Well, we went and bought Steve his beater. It's actually pretty nice if you take into account that it was $1100. And, he actually listed his dead truck for sale. A little tricky because we don't have the title, but it's really only good for parts so we don't need it. We lost it in the move and I refuse to pay the state to get the title on a truck that hasn't moved in three years, except on a flatbed. However, he's managed to drop the price everytime someone calls. Which totally pisses me off.
Before we left to get his 'new' car, he asked if he could get a new sight for his bow. It's a super duper 3D sight and they run about $100. Keeping in mind that he got a car for work, so that doesn't really count I ordered his sight. There's $134 I'll never see again. But, there's still plenty of money left for me to get the camera that I want. To be honest, our marriage doesn't work on the concept of he got this, now what do I get? I truly don't really ever want anything. As long as I get to stay home with the girls, I'm cool. Mostly. But I really want a new camera.
And then we get to the dealership (I'm using that term very loosely, trust me) and realize that I didn't think about pesky little things like taxes and plate fees. So. I'm not getting my camera. At least until he sells the truck. At which point I'll talk myself right out of it again. Which is okay. Today. Talk to me tomorrow and see how I feel, mkay?
***
As far as the 'boys' doing their own laundry, etc.? That lasted until I remembered that Luke broke my brand new Maytag heavy duty, super capacity washing machine three days after I got it - while we were on our honeymoon! - and decided that was a bad idea. So, that's a no-go until I get Steve to get his balls out of his purse and make them go to the laundro-mat.
However, the other day we had spaghetti for supper. Usually, I make two pounds. I only made one. There was salad and breadsticks also. They were both bitching that there wasn't enough. I looked Luke in the eye and told him "That's how much I made. You just ate a quarter of a pound of spaghetti. Don't you think that's enough? Seriously? If you're still hungry, go to Wendy's. There is nothing else being cooked in this house tonight."
Then last night, we had eight people for supper. Nine, if you count Sara. I made chili and I used 2.85 pounds of hamburger. There was enough for one bowl per person. Also, I made two eight by eight pans of cornbread. My mother brought a cake for dessert. I cut the cake into ten slices. That wasn't enough. Luke and Matt both had the decency to wait until John and Annette left before they started bitching about being hungry. They had just eaten supper and dessert thrity minutes earlier.
When Steve or I pack lunches there's a sandwich, and baggie of chips, a baggie of cookies and a piece of fruit. That's it. We now hide the potato chips and the cookies. Not to be vindictive, but to show them how much they really do eat. It's ridiculous.
Steve also told Luke that with this new job, where Luke will be making more money than Steve, that his 'rent' is going up from $50 a pay to $100 and that he will be taking over his entire portion of the car insurance. As it stands right now, we pay half of it because Steve was driving Luke's truck every day to work. We have now both mentioned the changes to him individually. Yesterday, we reminded him that more of his paycheck on Friday is coming to us for the insurance. "What? You never told me that," in his high-pitched twelve year old girl whine. "Luke, we've both told you. And we've both told you that the cost of living is going up for you."
He actually had the balls to say "Well, I have bills to pay, you know." Again, I assumed the role of Evil StepMother (because my husband just looked at him in shock) and said "You know what? So do your father and I. We have considerably more. And yet, you bitch about three credit cards? Stop it. I don't want to hear it. We take care of everything but the satellite that YOU had to have. You're getting off easy." Then I left the room.
It's getting very tense in this house.
***
On the moving front, my parents' elderly neighbor is considering moving closer to town to be near his wife who is in a nursing home. Steve said that maybe he'd allow us to rent if from him, assuming we could find Steve a job reasonably local.
I was outside talking to our neighbor Charlie and he mentioned that someone had broken into his house and his aunt's house over the weekend. He mentioned if after I said something about the police being in front of his aunt's house and I hoped she was okay.
As it is, I keep the dogs in the house for an alarm system. The doors are always locked. The cars are always locked. I feel reasonably safe. There's a registered sex offender that lives one block up the hill and two blocks down the street. But, my kids aren't out wandering by themselves, so I'm okay. But, now. People are breaking into the house right next door to mine and walking out with guns.
I want the fuck out of this town, this house.
I'm pushing the renting the neighbor's house theory, people. Pushing it real good.
