Tag Archives: when life gives you lemons you turn them into a blog post about them lemons

Hostage

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As soon as I stepped into the house from a business trip, I heard a moan from a heap at the corner of our sink-and-swim sofa. Shit. I thought to myself.

“Dad was not like this a second ago. He was ok before you came home.” Mr. Monk, my 9-year-old, informed me with mischievous glee.

“So he’s like a little kid? Now that his mommy’s home and all of a sudden he’s feeling a lot sicker because he wants his mommy’s attention?” I babytalked (which I seldom did to my kids even when they were real babies).

I wish I had kept my mouth shut. To this, The Husband launched into an indignant speech about how

1. He’s so sick the whole time I was gone. READ: It’s my fault.

2. There is no medicine in the house. READ: It’s my fault.

3. His throat really hurts. READ: It’s my fault.

4. There is no lemon. READ: It’s my fault.

5. His co-workers said, “Oh, your wife is going to take care of you.” To which he replied, “She doesn’t care. She never takes care of me.” READ: The Passive Aggressive meter was shot so I could not read the score on it.

Sometimes I am convinced that if I were one of those submissive wives, everybody involved including myself would have been a lot happier. So maybe those crazy people do have a point? My natural, confrontation-averse inclination would have led me to simply ignore his tirade. Let’s move on. But my years of immersion in women’s lib made it hard to not stand my ground and make some sort of comment. Eventually I bit my tongue. I bit my tongue because Mr. Monk was watching our interaction like a hawk with bated breath, and I simply could not do that to him. So I swallowed the sharp comebacks that were swarming inside my head.

 

What do I have to do to take care of a grown man who’s suffering from symptoms of a common cold?

I am genuinely sorry that The Husband is sick. But I am stumped. “What do you want me to do to take care of you so I won’t be accused of not caring?” Ok. In hind sight, that’s really not the best way of making a conciliatory move… You can take the sharp words out of a bitch’s mouth, but you can’t change a bitch’s tone of voice.

“Forget about it!” He ended our conversation abruptly like a petulant child sans door slamming. I had to stifle a laugh (and made a mental note to watch The Man Cold on YouTube again and also to, of course, blog about this)

Why is it that when he is sick, he commits the error that men (e.g. he) like to accuse women (e.g. me) of: I am not going to tell you what I want because it would devalue the things you do for me if I have to ask for them. 

Seriously?

This has been how it feels like this past week: I am held hostage by “care police”. At every cough and every moan, I made sure to remember to ask, with exaggerated worry in my voice so my good intention is obvious, “Are you ok?”

 

When the kids are sick, I give them cold medicine, and tell them to stay in bed. I offer ice cream or some other treat. That is it. Sometimes the kids get mad at me when the medicine is not working. “Make it go away!” “Why won’t you give me something that works?” “It does not work. I am still feeling ______!” At that point, I figure they are either hungry or tired so I either feed them or tell them to go to bed, or both.

Now that I think of it, “You don’t care!” seems to be a common accusation. I have only myself to blame since I never do these things that TV/movie parents do – Sitting by the bed and singing them a lullaby. Putting my hand on their foreheads and looking into their faces with concern. Bringing them breakfast in bed on a tray with a red rose in a vase. Maybe I should watch politicians’ campaign videos: most of them got that “I care so much about you RIGHT AT THIS SECOND because the camera is rolling” look down, and practice in front of the bathroom mirror my “I do care” face. Apparently the “I do care” face speaks more volumes than the calm “I just cleaned up your puke without a complaint for the Nth time” face.

 

By the 4th day of violent coughing, the frequent complaint of “It’s not getting better!”, and the occasional hint at “I am so sick and you are not doing anything about it!”, I suggested that The Husband seek out professional help (instead of waiting for me to perform a medical miracle).

I called him from work on Monday. “Did you call a doctor yet?”

“No.”

Face palm.

Today I prodded again. “You should call a doctor.” No response.

Seriously? WWFRGS? (What would Feminist Ryan Gosling say?)

 

In the holy name of keeping a stable home for my children, because it is *MY* job to maintain a happy family environment, I extended an olive branch. “Would you like me to call the doctor? If I call the doctor and make an appointment for you, would you go?”

He nodded.

And he was happy(ier).

 

I want a wife.

 

I need to go to bed

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If only The Internet would let me…

It’s been tough and crazy at work. I have been trying to wrap up as many things as possible in preparation for my business trip to China next week. Word of advice: Always have a valid passport. AND make sure you renew your passport one year ahead of the expiration date. I had to get my passport renewed before I could get my visa to China. There was a lot of nail biting. What did I get for a last minute trip? How about 6 am flight on Monday, back of the cattle cabin, middle seat?

Good thing I have a blog right? All calamities are blogging fodders.

