Thursday, January 22, 2009


Let me start off by saying that I love Tom dearly.

But sharing a bed with him is like sharing a bed with a fish out of water.

It's all *flop flop floppity flop*!

Mind you, I've been used to having the bed to myself for two years. Tom used to work the night shift. Now he's back on the day shift.

I miss stretching out in the bed.

I think Tom does too. He's used to sprawling out as he slept during the day. Because sometimes I'll be in a deep sleep and I'll feel his foot pressing against me.

"Hello?" I scream out. "HUMAN BEING HERE!"

(Will totally admit that I'm a total biz-nitch when my sleep is distrubed.)

And, when we're facing the same direction in bed, I get to be bathed in his stale breath. I'm not saying that my breath smells like roses--but he's a man, he has a bigger mouth, therefore there is more garbage-smelling laced air blowing in my direction. So that wakes me up. I'll be in a deep sleep, maybe even having my favorite dream where I can eat all the chocolate I want and not gain a pound--and then suddenly, the chocolate tastes off, the sweet scent no longer fills the air and I'll realize, crap, it's because my husband's mouth is like two inches away from my own.

I'm also getting used to having him around on his days off.

I sometimes feel like I have to entertain him. Sometimes he'll be pacing around the house--he does this when he's bored--and I'll ask him to please stop and if he wants something to do, well, there's a pile of laundry waiting to be folded and put away.

"I was...about to watch TV," he'll quickly say and settle onto the couch.

And put it on..CARTOONS.

He claims it's for the kids. But sometimes he'll switch it on and there are no children to be found.

On comes Spongebob. The same episode that we've seen over and over again.

How can he watch the same episode over and over again?

"I can tell you what happens," I'll speak up. "Gary is only hanging around Patrick because he has a cookie in his pocket."

Tom will give me a Look. "I KNOW that," he'll say, indignant.

"Then why watch it?" I'll question.

"Because," he'll say. "There's nothing else on."

"Rachael Ray is on," I'll remind him.

He'll make a face. And okay, I admit Rachael Ray isn't the best show ever--I never pay full attention to it, I basically just drool over her dishes and marvel at the fact that nothing ever burns--but I'd much rather have that on than cartoons.

I sometimes wonder if I'm the only mother who doesn't keep the channel on cartoons all day.

On the forum I write it, most of the mothers admit that their television is always tuned to Noggin.


I'd go nuts having to hear children's programming all day. Granted, they may argue that they'd go nuts without children's programming. Because then their kids would be bouncing off the walls.

I just always felt like it was best to teach kids to entertain themselves.

And, like I said, I'd go INSANE if I had to hear that winter song that Zee or whoever that thing is, sings after every danged show.

I have relented and I do let the kids watch their shows from 4-5 so I can write my novel.

Although I barely even get to do that.

Because at 430 I have to start dinner. And sometimes the kids get the case of the "I needs" so I'll have to abandon my computer and tend to them.

Tom knows that I let them watch TV from 4-5.

But he doesn't like what I put on.

They get to watch Blue's Clues which is followed by the ultra annoying Max and Ruby. The show is about two rabbits and the sister, Ruby, is constantly watching over her little brother Max. Where are the parents? Why should Ruby have to watch Max all the time?

Tom, obviously, does not like those programs. He once tried to change the channel and was met by two angry shrieks from the kids.

Then Tom starts to bug me.

"Whatcha doing?" he'll ask as I'm on the computer.

"Trying to write my novel."

Then he'll do what he knows I HATE. He'll read over my shoulder.

So I'll minimize the screen.

"Could you not do that?" I'll ask in a testy voice.

"Do what?" He'll look genuinely shocked.

"Read. Over my shoulder. Go watch TV." And I'll pat his arm like he's one of the children. But sometimes, well, he ACTS like one.

"I don't like this show," Tom will respond like a petulant child.

"Well. I'm sorry. I'm busy." And then I'll try to go back to my novel but sometimes Tom just HOVERS and I'll have to stop again.

"WHAT?" I'll screech.

"Are you almost done?" he'll wonder. "I'd like to play my game."

Oh for--

And usually I'll just get off because he'll have ruined my writing vibe anyhow.

Then I'll start making dinner, which Tom rarely likes. I must prefer cooking when he's still at work. Because then he can't say much when the meal is finished. But if I'm starting to cook it, he'll sigh and say something like, "Sloppy Joes again?"

To which I'll reply, "You know, YOU could always make something."

And that basically shuts him up.

I just need my space is all.

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