In addition, he has this unreasonable
idea that his pants shouldn't have holes and neither should his
shoes. In all, his list of sudden needs is growing, and the cost is pressing
at nearly $500. As the anger and bile rose in my throat and the
argument began to build in the air, he opened his mouth and uttered
the implication that my needs are always put before his. I cannot
truthfully say that I have heard another word he has uttered since
that Saturday afternoon conversation, through the hot blood pulsing
in my ears.
My righteous indignation has hung
heavily in the scorching summer air for the past three days. Every
time I look into his brown eyes through the lenses of his outdated
prescription, I want to kick him in the threadbare seat of his holey
jeans and tell him to go take a hike in his boots that have developed
their own air conditioning. I look down on him from my moral high
horse, and think about kicking him with my cracking and worn
hand-me-down sandals.
I am scandalized by his hypocrisy when
he purchases indulgent lunches off of dollar menus at least TWICE A
MONTH while I sit at home and eat my lowly peanut butter and jelly
with the kids. My blood boils when I think of his luxurious
recreation, playing ancient video games on his high-tech, outdated
computer that might still have the novelty of an six-inch floppy
drive. All the while I sit at home and knit sweaters from inherited
yarn for our children; I am working my fingers to the bone and only
recreate to fill a need. I am waiting to be canonized for my
self-sacrifice.
I know, I am being ridiculous, but it
brought me to think about what being a parent entails. Yesterday was
like Christmas in my little maternal world. In February, we opted to
take our first vacation in seven years. When we went to leave and
return home, we found that my glasses had decided to take a vacation
of their own. This usually would be no big deal except that my
minions had absconded with my spare set and I was left with a
Vaseline-on-the-lens view of my entire world. Circumstances being
what they are and my husband changing job slightly after, I have
suffered in a fogged silence for five months....until yesterday when
I selfishly decided that I preferred seeing to not.
My husband just left a job where he
worked around dangerous and corrosive chemicals and footwear only
truly became unwearable when he began to feel the burning of his own
flesh through his shoes. I have mentioned before that I have a thick
mane of stick-straight brown hair. I finally broke down the other day
and convinced myself that I should invest the extra $2 and buy myself
a sturdy hairbrush from the normal hair care aisle at the store
rather than the flimsy ones that break from the dollar store. I
didn't even get to use my new treasure ONCE, before it was sacrificed
to the girlie sleepover gods and hasn't been seen since. Not that
either of us has a right to point fingers about whose needs are being
neglected and who is carrying the bigger cross...up a hill....both
ways....in twelve feet of snow....in corroded shoes...with our hair
unbrushed.
But, it makes me grin at the irony of
the NECESSITY of putting together the perfect collection of pink
presents for our minion rather than buying shoes or eye wear. Not
only that, but SMILING and enjoying every minute of the blurry
visions of her opening her presents and only guessing that she liked
them because I was sitting more than a foot away, so it is uncertain.
I have decided that the phenomenon of “Mom-jeans” is more a
matter of purchasing the cheapest, albeit poorly designed, jeans to
cover your nakedness while still having the funds to delight your
minions.
Anyway, I guess that the entire point
of this short play-by-play recap of my brief marital distress is
intended to express sympathy for those parents who are buying bicycle
inner tubes before underpants, Barbie dolls and basketballs before
brushes and bobby pins, bedazzled dance costumes before dental care.
Wear those frump-butt-mom-jeans and holey shoes like a rockstar,
because you are not alone!
