A rant, in GIF overuse:
Wasband has this face of about nine different emotions that he makes at me when he walks into a room and finds me in a state that causes him concern, like being face-down on the kitchen counter with my feet on the floor. He rubs my back or hugs me and asks me what's wrong and I look at him like he just asked me how old he is or whether I should really wear my hair this way. I scoff and say something about loving him but hating him, and blame him for everything I do not particular care for or enjoy that is transpiring in my life at that moment that he's standing in our house. Then he has the sense or the fondness for me that he either agrees or acknowledges, because there are five breakable items within reach, and I'm not averse to throwing things.
Finding a way to live a life of quiet fury in a house with impressionable people who are entitled to remain enamored with the person who, in my opinion, frequently deserves a solid kick to the nuts is an exercise in emotional fortitude. In front of my children is the only place I suppress the truth. Not "suppress" so much as "creatively present." No one else is safe.
I had this conversation in the car on the way to the pet store last night, that began with a discussion in the backseat about someone (fictional) being punched in the face.
Nell, have you ever punched anyone in the face?
Not punched, no.
Did you ever slap dad in the face?
Yes, when I was younger.
Do you want to punch Dad in the face?
Not today.
Do you ever want to punch Dad in the face?
No, but sometimes hitting him in the face with our cast iron skillet might feel nice.
Why don't you do that? Because it's illegal?
No, because it would make it difficult for us to be good co-parents to y'all if we were hurting each other on purpose.
Why did you slap Dad in high school?
Because teenage girls are silly and he makes me mad.
Because he doesn't keep his promises?
Correct.
He keeps his promises to me.
And to me.
Yes, he does, thank God. He loves y'all very much, and he does what he tells you he's going to do, like a good daddy should.
But he doesn't keep his promises to you?
Sometimes, for the small things. Not always for the big things. Don't worry about it. You should only care about that because you must keep ALL the promises you make to someone. Big and little.
I promise I'll stay married. (Jake)
I promise not to get married. Because I don't want to be hit in the head with a skillet. What's a skillet? (Landen)
Remaining on the topic of anger that you have to hide, if the "what if" questions in my house do not stop soon, I am going to puncture my own eardrums. For the love of GOD...there is a compendium of real-life "what ifs" that I make a concentrated effort (and a horse tranquilizer amount of medication) NOT to spend all day considering. I'm so happy my children are curious, thoughtful and creative enough to come up with these conundrums that surpass what an adult can reasonably consider, because having dull children would be a death sentence for me.
What if we all had to ride to school on giant bananas?
What if your car was parked parallel and cars were parked on the side of you?
What if Murphy is really a zombie?
What if everybody drove Deloreans and nobody knew whose car was whose so we all ended up time traveling to the wrong time?
I don't know is an unacceptable answer, and if you use that one, they will keep pressing you to consider how you would respond to or resolve these trials upon the human race that are beyond the laws of man or nature. Because they want you to be attentive enough to actually consider how we would all get through carpool if we were riding bananas, instead of saying I don't know what I would do because that could never happen. So you have to come out of your addled brain, tired because you just woke up or tired because you are waiting for them to go to sleep, and actually find an answer to the question that will end this discussion for the rest of their GD lives.
We would have to get a lot of bananas, because they don't last very long.
What if the world ran out of bananas?
No.
Wait, you know who knows the answer to this? YOUR DAD! You don't get to ask him nearly enough of these questions and it's not fair to you that I never have the answers.
(Because all's fair in love, war, and unmarriage. Cast iron skillet not necessary.)
I promise I'll stay married. (Jake)
I promise not to get married. Because I don't want to be hit in the head with a skillet. What's a skillet? (Landen)
Remaining on the topic of anger that you have to hide, if the "what if" questions in my house do not stop soon, I am going to puncture my own eardrums. For the love of GOD...there is a compendium of real-life "what ifs" that I make a concentrated effort (and a horse tranquilizer amount of medication) NOT to spend all day considering. I'm so happy my children are curious, thoughtful and creative enough to come up with these conundrums that surpass what an adult can reasonably consider, because having dull children would be a death sentence for me.
What if we all had to ride to school on giant bananas?
What if your car was parked parallel and cars were parked on the side of you?
What if Murphy is really a zombie?
What if everybody drove Deloreans and nobody knew whose car was whose so we all ended up time traveling to the wrong time?
I don't know is an unacceptable answer, and if you use that one, they will keep pressing you to consider how you would respond to or resolve these trials upon the human race that are beyond the laws of man or nature. Because they want you to be attentive enough to actually consider how we would all get through carpool if we were riding bananas, instead of saying I don't know what I would do because that could never happen. So you have to come out of your addled brain, tired because you just woke up or tired because you are waiting for them to go to sleep, and actually find an answer to the question that will end this discussion for the rest of their GD lives.
We would have to get a lot of bananas, because they don't last very long.
What if the world ran out of bananas?
No.
Wait, you know who knows the answer to this? YOUR DAD! You don't get to ask him nearly enough of these questions and it's not fair to you that I never have the answers.
(Because all's fair in love, war, and unmarriage. Cast iron skillet not necessary.)
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