LOVE my ex; just love him.
Okay, so Saturday is currently his typical One Day of Fatherhood, a week. This past week, he'd wanted to switch that day to Sunday, as he said he had to go with his aunt to pick out a headstone for his recently-demised uncle, on Saturday.
Weird, but okie-dokie.
Weird, but okie-dokie.
Sunday comes, and at 8am, the time he should be leaving his house to come pick her up, he calls, and in a voice that sounds every inch like he's been out all night, tells me he cannot come, because he has broken his glasses and cannot drive. He claims they were broken the night before, "in the car, when we wuz comin' back from Shreveport."
Shreveport. Infamous party city, two hours from his home, and not the place you'd be tombstone-shopping, late at night (IS there a place you'd be tombstone-shopping, late at night?).
He also claims that he has already tried to fix his glasses, to no avail, and that he's even taken them to Walmart's optical department, to be repaired, where they were declared unfixable. Amazing, that Walmart's Vision Center was miraculously open, sometime between Late At Night, and 8am The Next Morning.
Shreveport. Infamous party city, two hours from his home, and not the place you'd be tombstone-shopping, late at night (IS there a place you'd be tombstone-shopping, late at night?).
He also claims that he has already tried to fix his glasses, to no avail, and that he's even taken them to Walmart's optical department, to be repaired, where they were declared unfixable. Amazing, that Walmart's Vision Center was miraculously open, sometime between Late At Night, and 8am The Next Morning.
Now, might be the interesting juncture at which to point out that, in the six years I was married to this man, he drove, and even worked, many, many times, without his glasses, as he is not severely nearsighted.
He wants to come see her, sometime during the week, and I tell him it just so happens that Monday is an off day, for her, as it's Parent-Teacher Conference day. He's THRILLED, and swears he will be here at 2pm, to pick her up for a few hours.
Okay, whatever. We explained to Deirdre that bio-dad was not coming, when she woke up, and she didn't seem to care - we had put new fish in her fishtank, and that was much more exciting. We did NOT tell her that he would be coming to get her the next day, as we are Well-Experienced in This Sort of Promise, coming from my ex.
Monday dawned, and after we came back from meeting with D's teacher, I gave him a call. No answer.
I tried calling him three more times, as the afternoon passed - no answer.
Yesterday - no answer.
Finally, late this afternoon, he answered his phone. And what was his reason, for standing his daughter up? He didn't get his glasses, 'til yesterday.
And what was his reason, for not picking up his phone, or responding to the message I left?
He's just been SO busy, with work.
Yeah. Because with three kids, we're NEVER busy. Peyton got up this morning (and by GOT up, I really mean, we never did make it to bed) to help me get Deirdre ready for school, and spend a little time with her - you know, like you do, with a child you love. He then dozed on the couch for half an hour, before leaping up to run a bunch of packages to the post office for me, and swing by the police station to arrange an appointment with the Chief, for later this afternoon. Came home, slept a few hours, and was up again, to make his 1:30 interview (P is currently being courted to go work for our local PD). Came home from that, played with his kids, greeted Deirdre when she got home from school, then rushed to get ready for work, at 4pm. When he gets home, assuming I've successfully chased all the kids to bed, he then has another pile of paperwork to fill out*, and then I do believe he's planning to cook us some sort of Special Romantic Meal.
*Peyton's current plan of Find A Better Job involves applying EVERYDAMNWHERE, and then picking the one that will give him the most Christmas Money to spend on his kids, heh.
I tried calling him three more times, as the afternoon passed - no answer.
Yesterday - no answer.
Finally, late this afternoon, he answered his phone. And what was his reason, for standing his daughter up? He didn't get his glasses, 'til yesterday.
And what was his reason, for not picking up his phone, or responding to the message I left?
He's just been SO busy, with work.
Yeah. Because with three kids, we're NEVER busy. Peyton got up this morning (and by GOT up, I really mean, we never did make it to bed) to help me get Deirdre ready for school, and spend a little time with her - you know, like you do, with a child you love. He then dozed on the couch for half an hour, before leaping up to run a bunch of packages to the post office for me, and swing by the police station to arrange an appointment with the Chief, for later this afternoon. Came home, slept a few hours, and was up again, to make his 1:30 interview (P is currently being courted to go work for our local PD). Came home from that, played with his kids, greeted Deirdre when she got home from school, then rushed to get ready for work, at 4pm. When he gets home, assuming I've successfully chased all the kids to bed, he then has another pile of paperwork to fill out*, and then I do believe he's planning to cook us some sort of Special Romantic Meal.
*Peyton's current plan of Find A Better Job involves applying EVERYDAMNWHERE, and then picking the one that will give him the most Christmas Money to spend on his kids, heh.
And that is what a busy man looks like.