***
And the topper of the shit cake that was my weekend, I wasn't going to write about this because that makes it real. But I promised myself this blog would be honest. I think Steve kind of threatened me with divorce.
See, I'm real big on trying to 'fix' whatever's wrong. And since he walks around looking pissed off 98% of the time, I'm always asking him what's wrong. On the way to check out the car we ended up buying, he blew up at me. "That's what's wrong with me. You're always asking me that. I've told you and told you. The boys are annoying me. My back hurts. I'm tired. If you want us to separate, just keep asking me what's wrong. That's what's wrong, Prudence. Everything is wrong. We have to buy a car, which we can't afford really, because my sons screwed everything up again."
Being me, I just my mouth and looked out the window. Then, ironically, he asked me what was wrong. "Doesn't matter. Just go." "You have to tell me what's bothering you so I can fix it. You always want to know what I'm thinking about but when I tell you, you get mad." "Well genius. Telling me that you're going to divorce me because I want to know what's wrong with you? Not helping. So I'll stop asking you and then you can be miserable all by yourself. Okay? Happy now?" "I didn't mean separate as in divorce, I meant separate like not connected the way we used to be." "Sure you did. Fine." Not one more word was spoked until we got to the dealership.
And it's still bugging me. Just one more thing that I've done wrong. Only this time, it was supposed to be for keeps. This time I've got babies in it. This time, I'm not quitting. He can, but it'll be all on him.
These mother-fucking-goddamned-sons-a-bitching 'boys' are ruining my marriage. And I really don't know how much longer I can put up with it. Something's got to give. Soon.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Valentine's Day
Valentine's Day is supposed to be a joyous and happy day, right? Lemme just tell you about mine.
It all started off nice enough. We didn't do gifts for each other. We only did the first year we were married. After that, we agreed that it's a Hallmark Holiday and since we spend every day trying to show the other how much we care, we didn't need it.
Around eleven, John called and asked me if I could go pick up Jonah since the daycare had a water main break. That was nice. I would have the grandbaby all to myself for a day. Score!
I went and got him and we came home and settled in for a day of smooching. And puzzles, don't forget the puzzles.
About one o'clock, Luke calls with what would appear to be good news. He just got the phone call telling him he got the new fabulous job he's been waiting to hear about. And! He'll start out at eighteen bucks an hour. I'm truly happy for him. It's about time he gets out of the crappy job he has.
At Steve's two o'clock break, he calls to see how Jonah's doing and how I'm handling three kids. I tell him Luke's good news. He's less than happy.
Oh, he's happy for Luke. But, the twenty five hundred dollar tax return that we were going to use to pay off some bills and buy a new bow (him) and a new camera (me) now has to be used to buy Steve a beater to use for work. He drives Luke's vehicle, since Luke currently has a company vehicle for work.
My Steve is a very introverted man, as a rule. If you really want to know what goes through his mind, you'll need psychic powers. Not yesterday. He came home from work in a foul mood. And shared the joy. I shouldn't let his mood dictate mine, but that's how it seems to work.
Since we had Jonah, Annette and John joined us for supper. While I was dishing out, I dropped at plate full of chicken parmesan and speghetti. Just as Steve asked me if I wanted him to let the dogs in the house as they were losing their minds barking at birds in the backyard.
"I don't give a damn what you do with the dogs, Jesus."
*Angry storm out the room*
"Why is it, no matter what, something has to be done with the damn dogs every single time I'm trying to do something with supper? Why?!"
*Pissed off storm back into the room*
"You're just mad because you dropped a plate."
"I'm mad because I dropped a plate, because you came home in a shitty mood, because you're grouchy-"
"Why don't we just tell everyone about my mood?"
"Maybe that's the problem. You never tell anyone what's going on. You just walk around being pissed off all the time and nobody knows why."
*crickets*
And then we ate.
After John and his family left, my beloved sat down in his chair (what is it with men and recliners, anyway?) and within ten minutes was asleep. Which is his usual method of conflict resolution.
My usual method is to sit outside, smoking and trying to find a solution. When I was done freezing my ass off last night, I came back in and sat down at the computer. At one am, he woke up and asked me to come to bed. Fine, I can watch tv in bed.
