Archive for the 'My hubby' Category

The spectrum of knowledge

I wasn’t going to write about this. It just seemed too personal. I’m not quite sure why, considering I’ve written on this subject before. Hell, I’ve written on damn near everything that I consider to be highly personal. Maybe I’m just sick of writing about THIS.

By “THIS”, I mean my marriage.

The night before last, B came home. Drunk. I could tell he was already drunk when he called me from the ferry. I can always tell right away, because he gets unusually chipper and his words slur just so.

I really should thank my lucky stars that he doesn’t come home drunk and start beating my ass.

But instead, he comes home all happy and full of these big drunken ideas. He plays with the kids and is incessantly nice to them. He makes these huge promises and commitments that he’ll never be able to fulfill. He starts going on rants and rampages and off on tangents. He thinks he’s being really deep, but he just sounds completely incoherent and ridiculous.

After we put the kids to bed, I was reading a book on parenting. He wanted to talk about it. It’s one of those books where the intent is that you’ll go through it with your partner. Kind of like a workbook. I knew that would never happen with him, so I’ve forged ahead on my own. Anyway, his drunken self tried to convince me that he wanted to know. I started to explain the first concept of the book to him. It was about validating your child’s feelings. He stopped me after a few sentences and went off on his own lengthy speech about how he always does that with the kids, and how his own childhood was, etc. He got completely off track. I think he forgot what we were talking about. When he took a breath, I continued on with my explanation of the first chapter. He stood up and said “I’M DONE. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I looked at him and said “What? But we just started!”

He got pissed. Anyone who has been around their share of drunk people has seen this phenomenon. One minute their fine, and the next minute they go apeshit because they think that someone has said or done something shitty to them. He starts repeating, “I said I was done! Why can’t you respect me? Respect my manhood! Why do you always make me feel inferior?” I just sat there and pretended to keep reading. A few times I couldn’t handle it anymore and had to laugh a bit. I told him I was going to bed. He smoked a cigarette and then came into our bedroom, flipped on the light and kept going on and on about respect and his manhood. One of the funniest parts of this one-sided conversation is when he asked me, “What do you think our kids know that is beyond our spectrum of knowledge?” At that point I actually laughed really hard, and then buried my head under the covers to drown him out.

I’m so insanely sick of the alcohol use. I can hardly enjoy a glass of wine anymore because my hatred for how the stuff affects my husband is growing at an alarming rate.

The whole marriage is just the biggest pile of shit ever.

And I keep saying I’ll leave. I get divorce papers started. I shred them. I look for a job. I get scared. I make plans. I back out.

The simple fact is that I am enjoying staying at home too much. I know that I would lose all that if I divorced. My marriage is not so unbearable that I am willing to give it up. I want to raise my kids. Is that so terrible?

Advertisements

Dreaming my Dreams

This Sunday, we will celebrate a few special occasions. First off, I am going to be celebrating what my mother calls “my golden birthday.” Meaning that I will be turning 28 years old on the 28th day of the month. Additionally, B and I will also be celebrating our 8 year anniversary of couplehood.

We have had our share of bumps along the way. (Okay so maybe a little bigger than “bumps.”) There have been births, deaths, depression, abortion, separations, divorce lawyers, custody arrangements, child support orders, separate residences, cheating, deception, alcohol binges, and so much more. And yet, here we are. Still. I would never have guessed that we would have made it this far. In fact, just a few short months ago I didn’t even believe we’d still be together in 2007. Talk about STAMINA. Click the photo below for our slideshow.

The Nice Guy

In the past, I’ve read comments from female bloggers about how annoying it is to see fellow writers use their blogs as a platform for husband bashing. I can sort of understand their point of view. However, this is my personal journal and I’ll bitch about whatever I choose. So fuck you if you don’t like it. Besides, B doesn’t read this blog and neither do any of his friends.

So as many of you know, I’m married to The Nice Guy. You know that guy. As far back as you can remember, this is the guy who has been willing to give up the shirt off his own back. He’s polite, well mannered, a bit insecure, somewhat of a pussy. He constantly gets walked on. The nice guy who always finishes last. The quintessential mama’s boy.

