUGH.
It is precisely at this time that the husband comes sauntering in. You guessed it. He is toast. Just like the biscuits.
Me: ANGER AND RESENTMENT-LADEN SILENCE
Hubs: Hi! How are you?
Me: ANGER AND RESENTMENT-LADEN SILENCE.
Hubs: Hey boys! (Boys start freaking out because evidently Daddy walking in the house is like Moses just dropped by to say “Heeeey.”)
Me: I’m fine. (Holy cow. Cue scary music here.)
Hubs: Wow. Ok. Really? Your face is all twitchy. Why are you sitting on the floor turning that light on and off? Wait, isn’t this a scene from Fatal Attraction? Can I eat my dinner first?
Me: I burnt the biscuits.
Hubs: Ohhhhh? (He then tilts his head to the side just like a Labrador Retriever.)
Me: I burnt. Them.
Let’s take a bit of a break here.
Really, he is in engineer, so asking “Why?” is not his fault. It’s not. That’s part of his job. Or so he tells me. I kind of think he must just trot around at work yapping, “Why, WHY?” at everyone within reach. I wish he would just get it out of his system at work so he would NOT utter it at home. Really, he should know better by now. When one has dealt with the toddler mosh pit of my day, when one burns the absolute best part of dinner (the rest of dinner was beige and warm, that’s it),
YOU DON’T ASK, “WHY?”
Here’s what you say instead:
Hubs: Oh my dear. Clearly you need a break. Here’s five thousand dollars.
So it just kept going, this conversation. If the hubs knew what was best, he woulda hightailed it upstairs to free the cat and find some chocolate. But no.
Hubs: Are you mad at me? You’re mad, aren’t you. Why are you mad at me?
Me: No. I’m not mad. I’m just tired. (‘Tired” is code for = so mad. So, so mad.)
Hubs: Because really, this is a teachable moment!
Me: Ok. Now I’m actually mad at you.
I think it’s best to stop here, to remind all you newly married folks, that conversations like this really do happen when you’ve been married for a while. For reals. I do remember once at our premarital counseling (where hubs and the pastor talked BASEBALL for the majority of the time) that we did all come up with at least one tenet about How to Stay Married for a Really Long Time:
We should communicate a lot.
I KNOW, right? Pretty brilliant. I am pretty sure no one ever thought of this idea about marriage before. I should write a book.
At any rate, the rest of the evening was a bit chilly, but by tooth brushing time I had stopped quoting lines from Fatal Attraction. After all, when you’re married to an engineer, it is likely your darling husband takes literally everything, um, literally. Thus, “I’m not going to be IGNORED, Dan!” carries little weight when your hubs’ name isn’t actually Dan.