 

When I came up for air on The Twitter, The Facebook, and ok, let me throw in The G+ also [placeholder for disclaimer], I realized that maybe it would have been better if I did not spend time on the Internet at all. Ignorance is bliss right? I want to bitchslap some people so bad. Let’s start with the panty-twisted bunch over at Concerned Women for America who are now anti-anti-bullying because apparently picking on gay kids at school (and everywhere else) is their children’s GOD-given rights, literally. They are fighting against anti-bulling measures in congress at state level in the name of religious freedom. Simply typing the above paragraph is making my chest hurt.

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
— Steven Weinberg

 

On the other hand, The Internet has also brought good things into my life. For example, Jeri Ryan, Seven of Nine of Star Trek fan, became my friend on Google+.

Ok, technically, she did not say “Hey, let’s be friend.”  BUT she plussed and shared one of my posts, i.e. she read my post and knew of my existence! Woohoo! +100 to my geek cred and coolation (cool+ration)! I of course took a screenshot as proof right away just in case she changed her mind and withdrew her favor.

It’s my first brush with fame. Please be as impressed as I am.

 

It is rather embarrassing how excited I am about this latest development…

Here, this is the reason why I have not responded to your email/tweet/comment/like.

I have been contributing to the Internet with my own crapshot snapshots, documenting my oh so exciting life. Really, how many pictures of Chicago River and the caption “Y’all. I am on a boat!” can I take before I stop having friends?

 

I really need to go to bed now. Once you reach 40, you really cannot survive on less than 4 hours of sleep on three consecutive days. Your grammars will also start to suffer. If you miss me, check my page Life As I See It so I can tell you that I am on a boat. Again.

Some of the Best Decisions I’ve Made

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1. Buying a duvet cover in DEEP RED rather than white like those nice glistening duvet covers in hotels

Around 1 am today, as I was wrapping up my work and was looking forward to hitting my head against that pillow, I heard my 9-year-old boy make a familiar sound. A sound from the past. A sound I have forgotten. A sound that makes every mother’s heart skip a beat while screaming “OMFG Not again?!” inside. I rushed upstairs and confirmed my worst fear.

He looked like this.

The green plants covering his entire upper body, shoulders, back, neck and cheeks would be regurgitated broccoli.

And the green swamp would be my bed.

And like the Swamp Thing, Mr. Monk has left a trail of bits and pieces of his green self as he moved about.

2. Agreeing to settle for the fake, and cheaper, down comforter that The Husband found at an outlet. Can we all cheer for the words “machine wash” on the tag?

Broccoli. Mr. Monk had eaten a whole bowl of broccoli for dinner. And cupcakes with blue frosting. And chicken. I was able to remember the dinner menu while surveying the aftermath. It’s amazing how the frosting retained its neon blue color.

3. Deciding to leave the plastic cover over my bed long after the kids had stopped wetting the bed. Deep down I know it’s because I was too lazy to do anything about it. Laziness pays off sometimes, just remember to pass it off as being laid-back, or zen-ish.

Otherwise there would be no trash bag big enough to toss my memory foam bed into it the way I was forced to toss my memory foam pillow into a trash bag and sealed it with a hazardous material sticker.

4. Buying the Christmas Tree bedsheet set on massive sale from a website that is not Pottery Barn.

I followed my first instinct, crumpled up the bedsheet and tossed it into a trash bag. I am sitting here right now staring at it, trying to decide how awful it would be if I simply throw it away so I do not have to deal with the swamp within.

Since I only paid $20 for the fitted sheet, I now have the liberty to even ponder this. If it were one of those $300 Pottery Barn gilded* bedsheets, I’d be crying right now.

5. (The credit should go to The Husband for this one) Buying new washer and dryer for me even though I strongly dislike receiving appliances as gifts. Don’t try to kill two birds with one vacuum cleaner, just sayin’ man. You would not like to receive an iron, do you? But tonight? Hallelujah for FRONT LOADING, baby!**

My 9-year-old. Before he turns into the Swamp Thing.

This is why instead of having my head firmly on my pillow, I am listening to Maroon 5 on Spotify while laundering the duvet cover, bed cover, comforter, towels and pillow cases in the comfort of my own home.

6. Starting my blog many moons ago.

Minor disasters and mishaps in life seem so much more tolerable, even humorous, now that I can see all of them as potential blogging fodders. “Oh, I am picking up regurgitated brocoli at 2 in the morning. How funny!” Standing from outside looking in. Everything seems hilarious as if I were watching a sitcom based on my own life.

 

So. This is my Monday morning. How has your Monday been so far?

 

* For the price they are asking for, I simply assume their sheets are gilded.

** Is it just me or does this somehow sound dirty to anybody else?