For just a moment, I am going to stand upon my dusty soap box and rant and rave like a disgruntled woman. I normally do my ranting in the comforts of my own head....where, I must say, I make some pretty compelling arguments for my case. Actually I do most of my confronting, arguing, and debating within the confines and safety of my own head where I successfully encompass the passion and charisma of some of the most famous literary protagonists. Have I ever mentioned that I took debate (and was pretty successful) in high school? I like to have my facts in place, evidence at hand to support my point, and a fistful of logic just in case.
With that said, I'm going to state my case....a word of caution, however, I don't take too kindly to being told that I am wrong or to the suggestion that it is indeed I who need be corrected.
I love my hubby dearly...wouldn't trade him in for a newer model anytime soon. However, it needs to be said...that he is spoiled...quite spoiled indeed. I take the blame. I wait on him (and my boys) hand and foot without thanks or recognition. And most of the time, it doesn't bother me at all....until it does, and then watch out! Because I- like many an elephant-never forget. Right, wrong, or indifferent I quietly make record of all wrong doing against me whether it's real or perceived. You are aware that perception is reality, right? So whether offense was intended or not, it is how it is perceived that matters.
When hubby has the misfortune to toot his own horn after helping with home or children, I tend to get a little hot and bothered. Hence, I start to fester, bubble and boil. I'm a stew-er if you must know. And all past offenses get thrown into that boiling pot. Why, pray tell, does hubby need recognition and congratulations after the smallest of household tasks? I haven't an answer for that mystical query. I could entertain and captivate you with a tabulation of transgressions that are presently festering, bubbling, and boiling in my cauldron, but I won't....I will merely state my position on his most recent affront.
When stranded in the hotel this past weekend during the blizzard, I allowed hubby to make fake-turkey (seriously, there is no way that package should have been labeled "turkey") sandwiches for our crew. Nothing was really said of it (it was cold meat sandwiches for heaven's sake!), until we returned home from our long, arduous weekend. All afternoon and evening no one had moved their perched hiennies from the position of holding down the couch to help me with anything. I brought all suitcases and gear in, put it away, sorted laundry so we could have clean underwear (which really I'm the only one who cares!), and started supper. I may or may not have been getting a little huffy and growled toward hubby about helping. When he had the audacity to whine and moan about how I didn't help while he "served" everyone sandwiches in the hotel! Is anybody else chuckling???? Because, seriously. Do we really want to start making lists of who does what around the house???? I don't think so...because we all know how that is going to go.
Would it really be worth my while to list each and every task I do all day? Wipe butt....check. Feed five kids breakfast (our neighbor comes to our house before and after school to ride the bus...in case you were wondering where my extra son came from)...check. Clean up breakfast mess...check. Make school lunch...check. Get 3 out the door to the bus...check. Empty dishwasher and reload...check. Change toddler's diaper...check. He pooped, change it again...check. Make bed...check. Wash 4yo's sheets and make bed with clean sheets...check. OK...it's only about 7:45 am by this point...should I really continue, or all we all singing the same song by this point??!!
So if anyone out there can help me with this conundrum, please do. Why must hubby get a gold star and congratulatory announcement for his accomplished household task? Do their egos really need that much stroking (yes I'm talking about egos! Get your mind out of the gutter!!)? Or (tread softly, here) is it I who is being overly sensitive (or dramatic...the jury is still out on that one)? I haven't the answers for these worldly questions...but I'm tired of playing my violin, and my list of things to do is growing as we speak!