Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Actually Yes, PMS

Okay, so I admit that I was a little on the cranky side yesterday.

It didn't help that when I was trying to cook dinner--yes, I was actually COOKING dinner yesterday instead of opting to go out--granted it was just hot dogs, which I know gross a lot of people out. What with the whole chicken butts and goodness knows what else are shoved in there. But I don't care, I like hot dogs. Plus they're easy. And I was also heating up a can of Busch's baked beans. I have this really good recipe where I could make my own but it was stifling hot and I didn't want to turn on the oven.

Even though Tom was all, "Oh could you make your own baked beans? They're SO much better."

I said no.

He pouted. "Why not?"

"Number one, we don't have all the ingredients. Number two, it's hot. Number three, I don't wanna," I answered.

So he gave that up.

What was I saying?

Oh right, I was saying that when I was trying to cook dinner, Natalie started being extra clingy and started gripping onto my leg. She has a strong claw like grip--if I lifted my leg in the air and shook it, she'd still be hanging on. Not that I'd actually TRY to do that of course. But she was whiney and clingy and Tom was just playing his computer game, oblivious to it all.

This infuriates me. If I'm cooking, he should watch the children right?

But instead he was busy playing a golf computer game with Max curled up on his lap.

Ignoring Natalie is not an option. She only grows louder and her whines become more annoying with each passing second.

"Look," I told her as she gripped onto my leg. "I can't pick you up. If I pick you up you might get burned. See this? It's boiling water. It would give you a boo-boo."

Natalie didn't care. She looked up at me with her big blue eyes and let out a pathetic sound, complete with a puffed out lip.

"It's okay," I said out loud, making sure Tom could hear. "I don't need any help!"

And then he somehow took offense and marched into the kitchen. He bent down to retrieve Natalie while shooting me a dirty look. But Natalie would not let go.

"Come on," Tom said, his hands circling her waist.

Natalie's grasp remained around my leg. She started to whimper as Tom struggled to break her free.

"Come with Daddy," Tom tried again.

"WAHHHHHHHHHH!" went Natalie.

Tom eventually gathered her into her arms and she immediately reached out for me.

"I've got to cook," I explained, which means nothing to a fifteen-month-old.

She complained and fussed out in the living room but I managed to finish cooking.

Then we all sat around the table. I cut up a hot dog for Natalie in small pieces and wanted to clap when she actually put a few bites into her mouth.

When we finished eating Tom went back to his computer game.

"It's okay," I said outloud. "I'll take care of the dishes."

It bugs me because if I cook, he should clean.

Tom banged back into the kitchen. "What is your problem?" he demanded. "Are you PMSing or something?"

"Actually yes," I said cooly.

Tom was at a loss for words. Usually I jump down his throat for asking me something like that. Because it makes it seem like the only time a woman is allowed to be upset is when she's PMSing.

"Oh," Tom said, finding some words. "That explains it then. I'll take care of the dishes tonight," he promised.

Tonight. Tonight. He always puts everything OFF.

And I don't know how it happened, but after I put the children to bed Tom and I ended up sexing on the living room floor.

I got a cheerio stuck on my back.

Of course afterwards he annoyed me again because he was all, "I'm going to bed.."

Which isn't a big deal but he had to wake up at 11:30 to go for his PT test.

(His score was 81.5 which is passing.)

"Do you think you can sleep downstairs with the alarm clock so I'm not disturbed?" I asked him sweetly.

"No," he said, not sounding at all sorry that my sleep would be interupted.

I went to bed at 10. And I was disturbed when his alarm clock went off at 11:30.

It took me forever to get back to sleep.

Then when I finally DID get back to sleep I was disturbed again because he came back into the room to shower and then he was stumbling around, looking for some clothes. He kept opening and closing his dresser.

"STOP IT. Would you fu*king STOP IT?" I screeched when I couldn't take anymore or the banging.

"I can't find any clothes," came Tom's response. I could see the outline of his body, digging frantically through his dresser. "I'm going into the office to get some paperwork done. Ahh, here's some shorts. Sorry. I won't come back to bed until after you wake up for the morning."

Of course he was lying.

At four in the morning he came back into the room.

"You liar!" I screeched. "You said you wouldn't bug me again!"

"I got tired," was Tom's answer.

"Sleep on the COUCH. I'm up at 7 anyway," I reminded him.

"The couch isn't comfortable enough," he said, sliding underneath the covers.

I seriously wanted to smother him with my pillow. And then when reporters would ask me why I did it I'd say he kept distrupting my sleep and that I was PMSing. The women reporters would understand. The men would just describe me as a complete lunatic.

This morning wasn't much better. I woke up to the mess that Tom left from being up the night before. Clothes scattered all over the couch. Popcicle sticks littered all around the computer. Two half filled glasses sitting on the small stand by the couch.

Then at 11 I was about to make myself a sandwich for lunch. But I paused as I held the bread in my hands. Then I thought, "Well if he disturbed me all night I'm going to go disturb him. He's going to get me Wendys for lunch."

So I put the bread back and went up into the room. He was fast asleep, in the middle of the bed.

I opened and closed my dresser with a bang.

Ha. See how HE liked it.

He jumped and cracked open an eye. "Huh?"

"I'd like Wendys for lunch," I said calmly.

He closed his eye. "Mmmm," he responded and rolled over.

So I brought in the secret weapon, AKA Natalie. I placed her on the bed and she crawled over and tried to stick her finger in Tom's closed eye.

"AHHH!" Tom yelped.

"What IS that?" Natalie asked me.

"It's Daddy's eye. We mustn't poke it," I said. But my tone wasn't stern at all. It was light and airy.

Tom eventually woke up. I think when Natalie tried to bite his arm it joggled him awake.

We went to Wendys for lunch.

Then he went right back to bed.

I went to check the mail and frowned when I saw it was mainly bills. Plus a credit card company wanting me to use their credit card. Then the woman across the street came over and said hello to me. She moved from England awhile ago and Tom knew her husband over there. We chat politely from time to time but I'm unsure if we have much in common.

She was all, "I have a children's group on Wednesdays. You're welcome to come.."

That part sounded good.

But then she added, "It's a bible study group. We're currently reading *insert weird bible title here. Something about Martha or something or other. Was there even a Martha in the bible? Huh?* and you're welcome to join us."

Thing is, I'm not religious at all and I'd be completely lost on what everyone was talking about. Her group all goes to the same Christian church after all and I haven't set foot in a church since Tom's father passed away in 2002.

Of course I have religious friends but they don't shove their religion down my throat, which I appreciate. And I do believe in God but I just don't feel comfortable going to church. Maybe when I'm older. I don't know.

However, I was polite and thanked her but I didn't commit to anything.

Then when I was walking home a group of kids shouted out, "Hi Tommy's Mom!"

And I wanted to shout back, "Actually, my name is Amber, please call me Amber," but their parents could be the types that make them say Ma'am which gives me the heebie jeebies. I just ask Tommy to call parents Miss *insert their first name here.* Or last name, if he's in school of course. But no Sir or Ma'am because eeks, we're in the year 2008 not the early 1900s.

I better go vacuum. There's a moth carcass in the corner of the room and while I could gather it up in paper towels, I worry if I try to do so I'd hear the crunch of its body and freak out and drop pieces of it everywhere. Then I'd have to vacuum anyhow so I may as well skip the crunchy step and get on it..


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