This post also appeared on www.capecodonline.com/blogs in the opinion section of the Cape Cod Times, a division of Ottaway Newspapers, Inc.
Will just woke up in a bad mood yesterday. Then he proceeded to cry the ENTIRE 25 minutes it took to bring him to daycare. I won’t lie, it’s the first time I’ve been happy about dropping him off for the day.
When I picked him up after work, our daycare provider said he’s been absolutely miserable all day. But he didn’t have a fever and nothing else seemed to be wrong, so I packed him in the car and thankfully he slept all the way home.
But that didn’t last long…
As soon as I got home I put him in his walker and he freaked the hell out. Here’s a running diary of the next hour of my life:
Walk in the house, immediately smell shit. Actually, a double dose of shit. Some coming from Will and the other source is the dogs who have once again defecated on the hardwood floors in protest of being left alone all afternoon. I put Will in the stroller, not a good idea. Screaming ensues. But he’ll have to deal because there’s dog shit to clean up. Whoops, there’s also dog piss. I know because I just stepped in it and nearly slid across the floor. But first the dogs need feeding. Fill up their bowls, let them eat and stay occupied, clean up dog mess. Kid is still crying but it’s more frustrated grunting than screaming so I figure I’m OK for awhile.
I also need to start dinner. I fire up the grill outside and just as I get it going, it starts to rain. Wonderful. Come back in the house and put Fenway on the leash to let her out to pee. Damn, I need a vegetable to go with the chicken. No time for anything major, better grab the rice. Fill up the pot of water and put it on the stove. Dammit! Forgot about the kid’s dirty diaper. Into the changing room to deal with the atomic bomb Will has left me. Fenway is still outside, not liking the rain, and pawing at the screen door. Finish the diaper change and put Will back in his walker. The screaming resumes. Let Fenway in and let Haley out to do her business.
Will’s back to frustrated grunting and he’s not happy in his walker. Just hang on a minute bud, I have to go clean off the grill and put the chicken on. Scrape all the crap off the grill — with the rain coming down harder — and put the drumsticks on. Go back inside and let Haley in. Time for a bottle for Will. While I’m feeding him my work phone rings. It’s my editor with questions about the story I just turned in. Baby in one hand, holding the bottle under my chin, phone in the other.
Shit! The chicken!! Arrived at the grill a few minutes too late and one side of the chicken is charred black. Turn over all the drumsticks and go back inside, forgetting I had Will in my arms still and I was out in the rain. He finishes the bottle so I put him down again, more screaming. Oh crap! The rice on the stove! Thankfully got there in time and didn’t screw up the rice. Will has gone from grunting to flat out screaming. Like someone just stuck him with a hot poker screaming. Ahhhh…the chicken!! Back outside to turn the chicken again, this time only slightly less burned.
So needless to say, by the time MJ got home I was a little frazzled and not in the best mood. But I’ve managed to take care of my boy, the dogs and even cook dinner which was ready and waiting for her when she got home. And do I get a “thank you” or a “nice job?” Nope. I get “Wow, you’re really in a rotten mood huh?”
Look, I know a lot of men — myself included — think we deserve a medal sometimes for doing the simplest of chores. But really, I wans’t looking for a medal. I could’ve done with a thank you, or she could’ve just left me the hell alone and not harped on me. That would’ve sufficed. We were all supposed to go into Hyannis for a goodbye dinner for a colleague, but because Will was fussy she changed her mind. So I offered to stay home as well because he was being difficult. She tells me to go. I tell her it’s fine and my co-worker would understand. She insists. So after about a half-hour of me deciding what’s best to do, I say I’ll go. Then she gives me crap for taking so long to decide.
I slammed the door as I hard as I could on my way out to make my point that I was not pleased. And sure, days like this one are par for the course and probably even more so as Will gets older. But I’m entitled to be in a bad mood after a hectic day aren’t I? I swear the woman has no idea what “pick your battles” means!
I won’t be posting tomorrow because I’m driving to New Jersey to watch the Patriots play the J-E-T-S SUCK SUCK SUCKs! at the Meadowlands. It’s going to be a long day, but go Pats!