Respawn

Mr. Buttons was happy this morning. But he was very angry last night. So was I.

The teacher sent home a note indicating that at least a week’s worth of reading homework had not been done. By a kid who loves to read! My husband and I were very disappointed because we ask him every day if he has homework; he’s been lying. And he did not respond well to being called out.

I talked it out with him, though, and after a minor blow-up and lots of sharing (I didn’t always do my homework) and truth-telling (look at the 2nd-graders; you wanna hang back a year and be with them instead of your friends?), we decided to seriously limit video games.

Video games. The scourge of healthy child development. My son will go without eating, pooping, or doing his homework to preserve his video game time. I didn’t have this struggle growing up. The Atari and the Nintendo were never competition for outdoor play. They were fun, but not consuming.

So, we have a problem. What does a family do about a problem? My husband and my son do not get along well. Talking is uncomfortable. The old me would just take over and do the hard work of policing new boundaries. The new me waits. And waits. And waits. And I talk to my husband. I say the same things over and over. Calmly, usually (I can’t be havin’ emotions now, can I??): I think the video games are a problem that will only get worse. I think he’s addicted to them. I think he’ll be fine without them. I want a unanimous understanding of the new boundaries. I want unflagging commitment. I want communication and support. And I don’t think that makes me a heinous bitch.

But I do have brief fantasies of throwing a chair at my husband, which does make me a tad abusive. God bless him and strengthen him to face conflict in his own home. We gotta set some traps for these creepers or they will detonate and destroy our family!

Endurance Training

This weather is perfect for a walk. We live on a semi-circle that is populated by a few clans with the same last names and lots of wonderful country dogs. I normally walk about 4 miles, up to the graveyard and back. A pack of dogs follows me and brings me such joy my heart could burst. Sometimes they don’t get along and I get a good lesson in dog psychology.

barely slept because we have bed bugs. I got up at 3 and started cleaning, stripping the bed, and doing laundry. I emptied the bookshelf and got out the vacuum and an arsenal of poisons. The husband called in because he wants to stay home and snake the septic line since the toilet won’t flush. So, yeah, no brisk February walk today.

I went through heck when we had cats a few years back because they got fleas and I couldn’t get rid of them. The husband sat around depressed about it and did nothing. The cats were miserable. Fleas were everywhere. I finally decided to take the cats to the humane society. I didn’t know what else to do. It became obvious that our family cannot work as a team. And I usually have to make the hard calls and be the bitch, like dealing with bullies in the neighborhood or finally getting fed up with my dad. And my husband, who refused to even feed the cats, has the gall to look broken-hearted sometimes and say, “I miss the kitties.”

I just hope we can keep our son alive! Lol

My Motto Is This: God Gives Good Gifts

Yes, I read the Bible. And if you’re following my blog, you’ll be at least as disappointed and/or pissed off as I am about following Jesus.

What the heck

Was up with Lamech?

“Adah and Zillah, hear my voice; listen to me, you wives of Lamech. I have killed a man who attacked me, a young man who wounded me. If Cain is avenged seven times, then Lamech seventy-seven times.”

Later, God commands His people not to murder. He also decrees the “eye-for-an-eye” justice system.

I wish God would establish some rules for my home. Even when my husband and I agree on a rule, declare it, and begin to enforce it, it never lasts. He usually forgets, is too tired, or changes his mind. One time, he and I decided to take a month off from electronics and I said, “Screw this,” a day later and started iFunnying like a madwoman.

If the members of a family are reasonably motivated and devoted to one another, do we need family rules? I don’t mean the unspoken ones (Daddy grouses about someone’s using his towel) or the requests (could you please close the shower curtain? Ensuring it will be left open even more often). I mean like sitting down and choosing just a few rules together to make this tiny community we call Our Family a little safer and more dependable.

Thou shalt clean thy own mess.

Thou shalt convene at dinner time and share about thy day.

Thou shalt take good care of thyself because thou art important to us.