And he was all What's the matter? Talk to me. Blah, blah, blah. I finally told him, again. I'm tired of having everything we do come under the microscope with the 'boys'. I'm tired of putting everything we want or need on hold because of the 'boys'. I'm just tired. They can't be bothered to get off their asses to do anything, but yet. When we go to my parent's house for the weekend, they handle everything just fine. They cook, they clean, they do laundry.
Maybe, if it weren't for me and the girls, they would be the three men that were together when I showed up, and they would all be happier. I'm not taking the blame, I'm offering a solution. In my head, at least.
Eventually he said the words. Don't get it in your head that you're going anywhere. None of this is your fault, so quit making it yours. There is no fault here, other than mine. In my selfish need to have them on my side, I've created this monster. And there's no solution. We can't move because we don't have the money because they're here. They're here because they don't have the money to move out. Luke got this new job, but it won't change. He'll just piss it all away, anyway. It's just a vicious cycle. There is no easy solution.
And I told him. The truth, at last. I don't want an easy solution. I just want some kind of future for my kids. We're ransoming the girls happiness and security for things like clothes, private school tuition, braces, formal dresses, all of that shit. Because we're supporting two grown ass mother fucking men.
What about us, too. We can't do anything or go anywhere because we always have to worry about what they're doing. We can't go out on a 'date' night. Ever. For one thing, we can't afford it. And for another, since Jonah's been born, our built in baby sitters (John and Annette) are now busy with their own baby. As they should be. We can't afford to pay a baby-sitter. The two that live here are so inept that we can't trust them to get the girls fed, bathed, played with and to bed. They'll park Sara in front of Dora, Rebecca in front of some toy and wander off to play playstation.
We can't even have a conversation without some input from Luke and Matt. Any subject that we don't want them in on must be discussed after we're in bed. And by that time, we're both so fucking exhausted that it's just not happening.
Some part of me feels like this is my fault, since I handle the finances. Like, maybe I'm not managing it properly. And you know what? No. I can't handle it any more properly. There's not enough money in the month, ever. You can't handle what isn't there.
When I was working, it was so nice. A weekly paycheck. But. The odds of me finding another job are nil. Because of my background. Which is just another turn of the screw keeping me like this.
This family is roughly thirty thousand dollars in debt, not counting the house, and there is just no way to get out of it. By the time we buy the food, pay the mortgage and the utilities, there's nothing left to pay off debt with. And let's not forget that's another reason we can't move. All this debt. Which we can't get out of because? The FUCKING 'boys'.
Consider, if we weren't feeding, bathing and housing four adults. There would be more money. If it was two adults and two toddlers, all the bills would go down. With the exception of the heat bill, fine. The grocery bill would be cut in half, the electric bill would be cut in half, the water bill would be cut in half. And we would be able to move. We would be able to get out of debt. We would be able to buy nice things for our children and ourselves.
But, we can't.
I'm just so fucking tired of being strong, making it all work, acting like it's perfectly normal. I'm so tired of being this person who snaps at everyone. I'm tired of being broke, mentally and financially. I'm so tired of worrying about what fresh hell the day will bring.
I knew, when Steve and I met and married that his sons lived with him. I went into this with my eyes wide the fuck open.
I just didn't think I'd still be dealing with it four years later.
That was my Valentine's Day. Arguing, insomnia and contemplation of leaving. Ain't it fucking grand?
Sure hope yours was better.
It all started off nice enough. We didn't do gifts for each other. We only did the first year we were married. After that, we agreed that it's a Hallmark Holiday and since we spend every day trying to show the other how much we care, we didn't need it.
Around eleven, John called and asked me if I could go pick up Jonah since the daycare had a water main break. That was nice. I would have the grandbaby all to myself for a day. Score!
I went and got him and we came home and settled in for a day of smooching. And puzzles, don't forget the puzzles.
About one o'clock, Luke calls with what would appear to be good news. He just got the phone call telling him he got the new fabulous job he's been waiting to hear about. And! He'll start out at eighteen bucks an hour. I'm truly happy for him. It's about time he gets out of the crappy job he has.
At Steve's two o'clock break, he calls to see how Jonah's doing and how I'm handling three kids. I tell him Luke's good news. He's less than happy.
