Oh NO he didn't..

Yeah, he did.

I was going to play SPF with Kristine over at Random and ODD, today, but it ended up being one of those weeks when thinking just wasn't an option for me. So..maybe next Friday.

Today I want to talk about something else. Marriage. Or specifically marriage after kids. Not all aspects...Lord knows there's not enough time for that. Just one aspect.

The definition of marriage after kids: seeing who can get away with doing the least amount of shit at any given time.I lose. I always fucking lose.

Case in point:

It's morning. EARLY fucking morning...like around 4am...and I hear it. I know HE hears it to. I can't even think of how to describe it but if you have a dog or a cat you know it's unmistakable. That dry heaving, wrecking sound they make when they're about to puke... and then...that wet throat noise they make when they do...and silence. Shit...the dog fucking puked, I think. It's fucking 4am, I didn't get to bed until 1am...I am NOT getting up right now to pick up puke. Besides... I came home last night after my art class and volunteered to finish up the laundry AND I picked up his puke last time. HE can do it this time. Yeah, that's what I thought and I rolled back over and went back to sleep. Leaving the puke and the dog to be dealt with in the morning, when HE got up. Certain that I have the edge this time, because HE gets up before me. Ha!

Now, what I'm sure of is that HE was also laying there thinking, "It's too early. I'm not getting up to pick up puke right now... SHE always picks up the puke. And besides, I'm the one who has to go to work today and then take half the day off to play softball"...and he rolls over and goes to sleep.

Fast forward to about 6:30am and I feel someone leaning over the bed trying to rip me away from the kick ass dream I was having. I open my eyes, barely, just enough to see who could possible have the balls to do this...and it's HIM. "I'm leaving...have a nice day...kiss." he says. (well he didn't say kiss, but whatever) Okay, bye. And I roll over in an attempt to recover my dream.

Fast forward again to about 7:30am and I hear Jack starting to wake up...Mommy, where are you?....shit. Okay, so I get up and pee cuz that's priority around here...I walk out into the bedroom and...FUCK! Son of a Bitch. The Puke. Still sitting there, now kind of starting to dry up. That asshole just left it there! There's no way he didn't see it.What kind of excuse could HE possible have for not cleaning this up.

Then, it dawns on me. HE doesn't know that I heard the puke incident when it happened. HE is planning on telling me that it wasn't there...that the dog must have puked after he left...hence leaving me to clean it up. And SLAM!...I lose. Pisses. Me. Off.

Now, granted this a silly, almost comical little incident, but this is the way of it on a pretty regular basis. If you rewound this incident to three years ago (before the long and painful birth of my son) I would have jumped out of bed, let the dog out and quickly cleaned up the mess. But that was before I was given the almost sole responsibility of child rearing. I say almost because the one thing I don't do is earn the living. My measly earnings pay for...maybe food..that's it. I would gladly go out and bring home the bacon if we hadn't put ourselves in such a situation where no amount of bacon I can bring home would ever cover the mountain of expenses that we seem to enjoy creating.

Now I know some of you are thinking...yeah, but you get to (GET TO??)stay home with your son...suck it up...do the laundry...pick up the puke. I'm also guessing that those of you who are thinking that have never had the opportunity of getting to stay home with your kids.

Here's what I vote for as a mandatory life lesson, required by each and every adult in order to be able to pursue their life long dreams...each person...male or female...Whether they want kids or not...should be required to spend 4 weeks (that's all...just four weeks) at home...in anyone's home... with a child. Week one they will spend with a totally dependent screaming infant who eats every two hours around the clock... week two they will spend with a one year old who has just learned to walk, is cutting teeth and into everything that is not nailed down... week 3 will spent with a two year old who's latest passion is throwing his or herself on the ground and screaming for 12 hours out of a 24 hour day... and lastly week three will be spent with a three year old who's grasp of English language causes him or her to talk nonstop for 12 hours out of 24 hour a day, with 1678 of those words being why and 2067 of those words being no. Then...and only then...can we sit and talk about what I get to do.

Now, don't get me wrong, I realize the benefits of spending all of this time with my child. I don't need anyone to tell me what they are. My issue is not with my son. I love him more than my own life...but this here, that I get to do...is a JOB... unlike any other.

Wow. I feel a little better now. There's more where that came from, I'm sure, but I'll save it for a later date. So, what's my point, you ask??? I just wish, that once in a while, like ...maybe every other time...someone else would pick up the fucking puke.

But, what is it that they say about wishes?? Wish in one hand, piss in the other...see which one fills up faster. (revised, because I totally fucked it up the first time).

It's Friday people...Cheers!