"The majority of husbands remind me of an orangutang trying to play the violin." ~ Honore de Balzac
We've been eating dinner in shifts at my house. Wolf is too out of control for us to eat at the same time. I generally end up sitting beside Hubby at the dining table, distracting Wolf's attention with lots of pets. Occasionally, he gnaws on my arm. After Hubby finishes, I ususally put some peanut butter in Wolf's Kong and toss it into his crate. When he trots in for one of his most favorite foods in the world, I close the crate door and he makes himself happy for a while, trying to figure out how to get the peanut butter out of the magic hole in the Kong. I eat in relative peace.
On Tuesday, I didn't eat enough during the day and, by the time Hubby was ready for dinner, I was starving. I had started to shake a little. The crate thing wasn't working with Wolf, so I took him outside and tried to eat my sandwich while holding onto Wolf. I decided I won't be doing that again.
Yesterday, I sat on the floor again and waited while Hubby read the newspaper and ate his dinner. When he was finished, I got Wolf's Kong ready and tossed it in his crate. Unfortunately, Wolf finished before I did and started crying. I mean loud, high-pitched, relentless crying. I could see Hubby in the other room in front of the computer, holding his fingers in his ears. I ignored them both and continued to eat.
After a few minutes, Hubby came into the dining room and stood in front of me, fingers in ears.
"I have to eat." I was more than a little exasperated. "I can't hold Wolf and eat."
Hubby went over to the crate and let Wolf out. Wolf immediately went into hyper mode, jumping up on Hubby and trying to chew on his arm. Instead of having the puppy cry, I was then having to listen to my husband screech, yell and curse the little guy. He gives me yet another annoyed look because I was still eating and not rescuing him from the dog. I ignored him and finished my dinner.
I have a real thing about having the dishes done before bedtime. For me, it's disheartening and disgusting to wake up in the morning and have to face a sink with dirty dishes. I've shared that info with my husband many times. Late last night when it became apparent that Hubby wasn't going to do the dishes, I went into the kitchen and washed them. When I came back, I sad down on the sofa next to him and said, "Thanks for doing the dishes, ggirl." I said it with a smile on my face and in a teasing tone of voice.
"Well, I think I do the dishes as much as you do, " he said
."Yes, you do them more than I do. They're your dishes. I always wash dishes immediately after I use them." It's not so much a matter of discipline as it is just my personality type, INT/FJ. He didn't respond. I could see he was reviewing recent history in the hopes of refuting my assertion. Well, of course he couldn't.
"You know, I don't mind doing the dishes every once in a while." And, in fact, I don't. "But you know, I've got this huge project at work that's very intellectually taxing. Then I come home and have virtually all of the responsibility for taking care of Wolf. I'm really tired a lot."
I was just waiting for him to comment that I was the one who wanted the dog. When he says it (and he will at some point), my response is not going to be friendly. I've dealt with the consequences of many decisions he's made without my support or, sometimes, without even consulting me. He'd be well advised to not travel down that path.
"You know, I've been thinking lately that you don't seem very grateful for all of the things I've made possible in your life." Like being able to write a book or being able to participate in theatrical events. The list is endless really. Twenty years of me working and him doing exactly as he pleases. I was working up steam.
"I just wish you would, every once in a while, ask me if there's anything you can do for me." You'd have to be deaf to not hear the pain in my voice. I didn't mean to sound pained; I just wasn't able to effectively filter it all out.Still no comment from my husband. When I related the story to my mom, she said, "Well what could he say?"I don't know. Thank you? I'm sorry? I'm an inconsiderate, self-centered man?
It was getting to be my bedtime and I was wrapping things up."It's part of why I'm so depressed. And why I feel so hopeless about my life."
With that, I stood up and went into the kitchen to get Wolf's Kong ready. I shut him in the crate, came back to the living room where Hubby was still sitting on the sofa and told him it was time for me to go to bed. I finished turning out the lights and we hugged before he went upstairs.
My mom came over this morning and let the dogs out. Wolf and Sheba immediately started noisy Husky play in the backyard while I continued to get ready for work. They woke Hubby up, apparently. He came downstairs and let them in. Wolf, of course, went nuts. He started jumping up and Hubby started yelling and cursing. My mom ignored him.I don't have time in the mornings to rescue Hubby from the dog. I went about my business. I could hear him trying to get the leashes on the two dogs to take them for a walk. I have no idea why. Sheba does her bathroom business in the backyard, as does Wolf. I guess he was looking forward to another opportunity to yell and curse.
When I got out of the bathroom, my mom had let the dogs out again. I could hear Hubby in the kitchen, opening the ibuprofen bottle. Great. Before I left for work, I went upstairs to say goodbye. Hubby had deposited himself back in bed.
"Do you have a headache?" Just inquiring, you know.
"No, I couldn't get to sleep last night," he said.I passed up the opportunity to point out to him the many times I've been unable to get enough sleep but somehow made it to work anyway.
"Well I hope you feel better. I'll see you in a little while." I hugged him and went to work.