Domestic Bliss
Is it human nature to question everything, or just mine?
Saturday, I was exhausted by noon. And we hadn't even really done anything. Ben left for work around 2:00, and Bob and I went grocery shopping. He did pretty well, and didn't spend the entire time begging me for this and that and every character-endorsed crap product on the shelves. After we went home and unloaded the groceries, we rode our bikes to the library. Usually, Bob sits in the kids' library and plays computer games while I pick out books for both of us. This time, unfortunately, some rogue librarian hunted me down in the adult section (less than 10 feet from Bob) and told me the rule is all kids under 8 must have a parent in the same room. Oh, please. I've been there countless times when unsupervised kids over 8 were making far more noise and chasing each other through the library, and no one insisted they be with an adult. So I had to drag poor Bob away from the Harry Potter game he was playing so he could follow me around while I chose a book.
Yesterday, Ben raked the yard in the morning and tossed our nasty-looking pumpkin remains. So our porch needed a makeover. I decided I was going to go find some mums and asked the boys if they wanted to join me. Ben insisted on driving, and he led us on a wild goose chase that involved 2 closed nurseries and about an hour drive before we stopped at the one 15 minutes from home. I picked out 2 big red mums, 2 big yellow mums, and some small pumpkins. When we got home, I realized I only had 1 pot. So a trip to Big Lots was necessary.
Oh, Big Lots. How I love thee. Sixty bucks later, I had votives (with candles in them!) for my mantle, a curtain rod and tiebacks for the "other" living room, a fuzzy chenille throw for the sofa, kitchen towels, placemats (tablecloth + sloppy 5 year old = disaster), and pots for the mums.
I really have to stop going in there.
At any rate, Ben pointed out to me later in the evening that he hadn't watched any football at all that day. Part of me wanted to hug him and say thank you, and the other part of me wanted to ask him if he wanted a medal or a chest to pin it on. Because I'm an insufferable bitch, I went with the latter. Then I asked him if he thinks I've made him old before his time.
I don't know why I suddenly seem to be in self-sabotage mode. Why I'm so eager to doubt that he's not going to email me one day with "By the way, I moved out over my lunch hour. Would you mind FedEx-ing me my t-shirts when they're done in the dryer? Thanks!" Why I can't just get it through my thick head that something good happened to me, and I deserve it, and the rug's not going to be yanked out from under me the minute I stop doubting it.
I hate being mental. I should go back to that mantra I had when we first started dating, the one that prevented me from saying self-deprecating things and questioning the direction our relationship was heading in: "stop embarrasing yourself." Believe it or not, it worked.
I'm thinking about filing another restraining order violation complaint against db. His most recent voicemails have indicated "karma will catch up with (me), and it's going to bite (me) in the ass." I think that sounds like a threat--thinly veiled in Hinduism, yes, but a threat nonetheless. The only thing is, I'd have to turn over the tape to the PD, and I'm not sure I don't want it at the ready for the custody trial. I suppose I could copy the tape, but it's a micro, and what a pain in the ass that would be. I wonder if they'd accept my transcript of the voicemails from July to the present (all 11 pages' worth).
But the good news of the day--Bob wore underpants to bed last night. And didn't wake up smelling like piss this morning. GO, BOB!
Oh--and last (and certainly least), let's all send a collective shout out to db today. He lived another year. Huzzah, fucker.
Saturday, I was exhausted by noon. And we hadn't even really done anything. Ben left for work around 2:00, and Bob and I went grocery shopping. He did pretty well, and didn't spend the entire time begging me for this and that and every character-endorsed crap product on the shelves. After we went home and unloaded the groceries, we rode our bikes to the library. Usually, Bob sits in the kids' library and plays computer games while I pick out books for both of us. This time, unfortunately, some rogue librarian hunted me down in the adult section (less than 10 feet from Bob) and told me the rule is all kids under 8 must have a parent in the same room. Oh, please. I've been there countless times when unsupervised kids over 8 were making far more noise and chasing each other through the library, and no one insisted they be with an adult. So I had to drag poor Bob away from the Harry Potter game he was playing so he could follow me around while I chose a book.
Yesterday, Ben raked the yard in the morning and tossed our nasty-looking pumpkin remains. So our porch needed a makeover. I decided I was going to go find some mums and asked the boys if they wanted to join me. Ben insisted on driving, and he led us on a wild goose chase that involved 2 closed nurseries and about an hour drive before we stopped at the one 15 minutes from home. I picked out 2 big red mums, 2 big yellow mums, and some small pumpkins. When we got home, I realized I only had 1 pot. So a trip to Big Lots was necessary.
Oh, Big Lots. How I love thee. Sixty bucks later, I had votives (with candles in them!) for my mantle, a curtain rod and tiebacks for the "other" living room, a fuzzy chenille throw for the sofa, kitchen towels, placemats (tablecloth + sloppy 5 year old = disaster), and pots for the mums.
I really have to stop going in there.
At any rate, Ben pointed out to me later in the evening that he hadn't watched any football at all that day. Part of me wanted to hug him and say thank you, and the other part of me wanted to ask him if he wanted a medal or a chest to pin it on. Because I'm an insufferable bitch, I went with the latter. Then I asked him if he thinks I've made him old before his time.
I don't know why I suddenly seem to be in self-sabotage mode. Why I'm so eager to doubt that he's not going to email me one day with "By the way, I moved out over my lunch hour. Would you mind FedEx-ing me my t-shirts when they're done in the dryer? Thanks!" Why I can't just get it through my thick head that something good happened to me, and I deserve it, and the rug's not going to be yanked out from under me the minute I stop doubting it.
I hate being mental. I should go back to that mantra I had when we first started dating, the one that prevented me from saying self-deprecating things and questioning the direction our relationship was heading in: "stop embarrasing yourself." Believe it or not, it worked.
I'm thinking about filing another restraining order violation complaint against db. His most recent voicemails have indicated "karma will catch up with (me), and it's going to bite (me) in the ass." I think that sounds like a threat--thinly veiled in Hinduism, yes, but a threat nonetheless. The only thing is, I'd have to turn over the tape to the PD, and I'm not sure I don't want it at the ready for the custody trial. I suppose I could copy the tape, but it's a micro, and what a pain in the ass that would be. I wonder if they'd accept my transcript of the voicemails from July to the present (all 11 pages' worth).
But the good news of the day--Bob wore underpants to bed last night. And didn't wake up smelling like piss this morning. GO, BOB!
Oh--and last (and certainly least), let's all send a collective shout out to db today. He lived another year. Huzzah, fucker.
posted by Mitzi Green at 2:00 PM
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