Me, I have a lazy, relaxing evening ahead of me. All I have to do, is go make the kids' dinner, which is late, but Idontcare because they don't seem to care. Dinner is especially fun, lately, as Deirdre must be given her veggies separately and first, or else she will choose to eat them last...and then when I look away, shove a finger down her throat and make herself vomit, to get out of eating, say...five baby carrots. Adding to THAT fun, is the fact that Deirdre recently brought home some sort of Death Bug, from school, and so every other Vomit or so, is now a Legitimate Vomit. All our kids have the immune system of Superman, so they rarely give any normal sign of illness - they just stop playing for a moment, to vomit on the floor/raise a fever hot enough to fry their brains, then go back to energetic playing, leaving me to wonder if I should call a doctor, or an exorcist.
Me, I have a lazy, relaxing evening ahead of me. All I have to do, is go make the kids' dinner, which is late, but Idontcare because they don't seem to care. Dinner is especially fun, lately, as Deirdre must be given her veggies separately and first, or else she will choose to eat them last...and then when I look away, shove a finger down her throat and make herself vomit, to get out of eating, say...five baby carrots. Adding to THAT fun, is the fact that Deirdre recently brought home some sort of Death Bug, from school, and so every other Vomit or so, is now a Legitimate Vomit. All our kids have the immune system of Superman, so they rarely give any normal sign of illness - they just stop playing for a moment, to vomit on the floor/raise a fever hot enough to fry their brains, then go back to energetic playing, leaving me to wonder if I should call a doctor, or an exorcist.
Kalel, taking a brief siesta on the floor, like a fat, drunk whore. As soon as this picture was taken, she immediately rolled over to her brother and gave him a nice smack to the head.
Oh, and Kalel's sick, too, now, or at least she has joined the Occasional Random Vomit Club. She seems fine, but then did such a horrifying thing to her bedding, during a nap yesterday evening, that Peyton just stripped her, ran for the bathtub (while holding a naked baby at arms' length and screaming like a young girl), and left all her bedding/clothing in a garbage bag by the washer, after chittering at me "Sorry, baby; I really am, but I just CANNOT deal with...that." I, myself, am trying to repress the memory, but let's just say that WOW, she must have a huge stomach.
Where was I? Oh, yes...tonight. Yes, once dinner's out of the way, all I have to do is write a couple more Ebay auctions. Oh, and finish this blog, as it usually takes anywhere from 2-36hrs, to write a single blog. Then, there's really nothing left to do...well, except for getting a couple more packages ready, for the mail. And cleaning the dining room, I guess, as the entirity of our three children's fall/winter wardrobes for this year and last year are currently covering...well...the room.
There's a little laundry to be done, as well, I guess - just a bleach wash, so Deirdre has socks for school, tomorrow. And a dark wash, as the Pile is beginning to creep closer to me, when I walk down the hall - I haven't done a dark wash in a loooong time, like, since day before yesterday, so it's my own fault. But I think there's still a little laundry to be put up, as well - just last night's washes, which is only, like, two loads. Two loads, the size of our bed.
There's a little laundry to be done, as well, I guess - just a bleach wash, so Deirdre has socks for school, tomorrow. And a dark wash, as the Pile is beginning to creep closer to me, when I walk down the hall - I haven't done a dark wash in a loooong time, like, since day before yesterday, so it's my own fault. But I think there's still a little laundry to be put up, as well - just last night's washes, which is only, like, two loads. Two loads, the size of our bed.
And I guess the kitchen should be cleaned; I've only cleaned it twice, today, so I'm really slacking off. And Deirdre still has her reading homework, once we can shove her brother off to Dreamland, or as I like to think of it - Those Blessed Hours When He Shuts Up and Stops Destroying Things.
But then I can relax, totally - just a lazy night, for me. Once I clean the kids' room, and put up a gazillion toys. Oh, and the den, before National Geographic chooses to come document what they believe must be a new Strange and Primitive Culture.
But then I can relax, totally - just a lazy night, for me. Once I clean the kids' room, and put up a gazillion toys. Oh, and the den, before National Geographic chooses to come document what they believe must be a new Strange and Primitive Culture.
And remind Deirdre a hundred more times that she was seeing perfectly fine, before I told her she might need glasses, and that anyway, her SpongeBob sunglasses are not likely to correct her sight as much as she believes. And put Lucien's Superman cape on, another thousand times, because he's still too dumb to keep it on for more than two minutes at a stretch, and REALLY...how can he be expected to save the world, with no old, nasty, stained-up piece of velcroed-on nylon?
Hmmm...and then a bath, and some attempt to look more like the Girl my husband married, and less like Scary Old Bag Lady Whose Pants and Hair Bulge Out At Funny Angles. Oh, and must clean our bedroom, as well, as The Man has once again left a Trail of His Manliness (read: socks, underwear, change, receipts and candy wrappers) to mark our home as His Own.
What was I saying? Excuse me; I have to go feed these kids now, so they'll leave me alone.
Okay. Back.
And now, I can finally get a little peace and quiet...aside from Deirdre asking me, over and over, "What's how many carrots I eat?" assuming, each time, that she will get a different answer than "ALL. OF. THEM. THAT'S WHATSHOWMANYCARROTSYOUEAT."
I feel Fullfilled as a Woman, though, as I've now had the chance to pick up the floor a little. And remove one Silly Parts Elmo elephant ear...
