My parents paid for well over half of the price of our home so that the idiot husband only has to make monthly payments.  They also give me (us) a monthly allowance so that I can pay for the utilities, groceries, clothing for the boys, etc.  The idiot husband does not contribute a single penny to the family other than paying down the nominal mortgage and our health insurance premium through his job–and it definitely stops there.  He doesn’t even shell out a single for the office co-pays.

And now, he’s fucking buying himself a goddamn $10,000 motorcycle.  “For fun,” he says.  Fucking $10,000 just for kicks, in this economy–this officially named recession.  I scrimp and save and agonize over spending the tiniest amounts and he has the audacity to burn $10,000 on some ridiculous toy for himself.  Is this why my parents still support us?  So he can take our disposable income to make a mid-midlife crisis purchase?

It’s not like I have any recourse.  He’s going to do this regardless of how I feel.  It’s not as if he asked me.  He TOLD me that he’d made the decision.  Okay, I’m even angrier now than when before I started this post.  The only way for this to be fair is for him to crash and burn with his new $10,000 toy.  Good fucking riddance!

Does my idiot husband not realize that when he treats me like shit in front of my friends and family, that HE is the one who looks like an ass and not me?

I find that on most occasions, requesting assistance from the husband is far more trouble than it’s worth.  I was unable to disassemble our tattered shade tent and was forced to ask him to do it.  Well, he did it all right, but he left hundreds of tiny bolts, screws, and washers randomly strewn all over the backyard.  Even after my third pass, I was still finding these lovely choking hazards on the lawn.  Okay, so he doesn’t get drunk on moonshine and beat us, but c’mon, that’s pretty freaking negligent, right?  Does he do it out of spite because I forced him to do something other than sit on his fat ass and watch porn?  Is he indeed that feeble of mind as not to see the inherent dangers?  Either way, I lose…because I married him.  I lose.

There are only two responsibilities which the husband holds in this house: Watching the boys during my morning shower and taking out the trash.

During my 5-minute showers (actually, I shower in about 2 minutes and dry off and get dress in the remaining 3 minutes!), he is supposed to watch the boys.  But often, Younger Monkey crawls all the way up the stairs by himself.  By the time I rush out of the shower, he’s crying so hard from having dragged himself upstairs all alone.  Yesterday, when I carried him downstairs after I was done, I saw the husband staring off into space as Older Monkey was tearing up the living room.  I don’t know why I’m bothering to blog about this.  His complete negligence should come as no surprise to me.  And yet, hope springs eternal.  I’m in a constant state of renewed hoped that the extra 4 hours he sleeps above me every night offers him the strength to engage in direct eye contact with our children for the full 5-minute shower.

The husband’s fulfillment of his other responsibility is equally laughable.  His idea of taking out the trash is emptying the bin from his downstairs office and wheeling the large cans down the driveway.  I am never allowed to speak a word of this task to him.  I cannot request that he take out the kitchen trash, at least not without his sneering and my reciprocating with some grand favor.  I cannot remind him to take out the trash in any of the other 5 cans around the house.  Though honestly, how he can remember to fill these particular receptacles with refuse yet manage to utterly forget their existence when it comes time to emptying them is beyond my comprehension.

The husband doesn’t usually eat breakfast, but to be courteous, I offered him some of what we were having.  By the time I returned to the kitchen, the entire serving plate was empty and I was startled that the Monkeys were so willing to eat, given their usual fussiness.  Therein lay my faulty assumption, because there’s no way my lard-assed husband would take the effort to feed the Monkeys.  The asshole had actually wolfed it ALL down himself, claiming that he didn’t realize it was also for the children.  Are you fucking kidding me?  Really?  I will ask it again because I’m utterly dumbfounded: Are you fucking kidding me?!?  In his defense, he’s flirting with the 300 pound mark and doesn’t have a clue as to what a single serving looks like.  But seriously, are you fucking kidding me???  Okay, I’m being redundant here.  And really, it’s a testament to my own cognitive impairment that I don’t expect this kind of insensitivity on his part given his long and incredibly consistent history of apathy.

He simply doesn’t see the kids, figuratively and literally.  Because he has to drive through horrible traffic to get to work some distance away, he only sees the Monkeys in the morning before he leaves as they’re fast asleep by the time he comes home.  But does he go to bed early so that he can spend more time with them?  No, he hunkers down in his office, surfs for porn and idiotic youtube videos, and meanders off to bed so late that he gets up at 7:40, sees the kids for 20 minutes, showers and toddles on off to work.  Yes, 20 minutes!  Never mind that the three of us have been awake since 5:30–yes, the Monkeys like to get up at the crack of dawn.  During the brief time that I worked after Older Monkey was born, I did everything I could with him and saved my personal stuff (no, not porn surfing; I mean laundry and dishes and other fabulous household chores) until Older Monkey was asleep.  There was no sense of obligation, no sacrifice…only the desire to spend as much time with my child as possible.  Yet the husband completely lacks this drive.  I simply don’t understand it.

And during the brief time that he spends with them, he stares off into space.  Really–he rarely makes eye contact with them and doesn’t even notice it when they call out to him.  What is that teaching the Monkeys in terms of self-worth?  Even if I forgive the psychological damage, there is still the issue of physical safety.  Younger Monkey is barely walking and on those rare instances when I have to leave for a few minutes to take something off the stove, for example, I’m terrified that he will take another spill because the husband was too busy daydreaming.  And Older Monkey is no safer.  A little over a year ago, Older Monkey was laughing and spraying his water bottle in the garage.  A little spritz hit the husband and he smacked the bottle away–or so he thought.  Because he wasn’t making eye contact, he missed the bottle and actually hit Older Monkey, who fell so hard he hit the concrete step and BROKE HIS NOSE!!!  He was bloody and swollen for what seemed an eternity.  There was nothing the doctor could do and for weeks, I would stare at my broken baby while he slept and I cried hot tears of rage and misery.  Do I think the husband did it intentionally?  No.  But do I think it’s his fault for not looking at Older Monkey and slamming him to the ground?  Fuck yes.  I will never forgive him for this.  Older Monkey was barely 2 years old at the time.  And the worst part of it is that I feel like I’m never allowed to bring it up again because it was an accident.  But it comes up for me all the time.  I can’t imagine too many people notice the asymmetry in Older Monkey’s profile, but I do and every time I see it, I want to scream!!!

Well, I suppose with the way he fails to take care of the Monkeys, I should be pleased that his time with them is so limited.

Wow, a positive conclusion to tidy up all that anger!  Blogging really does work!