Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Why Say Anything When Dooce Can Say It So Much Better?

Just when I was -- honestly -- thinking, maybe Linda Hirschmann was right.


The problem, as usual, was my husband, whom many of you know as a wonderful, kind man. Tonight I spoke on the phone with him and I apologized for the fact that I am working an extra day this week, which will cause him to be very tired tomorrow morning when Nutmeg wakes up and I am already gone, and he will have to drag his worked-all-night butt out of bed to feed her and take her to Kaymommy's house.

"Tell them you can't work," he told me. This is the parent who routinely works so late that he brings the paper in with him in the morning. Who expects me to accommodate whatever hours he needs to work, often with no warning, and never with anything like an apology. And this is the same guy who heard me explain, a week ago, that I wanted to work this extra day because a company I'm writing about is having an event. Something that only happens tomorrow.

He's so tired and so deadline crazy he can't think straight. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Because the alternative is that our marriage is just like all those other marriages, that start out equal, but when the babies come along, the wife just gives in a little here, a little there, and all the sudden her career is really just something to entertain her, if she still has one at all. And I really need to believe that my husband supports my career wholeheartedly, because if not, then if I choose to work part time or stay home, it's really not my choice, is it? And that means Linda wins, which is pretty much the same as the terrorists winning.

So here's hoping that Epu wises up in the morning, tells me he was wrong, wrong, wrong, so I can join Dooce in extending my middle finger. C'mon, Epu. You know you love to see a girl flipping the bird.

p.s. We went skiing this weekend and I have the most spectacular bruise on the back of my leg! I'm very tempted to photograph it for y'all; I really crave worldwide recognition for this mother of a bruise. Unfortunately, it's sort of in the borderlands between leg and butt, and I fear that the amount of cellulite that would be inadvertently captured in such a picture might crash Blogger and maybe the entire Google network. So just take my word for it. I'm talking electric purple! Scarlet! And perfectly round (I think I fell on that little circle on the end of my pole.) You know what? I'm going to go look at it right now. Which somehow, will totally cheer me up.


Bert said...

I love that your bruise cheers you up! I once decided I liked the color of my recent climbing bruise so much that I should go to Home Depot and get a paint swatch to match it. That way, I could paint a room in my future house that color.

And also... you rock, lady. I'm sure Epu knows it. Your Tired Theory is likely right on. Or perhaps, he's just being a boy. They sometimes need some extra coaching to figure out the seemingly obvious.

Moxie Mom said...

I agree with Bert. He's just being a boy and he will snap out of it. This post is a bit old. Did he??

My second time out skiing my brother brought me on a mogul run. He was so loving. he told me if I didn't keep up, I would miss my ride home.
I fell over and over on the same side. I had a bruise, literally, from the middle of my thigh all the way up to the middle of my back.

I should have photographed that.

Carrie said...

Well, I dragged an apology out of him. But it really is just that his work is making him crazy right now. I know that if I told him I found a full time job and I wanted him to stay home after this project was over, he'd be all for it. Not. That. I. Want. That. Good. God. No.