Okay. Back.
And now, I can finally get a little peace and quiet...aside from Deirdre asking me, over and over, "What's how many carrots I eat?" assuming, each time, that she will get a different answer than "ALL. OF. THEM. THAT'S WHATSHOWMANYCARROTSYOUEAT."
I feel Fullfilled as a Woman, though, as I've now had the chance to pick up the floor a little. And remove one Silly Parts Elmo elephant ear...
...and one small orange pencil, from deep within the bowels of its Mirror Pound-a-Ball hell. Kalel enjoys putting small objects in here, because she's EVIL and enjoys seeing her mother cry.
And then, finding the Great and Terrible Toy Cabinets in a state of horrifying chaos, I took a moment to wish my husband hemorrhoids, as he is INCAPABLE of making the kids put their toys up in the right places, when he's on KidWatch, or of doing so, himself.
It's really not fair for me to be angry at him, though - he has...a handicap. You see, although he gives every impression of being a truly brilliant man, is possessing of an astronomical I.Q., and can accomplish virtually any task he's ever handed...he's...well, special. From what he's explained to me, in limited detail but with great emotion, there are some things he just CANNOT do.
Remembering where toys go, is one, but it gets much worse than that - would you believe he's partially blind? It's true; he cannot see certain objects, including but not limited to:
* dirty diapers he leaves on the floor, after changing a child
* any trash, at all, be it discarded drawings from the children, or bags of garbage in the kitchen *
* dirty dishes
* dirty laundry, including his own, which he has just dropped on the floor
* his towel (he can only see mine, and so is naturally forced to use it, instead of his own)
* dirty children, unless they actually vomit on him
*EDIT*
Actual quote, from my husband, upon reading the above list -
"Cow! I just took the trash out, last night!"
True, but as I explained to him, I also recall being So Utterly Shocked by his taking it out, unbadgered, that I was left standing in the kitchen with my mouth open, for a good ten seconds.
And then this - "And I JUST took the trash out of our bedroom, too, HO-BAG!"
Also true, and he is to be commended. However, as I have also seen him flatten against the wall like a ninja, in order to squeeze past three bags of garbage blocking the doorway into the kitchen, without the slightest thought of taking them out to the cans...OBVIOUSLY, he is still suffering some sort of sporadic malfunction in either his mind, vision, or sense of smell. His ninja skills, however, remain razor-sharp.
Actual quote, from my husband, upon reading the above list -
"Cow! I just took the trash out, last night!"
True, but as I explained to him, I also recall being So Utterly Shocked by his taking it out, unbadgered, that I was left standing in the kitchen with my mouth open, for a good ten seconds.
And then this - "And I JUST took the trash out of our bedroom, too, HO-BAG!"
Also true, and he is to be commended. However, as I have also seen him flatten against the wall like a ninja, in order to squeeze past three bags of garbage blocking the doorway into the kitchen, without the slightest thought of taking them out to the cans...OBVIOUSLY, he is still suffering some sort of sporadic malfunction in either his mind, vision, or sense of smell. His ninja skills, however, remain razor-sharp.
Now that I think about it, I'm starting to see a connection, here - the man is literally blind to dirt. God...isn't that just awful?
The mental thing is even worse, though. His inability to understand which Little People go to which set, remember the normal household chores that need doing, or even that drawers must be closed after opening, is staggering. I want him to get tested, make it official, and get some sort of Idiot-Savant disability check from the government, but I think he must still be shy, about his handicap, because he just gets mad, when I suggest that "functionally retarded" is not the stigma it used to be. Oh, well.
Where was I, again? Oh, yes - my fullfillment as a woman, via my choice of a traditional domestic role.
Umm...it's working out great. The baby hasn't vomited yet, Deirdre has eaten four carrots (and in just an HOUR!), and soon, very soon, I get toget rid of put my lovely son to bed, after his deeply nourishing meal of carrots, a piece of cheese, and one noodle, before throwing the rest at his older sister.
Umm...it's working out great. The baby hasn't vomited yet, Deirdre has eaten four carrots (and in just an HOUR!), and soon, very soon, I get to
I do not like my children. Especially The Boy. And I STILL say, we're being punished, for conceiving him, out of wedlock. Speaking of - the answer to that most recent poll, was actually "Be quiet, or I'll put the blanket over your face again," so congratulations to the Anonymous Nine of you who guessed correctly.
Do not question our methods, until you have experienced The Horror That is Lucien. Besides, he likes that blanket; always has. We suspect he may be into bondage.
Do not question our methods, until you have experienced The Horror That is Lucien. Besides, he likes that blanket; always has. We suspect he may be into bondage.
Anyway, the point of this story, is that I truly pity my ex-husband, for the busy, busy life he must lead - the rest of us can only imagine the kind of fast-paced, frentic life led by a single man trying to squeeze a daunting half-day of parenting, or even a five-minute phone call, into his Deeply Important Existence.
Now, you must excuse me - I have to go remove my eldest daughter's small, very fashionable purse from its new location, where it seems to be consuming my youngest daughter's head.
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