Oh, he's happy for Luke. But, the twenty five hundred dollar tax return that we were going to use to pay off some bills and buy a new bow (him) and a new camera (me) now has to be used to buy Steve a beater to use for work. He drives Luke's vehicle, since Luke currently has a company vehicle for work.
My Steve is a very introverted man, as a rule. If you really want to know what goes through his mind, you'll need psychic powers. Not yesterday. He came home from work in a foul mood. And shared the joy. I shouldn't let his mood dictate mine, but that's how it seems to work.
Since we had Jonah, Annette and John joined us for supper. While I was dishing out, I dropped at plate full of chicken parmesan and speghetti. Just as Steve asked me if I wanted him to let the dogs in the house as they were losing their minds barking at birds in the backyard.
"I don't give a damn what you do with the dogs, Jesus."
*Angry storm out the room*
"Why is it, no matter what, something has to be done with the damn dogs every single time I'm trying to do something with supper? Why?!"
*Pissed off storm back into the room*
"You're just mad because you dropped a plate."
"I'm mad because I dropped a plate, because you came home in a shitty mood, because you're grouchy-"
"Why don't we just tell everyone about my mood?"
"Maybe that's the problem. You never tell anyone what's going on. You just walk around being pissed off all the time and nobody knows why."
*crickets*
And then we ate.
After John and his family left, my beloved sat down in his chair (what is it with men and recliners, anyway?) and within ten minutes was asleep. Which is his usual method of conflict resolution.
My usual method is to sit outside, smoking and trying to find a solution. When I was done freezing my ass off last night, I came back in and sat down at the computer. At one am, he woke up and asked me to come to bed. Fine, I can watch tv in bed.
And he was all What's the matter? Talk to me. Blah, blah, blah. I finally told him, again. I'm tired of having everything we do come under the microscope with the 'boys'. I'm tired of putting everything we want or need on hold because of the 'boys'. I'm just tired. They can't be bothered to get off their asses to do anything, but yet. When we go to my parent's house for the weekend, they handle everything just fine. They cook, they clean, they do laundry.
Maybe, if it weren't for me and the girls, they would be the three men that were together when I showed up, and they would all be happier. I'm not taking the blame, I'm offering a solution. In my head, at least.
Eventually he said the words. Don't get it in your head that you're going anywhere. None of this is your fault, so quit making it yours. There is no fault here, other than mine. In my selfish need to have them on my side, I've created this monster. And there's no solution. We can't move because we don't have the money because they're here. They're here because they don't have the money to move out. Luke got this new job, but it won't change. He'll just piss it all away, anyway. It's just a vicious cycle. There is no easy solution.
And I told him. The truth, at last. I don't want an easy solution. I just want some kind of future for my kids. We're ransoming the girls happiness and security for things like clothes, private school tuition, braces, formal dresses, all of that shit. Because we're supporting two grown ass mother fucking men.
What about us, too. We can't do anything or go anywhere because we always have to worry about what they're doing. We can't go out on a 'date' night. Ever. For one thing, we can't afford it. And for another, since Jonah's been born, our built in baby sitters (John and Annette) are now busy with their own baby. As they should be. We can't afford to pay a baby-sitter. The two that live here are so inept that we can't trust them to get the girls fed, bathed, played with and to bed. They'll park Sara in front of Dora, Rebecca in front of some toy and wander off to play playstation.
We can't even have a conversation without some input from Luke and Matt. Any subject that we don't want them in on must be discussed after we're in bed. And by that time, we're both so fucking exhausted that it's just not happening.
Some part of me feels like this is my fault, since I handle the finances. Like, maybe I'm not managing it properly. And you know what? No. I can't handle it any more properly. There's not enough money in the month, ever. You can't handle what isn't there.
When I was working, it was so nice. A weekly paycheck. But. The odds of me finding another job are nil. Because of my background. Which is just another turn of the screw keeping me like this.
This family is roughly thirty thousand dollars in debt, not counting the house, and there is just no way to get out of it. By the time we buy the food, pay the mortgage and the utilities, there's nothing left to pay off debt with. And let's not forget that's another reason we can't move. All this debt. Which we can't get out of because? The FUCKING 'boys'.