However, in the last several weeks, I have felt as if I’m married to an abusive, alcoholic, wife beating husband. Okay, to be fair, he’s never laid a hand on me. But this is the kind of man he’s reminded me of. And honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if a smack here and there was on the horizon.

It all started around the first of the year. I don’t know if it’s simply a result of nicotine withdrawals, or if it’s the stress of our new place, or a combination of the two. My Dad said that scientists have performed experiements with lab rats who were perfectly peaceful until they placed them in a much smaller cage. The rats went crazy and started eating each other and shit. He likens it to what is happening in my new 1100 square foot home. We’re constantly at each other’s throats.

Nevertheless, I have been putting up with a lot of verbal abuse from the man of the house. And it’s in front of the kids. One time, he even called me a “cunt” in front of Animal. As in “Your mama is such a cunt, isn’t she Animal?” It’s almost as if all of the sudden, he’s trying to exert some control over me, and in doing so, is acting completely out of character. I can’t even believe the asshole he’s become. Today I was told to “shut my fucking trap”, and when I questioned him at the dinner table about whether or not he was going to sell his gun that he’s only used *once* in the 6 years we’ve been married, he totally flipped his lid. Yesterday, he threw a wet soapy sponge directly at Einstein’s face and when I got on his case about it, he got in my face like I was a dude trying to fight him or something. Again today, he stepped into my comfort zone to yell something to the effect of “Remember that you wanted to fucking live here, so now you’re going to have to deal with me never being home while I’m commuting.”

I’ve explained to him that he’s been really irritable lately, and the things he has said/done are hurting my feelings and that I feel as if I’m being verbally and emotionally abused. He has apologized, but doesn’t change. It just keeps on happening. Coincidentally (?) the drinking has continued, and perhaps on a larger scale. Last week, I put my foot down and told him that he WOULD stop drinking during his evening commute, and he flat out refused like a defiant child.

God knows we haven’t had the happiest of marriages. It’s been a bumpy ride every step of the way. But I really thought that once we moved into our own place that we could be be happy again. Only two weeks into it and I have lost all hope.

Tears and fears

Yesterday, B had planned to go straight from work to his cousin’s house, and spend the night there. His cousin lives right near our storage unit, so it made sense for him to be closeby so he could wake up this morning and easily get there.

Instead, he took a detour on the way to his cousin’s house and decided to “go out to dinner with his sister.” I immediately smelled trouble. “Going out to dinner” meant going to a bar with his sister, her alcoholic husband, and his asshole friend.

B does not do well in these kinds of situations, although he likes to think he does. At 145 pounds, he’s a bit of a lightweight, and especially with beer. For some reason, beer fucks him up. It also gives him incredible hangovers. And yet, he was chugging beer. This is what I call “competetive drinking.” It’s what boys do when they socialize, trying to keep up with each other and look manly. And so of course, B had too much to drink.

Now when B has too much to drink in a “competetive drinking atmosphere”, he turns into a major dick. He gets a whole shitload of liquid courage and turns from the passive nice guy that he is into the world’s biggest asshole. He pokes fun at everyone in sight and keeps prodding and needling until you just want to smack him upside the head. Apparently, one of the guys couldn’t take it anymore, and proceeded to bitch B out. The guy told him that he “was a dick to his friends and a dick to his family.” B flipped out, walked out the bar, throwing his beer glass down on the ground as he exited. And even though his sister had firmly told him that he WOULDN’T be driving, he drove. He drove drunk on New Year’s weekend. And while he drove, he called me. And while he drove and called me, he sobbed like a baby. Now this part is important. I have NEVER, EVER seen or heard B cry. Not even when his grandmother died, not even when our children were born. He claims that he hasn’t cried since he was 12 years old. I was pissed at him, pissed at his sister for not doing more to stop him from driving, and I was shocked at his tears. Over and over he was saying things like “I’m a dick and nobody likes me. You hate me, my family hates me, and I don’t like the person I am. I give up, I’m not doing it anymore, I just give up.” It was really, really distressing. I made him hang up the phone while I frantically called his cousin to explain the situation and to warn him that a very intoxicated B was on his way there.