I don’t know how Adah and Zillah responded to Lamech (besides having more babies). My own husband doesn’t like my ideas for our family and refuses to communicate important information to me. I don’t pursue these things anymore. I ask fewer questions. I wait for him to tell me why there’s a giant wooden spool in the backyard. I don’t remind him of his mother’s birthday or our anniversary or that we agreed 9:30 is the kid’s optimal bedtime. 

I hate him. I resent him. I feel like a bit-player in my own life. He makes the decisions and meets my input with either silence or defiance. I’m too old and tired to be having any more babies. Obviously Adah and Zillah couldn’t love their offspring into better people.

But it sure would be nice to have a few rules. Maybe a family war-cry. Maybe a chore-chart. Maybe at least a written statement of the truth: I’m a slave.

 

 

The Emperor Has No Clothes On!!!!

I’m exhausted. Husband and child both had stressful days today and needed to express some anger. Mr. Buttons is currently singing “I’m Radioactive” in the shower. And I’m going to let him play video games when he’s done.

The husband is snoring on the couch; he gets up super early every morning and worked overtime today. My dad came to visit him at work and brought a gift for the grand kid. I took a little drive and chucked the unopened bag right out the window into a ditch.

Because I’m done. My husband agreed to tell him to leave us alone. For that, I am thankful. Because I’m tired. I wasn’t put on earth to be abused, talked down to, constantly criticized and accused of evil intentions. This is a man who beat my mommy, held me down by the throat when I was eleven, and shook my sister so hard her head snapped back and forth. He hasn’t changed, and I’m just tired. Our last visit he declared sternly, “I WILL see my grandson.” I felt so nauseous and intimidated. It’s always about what he wants. My husband told him he was the one who was going to have to eat his pride. I’ve never seen that man be humble. I’ve seen him make a play for pity.

Trouble. Drama. Lies. Games. Abuse. My only mistake was being born a feeling creature. I just can’t take it anymore. I finally collapsed. I get to choose who is allowed in my life and when. I carried that kid for nine months and underwent an emergency C-section after 18 hours of labor. HE’S FUCKING MINE. MY RESPONSIBILITY.

AND TRYING TO MOTHER WHILE BEING ROUTINELY ABUSED IS PURT-NIGH FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE. Fuck him. Fuck his needs. Fuck trying to be nice and accommodating and understanding and shut down and dismissed and criticized and toyed with and bossed around. If he wants war, BRING IT. I’m so done I’m surprised. I’ve never felt this way before.

Lord Jesus, it’s a fire. If you don’t fight for me for once, who will??? I can’t take anymore. I live in constant fear. I feel like I’ve been run over and the whole world says quit whining and give us more of yourself.

Sorry, folks. I metaphorically died.

Braxton-Hicks: My House Was Just Practicing

I’m sitting here in the almost-dark because we lost power. Two candles have been burning for 8 hours because they are awesome candles. We lose power fairly often here because of windstorms; we live on a hill. I adore it every time.

The house is peaceful. It is normally too exciting, full of sounds that block sleep, impede thought, create ruptures between us. I can here a train now. The wind. The stars. The clock ticking. My son wants to read more, and we start singing automatically, a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

Is my house normally like a womb? A protective place full of the sounds of its systems. A place that immobilizes me. A place I can’t stay forever because I’m not a baby.

But, take away the electricity and I feel motivated! I slept better. I get to cook on a camp stove. I cried at the stars. I discovered some awesome candles. I wrote poetry. We told stories. I feel connected to my family and curious about the real world outside.

Well. The power will be back on later today most likely. Back to the womb, tethered to my placenta.

Mr. Buttons

I have a 9-year-old son who answers to the name Mr. Buttons.  I have a quietly angry husband I’m scared to talk to.  I don’t know what it means to be a woman, a wife, a mother, or even alive.

I am a mysterious appendage categorized and explained nowhere. But I just know I have a purpose!

 

So, welcome to my chronicles.