Consider, if we weren't feeding, bathing and housing four adults. There would be more money. If it was two adults and two toddlers, all the bills would go down. With the exception of the heat bill, fine. The grocery bill would be cut in half, the electric bill would be cut in half, the water bill would be cut in half. And we would be able to move. We would be able to get out of debt. We would be able to buy nice things for our children and ourselves.
But, we can't.
I'm just so fucking tired of being strong, making it all work, acting like it's perfectly normal. I'm so tired of being this person who snaps at everyone. I'm tired of being broke, mentally and financially. I'm so tired of worrying about what fresh hell the day will bring.
I knew, when Steve and I met and married that his sons lived with him. I went into this with my eyes wide the fuck open.
I just didn't think I'd still be dealing with it four years later.
That was my Valentine's Day. Arguing, insomnia and contemplation of leaving. Ain't it fucking grand?
Sure hope yours was better.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Ch-Ch-Changes
Can I just tell you how indecisiveness makes me crazy? It does. Most of the time, I truly don't care if you make the wrong decision. Just please, for the love of God, make one!
When last we discussed my beloved (grrr) husband, he said that we should move if he didn't get the university job. And then he came up with a zillion reasons why we can't move.
I'm not sure if it's because it's winter and we're all cooped up together or what, but Luke and Matt are on both of our last nerves.
Keep in mind that Matt and Luke are 25 and 26, respectively. They are both employed.
John did their taxes for them, like he does every year. As it happens, Luke made just enough money last year to kick him into a higher tax bracket. Which means the government keeps more of his money. When we moved, Luke had to fill out a new W4. And he fucked it up. He gave himself the wrong number of exemptions. So, all year long his paychecks were bigger. However, his tax return is now ridiculously small. He had big plans to pay off his credit cards with his tax return. Which is obviously not going to happen.
He's been whining about that. He's been whining about the fact that on his paystub last payday, he noticed that his bosses had kicked his hourly rate down. He won't go ask them why, though. And my God does that piss me off.
Then, there's Matt. Who makes considerably less than Luke so he's getting most of what he paid in taxes last year back. It's just how it works. And Matt has big plans to buy an iPod and a pistol with his. Because of Luke's whining, he's going to buy two iPods and two pistols. So Matt doesn't feel so bad about Luke's crappy tax return. WHAT THE HELL??
Look, I appreciate brotherly concern. Really. But where is the line? On the other hand, the tax return situation really doesn't affect me, so whatever.
Except.
Steve is all jacked off because neither one of them even thought to offer to give some of that money to us. And neither one of them even thought that instead of buying more crap you don't need, that money could be used as a security deposit on an apartment. Neither one of them seem to be the least little bit interested in mobilizing to their own lives.
Understand, they have been on a date with an actual live female...um...never. Neither one of them has ever had a date. Oh, I'm sorry. Luke went to a semi-formal his junior year in high school. That's it. That's just not normal. They'll drool all over the Swimsuit Issue, but won't talk to an actual living woman. What the hell?
I'm tired of the excuses.
They never had to do it. Why the hell not? My God, Sara helps out more. Sara cleans up after herself better. She's TWO!
Their mother leaving really hurt them. Guess what! It was seven goddamn years ago. It's time to suck it up, grow the fuck up and move on. If you want to be around your mother, go for it! No one is stopping you. You think you have it rough here? Go live with her and then we'll talk.
Which reminds me. Since John did the 'boys' taxes and found out what the returns would be, their damn mother calls them every day. Last night, I overheard Luke's end of the conversation. I think Jane is hitting them up for money. So help me, if they give her money and Steve none? I will kick them out on their pampered, fat asses. Personally.
He doesn't think. No kidding. Maybe he should start? Saturday, Luke was expecting a call from a co-worker. His loud ass cell phone rings and he stands in the entrance at the bottom of the stairs yelling into it. Meanwhile, his sisters are asleep upstairs. 'I forgot. Sorry.' How do you forget about your sisters? HOW?
That's just the way he is. And we let him get away with it, why? Matt came home from work on Friday, ate supper and disappeared to their room where he played PS2. We literally did not see him downstairs again until suppertime on Sunday. I wish I was exagerrating. How can you be 25 years old and not have any sense of anything at all?