His cousin is in AA and has been sober for several years. I knew this would make for a very interesting night.

I shook violently and my teeth chattered until I got the call that he had arrived safely and was sobering up. I spoke to him for a few minutes and assured him that he was a good person, that everyone liked him, but yes, he IS a dick when he drinks, and that perhaps it’s time to say goodbye to The Drink. Perhaps for me too.

I’ve never loved him more.

A Man’s World

Yesterday, Pigpen jumped off the bus and came trudging up the steps to the front door. The first thing he said to me, even before our usual hug, was “I got PUNCHED in the NECK today!” You could tell that he had been keeping this bit of information bottled up inside of him all day long and that it was bubbling it’s way up to the surface, furiously pushing it’s way out. I took him inside and asked, “What? By whom? Why? Did you tell on him? Did you say something to him first? Did you hit him back? Did you get in trouble?” After quite the interrogation, he gave me no information except that he didn’t know why the kid hit him, he didn’t do anything to him first, he didn’t tell on him, didn’t retaliate and didn’t get in trouble. Apparently, nobody saw a thing. I told him we’d sort it all out when Daddy got home.

A few hours later, when B arrived, he took Pigpen into the bedroom and closed the door. I stood outside, listening. He asked the same questions again. He got the same answers. And then Pigpen began to cry. After B had reassured him that everything was going to be okay and that he wasn’t in trouble, I heard him speak the words I have been dreading since I found out that my destiny involved three sons.

“Pigpen, listen to me. This is important. If anyone ever hurts you again, you don’t just stand there and do nothing. You hit back. You make sure that people know that they can’t mess with you, that you won’t put up with that. You need to defend yourself.”

And then Pigpen’s little voice saying “But then I’ll get in trouble!”

“Well you won’t get in trouble with me. And if they punish you at school, I will come to school and talk to the teachers and the principal personally. You don’t worry about that part.”

I’ve known this was a conversation that was going to happen eventually. It’s one of the few things that B and I completely disagree on when it comes to parenting. In my opinion, retaliation with fists is the pussy way out. It doesn’t take any talent to get pissed off and hit someone back. It takes self control and integrity to walk away or find another solution. And yet, B can still vividly remember being 7 years old and being beat on by classmates. He remembers not fighting back, hearing his Dad’s voice inside his head, scaring him into submission. He maintains that his weakness and refusal to stand up for himself set an image in stone, and all through his school years, he was never respected.

We debated it again last night. His new argument is that “most boys will fight and be friends afterwards.” He says that “it’s a man’s world out there and sometimes, this is how problems between men get solved.”

I can see where he’s coming from. I don’t want my kid getting hurt. I certainly don’t want some big bully walking up to my sweet little angel on the playground and punching him in the neck for no reason at all. In fact, all I want to do is march out there during recess and grab that little fuck by the collar and shake the fear of God into him. But somewhere deep inside, I know that teaching my children about non-violent communication and problem solving is what is right. It’s something that will set them up for the challenges and fear and pain and hurdles of life. And so, after B’s lecture I stand there and look my boy’s in the eyes and I say, “But if you ask me, a bully isn’t worth your time and energy. Show him how little his actions mean to you by walking away.” They look at me and roll their eyes. At least I’ve said my piece and can go to bed with a clear conscience.

What do the rest of you think? To retaliate in self defense or not?

This is how you know we’ve been married for way too long

My reaction to B trying to kiss me:

Me: Ew, your breath smells weird. Like nuts. Did you just eat some M&M’s?

B: Why don’t you go into the bedroom and I’ll show you what real nuts smell like.

Me: Do nuts actually smell?

B: Well, sometimes they do.

Me: Really??? When?

B: Well, for instance, after a night with you they do.

Me: Oh so it’s MY fault if your nuts stink?

B: And also if I get really sweaty or something.

Me: *laughing now* Sick, man. Sick. Go wash yourself.

My Husband’s Wish List

This morning, B was perusing the sale ads in the Sunday paper and decided to start circling items that he wanted for Christmas. Here’s one of them:

P.S. It’s not the ab lounger that he wants.