We all remember a few weeks ago, when I said all sort of nice things about my husband, right? When I said that I loooove him and he is very supportive and, in general, a stand-up guy…right? I might have left out the part where I suspect that he is totally, freaking nuts.
A bit of background:
last night I was having a heck of a time. I don’t get home from work until after 5:30, and only that early because I was driving our one vehicle. I had one child who needed to be at t-ball at 6:00, one who needed to be at baseball at 7:15, presumably after everyone had been fed. I had a teen-age daughter pleading with me to take her to get a hair cut, because today is her birthday and for some reason we have the tradition of a yearly, birthday make-over. I had presents to wrap, muffins to bake, a house to decorate…besides the normal, laundry/cleaning/housework type work. In the midst of everything, I called my husband and asked him to please, please walk down to the park and pick up our youngest (whom had been deposited at t-ball) because it was starting to rain at which point he mentioned that he needed the car because he had a meeting. So I hung up on him.
Flash forward to today. I’m at work attempting to get all our baking done pronto so that I can leave early and be home when the birthday girl gets off the bus and make her favorite meal before we need to bundle her and her best friend off to softball and get our twin daughters to t-ball. My husband calls and informs me that he is considering PICKING UP A WEEKEND JOB. Because apparently, though I am losing my mind from the craziness of this schedule, we actually have oodles and oodles of extra time. I’m not exactly sure where this time has been hidden. I can’t imagine where it would be. We have one car, two jobs, five kids in softball five nights a week and THREE kids games on Saturdays. Mondays, Wednesdays and the occasional Sunday my darling, deluded hubby has volunteer committee meetings. Additionally, we have weekly drum lessons, vision therapy, not to mention the COUPLES THERAPY that we are going to need if he dares to add one more thing to our calendar. To his plan to work each and every Sunday, I can say only this; “AAAAAARGH!!!!” (Also, “Phffbbbbbt.”)
“I will beat you senseless.” I said. “I will beat you and then divorce you and I will NOT take the children with me.”
“Ha, ha.” he chuckled, “We’ll talk about it when you get home.”
You see? Totally, freaking insane. Looney. I’m not even sure how to respond to his idea, other than the aforementioned threats of physical violence. He is plain deluded if he thinks that somehow this wouldn’t be disastrous for us. I know my limits and frankly we crossed them a long time ago. I am only holding it together with sheer force of will, white wine and the occasional reality television binge. Also stress. Tremendous amounts of stress are actually holding the atoms of my body together. Unfortunately for my husband, he seems to lack that self-awareness, ’cause let me tell you, he is about at his limit, too. Far be it from me to tattle (ahem) but he is operating well past optimum capacity.
Look. All I’m really saying here is that there is an easier way. One that doesn’t involve complicated schedules that look like wartime maneuvers. One that doesn’t result in both of us, falling exhausted and sore into bed at night, with just enough energy to muster a feeble “goodnight” before blessed oblivion. A weekend job would be sending us in the wrong, wrong direction and I refuse to go. He would be wise to heed these words. There is an old saying, “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Any guesses as to what happens when mama goes stark, raving mad?
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