But, back to the indeciveness. Now Steve is going on about moving again. 'We really need to sit down and seriously think about this. Whether we can, if we should, all of that.' Direct quote, folks, direct fucking quote.
I finally said to him the other day, 'We're never going to move. You won't ever leave your sons. It's time we just accept that this is our life. This is how it's going to be, forever. They're never leaving, you're never going to make them leave, this is it. Forever.'
That shut him up.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I flipped through the channels and came across 'Failure to Launch.' Prophetic?
I came to a conclusion. That's what we're facing. Why should they want to leave? They have it made. I cook, I clean, I do their laundry. Steve provides shelter and food.
Until now. I'm done cooking around their likes and dislikes. You don't want what we're having? McDonald's is that-a-way. I'm done cleaning their room and making their beds. As much as it annoys me to have a messy space in my house, I'm just going to shut the door. Things they leave laying around will be dumped on their floor and they can do with it what they want. Keep it all in that room, dudes. And I'm done doing their laundry. The laundromat is down the street. Have at.
Oh, and the grocery bill is going way down, too. For example, I generally use two pounds of ground meat to make a meatloaf to feed four adults and a toddler. Until I was watching TLC and Kate Gosselin uses two pounds to feed her family of ten, and their crew of three to six. Portion control - coming soon to a table near you!
I'll be sure to keep you updated on that situation.
As far as Steve goes, he can dream all he wants about moving. I've accepted that we won't be anytime soon. As long as he keeps wanting $500 bows and I keep wanting $400 cameras, we are stuck here. So, let's just make the best of it.
And get your damn sons out of the house. That, too.
When last we discussed my beloved (grrr) husband, he said that we should move if he didn't get the university job. And then he came up with a zillion reasons why we can't move.
I'm not sure if it's because it's winter and we're all cooped up together or what, but Luke and Matt are on both of our last nerves.
Keep in mind that Matt and Luke are 25 and 26, respectively. They are both employed.
John did their taxes for them, like he does every year. As it happens, Luke made just enough money last year to kick him into a higher tax bracket. Which means the government keeps more of his money. When we moved, Luke had to fill out a new W4. And he fucked it up. He gave himself the wrong number of exemptions. So, all year long his paychecks were bigger. However, his tax return is now ridiculously small. He had big plans to pay off his credit cards with his tax return. Which is obviously not going to happen.
He's been whining about that. He's been whining about the fact that on his paystub last payday, he noticed that his bosses had kicked his hourly rate down. He won't go ask them why, though. And my God does that piss me off.
Then, there's Matt. Who makes considerably less than Luke so he's getting most of what he paid in taxes last year back. It's just how it works. And Matt has big plans to buy an iPod and a pistol with his. Because of Luke's whining, he's going to buy two iPods and two pistols. So Matt doesn't feel so bad about Luke's crappy tax return. WHAT THE HELL??
Look, I appreciate brotherly concern. Really. But where is the line? On the other hand, the tax return situation really doesn't affect me, so whatever.
Except.
Steve is all jacked off because neither one of them even thought to offer to give some of that money to us. And neither one of them even thought that instead of buying more crap you don't need, that money could be used as a security deposit on an apartment. Neither one of them seem to be the least little bit interested in mobilizing to their own lives.
Understand, they have been on a date with an actual live female...um...never. Neither one of them has ever had a date. Oh, I'm sorry. Luke went to a semi-formal his junior year in high school. That's it. That's just not normal. They'll drool all over the Swimsuit Issue, but won't talk to an actual living woman. What the hell?
I'm tired of the excuses.
They never had to do it. Why the hell not? My God, Sara helps out more. Sara cleans up after herself better. She's TWO!
Their mother leaving really hurt them. Guess what! It was seven goddamn years ago. It's time to suck it up, grow the fuck up and move on. If you want to be around your mother, go for it! No one is stopping you. You think you have it rough here? Go live with her and then we'll talk.
Which reminds me. Since John did the 'boys' taxes and found out what the returns would be, their damn mother calls them every day. Last night, I overheard Luke's end of the conversation. I think Jane is hitting them up for money. So help me, if they give her money and Steve none? I will kick them out on their pampered, fat asses. Personally.
