Today I’m tired of my role as the coordinator of all things household related, and it shows. Lonny and I do what we are good at. I’m good at keeping this house running, getting people to appointments on time, remembering to do things like schedule doctor visits, teacher conferences, making sure no one starves to death, reading report cards and checking Friday folders before Monday, etc., and basically paying attention to the big picture and making sure everyone is doing what they are supposed to do. But I suck at making money.
Lonny is very good at making money, but not a natural with scheduling stuff or knowing what day of the week it is. Yesterday I got up early with the dog and farted around the kitchen, enjoying a moment to myself. Lonny woke up in a panic, shook the kids awake and hustled them into their clothes and down the stairs … at 7 am on a Saturday morning. It’s still dark out for chrissakes! Deep cleansing breaths.
We are a perfect team, our strengths and weaknesses are well balanced, but there are days (like this one) I get tired of feeling like I’m the only one who knows what the fuck is going on. What time is the birthday party? Do we have a present? Where is it? Where’s Micah? Is he going? I’m sure he gets equally tired of being the one to constantly keep on top of his sales, shipping, feedback, tracking, payment, employees, and the like. Not to mention the added pressure of me always riding his ass to get his stuff the hell out of here and being the sole provider. Domestic bliss? Not today.
We need a vacation. Together. Without the kids. I don’t want a girls’ weekend because I like my husband and the solution to our problem (if you can call having kids a problem, which is isn’t) isn’t spending time apart, it’s being able to spend time together. Not divide and conquer time, not try to create the most romantic night ever, but just hang out. I miss that.
22 hot, juicy items on the block. Actually, I do have a very hot and juicy item but I’m waiting for the right moment.
A Gentle Leader that is too big for Blue. It reminds me of this horrible dog Lonny and I ran into at an estate sale. It was a totally out of control retriever that would not stop jumping on us. The owner kept saying in an annoying baby-talk voice, “Now get down. Do you want me to get your Gentle Leader?” (and never did) like it was some kind of goddamn threat. Since then I cringe at the words Gentle Leader and insist on calling it a Snout Lead. I’m giving this to Cara, she has mastiffs.