He doesn't think. No kidding. Maybe he should start? Saturday, Luke was expecting a call from a co-worker. His loud ass cell phone rings and he stands in the entrance at the bottom of the stairs yelling into it. Meanwhile, his sisters are asleep upstairs. 'I forgot. Sorry.' How do you forget about your sisters? HOW?
That's just the way he is. And we let him get away with it, why? Matt came home from work on Friday, ate supper and disappeared to their room where he played PS2. We literally did not see him downstairs again until suppertime on Sunday. I wish I was exagerrating. How can you be 25 years old and not have any sense of anything at all?
But, back to the indeciveness. Now Steve is going on about moving again. 'We really need to sit down and seriously think about this. Whether we can, if we should, all of that.' Direct quote, folks, direct fucking quote.
I finally said to him the other day, 'We're never going to move. You won't ever leave your sons. It's time we just accept that this is our life. This is how it's going to be, forever. They're never leaving, you're never going to make them leave, this is it. Forever.'
That shut him up.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I flipped through the channels and came across 'Failure to Launch.' Prophetic?
I came to a conclusion. That's what we're facing. Why should they want to leave? They have it made. I cook, I clean, I do their laundry. Steve provides shelter and food.
Until now. I'm done cooking around their likes and dislikes. You don't want what we're having? McDonald's is that-a-way. I'm done cleaning their room and making their beds. As much as it annoys me to have a messy space in my house, I'm just going to shut the door. Things they leave laying around will be dumped on their floor and they can do with it what they want. Keep it all in that room, dudes. And I'm done doing their laundry. The laundromat is down the street. Have at.
Oh, and the grocery bill is going way down, too. For example, I generally use two pounds of ground meat to make a meatloaf to feed four adults and a toddler. Until I was watching TLC and Kate Gosselin uses two pounds to feed her family of ten, and their crew of three to six. Portion control - coming soon to a table near you!
I'll be sure to keep you updated on that situation.
As far as Steve goes, he can dream all he wants about moving. I've accepted that we won't be anytime soon. As long as he keeps wanting $500 bows and I keep wanting $400 cameras, we are stuck here. So, let's just make the best of it.
And get your damn sons out of the house. That, too.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The Mother In Law From Hell
I was just reading Constance's version of 'My Mother In Law Is Such A Raving Nutjob' and thought I'd share my version.
My MIL has not spoken to my husband since our wedding day, almost four years ago. Oh, wait. She and Steve were both slightly tipsy at John's wedding and they did dance - although Steve has no memory of this. (Did I say tipsy? I meant schnockered. Oops.)
She doesn't like me and informed my (at the time) fiance and his sons that I was a gold-digger who was just marrying Steve for his money and that I just wanted to 'play house' and would decide to stop once I got bored.
She has never met either of my daughters. She hasn't spoken to her Grandsons (my stepsons) since John's wedding. John and Annette have been married for almost three years, now. She did come to Jonah's baby shower, but she spoke only to my sister-in-law.
At the baby shower, she sent my sister-in-law over to Annette to complain that no one had told her about Rebecca. Um, why would we? Notice: she did not send SIL over to me. She prefers to simply shoot dirty looks my way.
And the kicker?
This poor woman lives six blocks away from us. SIX. BLOCKS.
What's your MIL horror story?
My MIL has not spoken to my husband since our wedding day, almost four years ago. Oh, wait. She and Steve were both slightly tipsy at John's wedding and they did dance - although Steve has no memory of this. (Did I say tipsy? I meant schnockered. Oops.)
She doesn't like me and informed my (at the time) fiance and his sons that I was a gold-digger who was just marrying Steve for his money and that I just wanted to 'play house' and would decide to stop once I got bored.
She has never met either of my daughters. She hasn't spoken to her Grandsons (my stepsons) since John's wedding. John and Annette have been married for almost three years, now. She did come to Jonah's baby shower, but she spoke only to my sister-in-law.
At the baby shower, she sent my sister-in-law over to Annette to complain that no one had told her about Rebecca. Um, why would we? Notice: she did not send SIL over to me. She prefers to simply shoot dirty looks my way.
And the kicker?
This poor woman lives six blocks away from us. SIX. BLOCKS.
What's your MIL horror story?
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