Snarky: testy or irritable; short.
“Can I have some money to go out? I need money for school…Mom, can you drive me here, can you drive me there, Can I have this person over? Can you bring me my lunch? What’s for dinner? Ooh, ooh, can you buy me this? I’m hungry!! Mom, can I borrow your credit card? Where’s the car keys? Oh, Mom, by the way, can you put that money back in my account that you borrowed just yesteday,” It goes on and on and on.
Your damn right I’m feeling snarky and I have good reason too. For the last 2 days, I’ve been nearly flat on my back with stomach flu, lurched over a bowl puking my guts out while I sit on the toilet, because if I stand, I’ll pee all over my self. Childbirth does that to you-I’m sure you get the picture. Besides the nausea, I had the chills and felt woozy, weak and lifeless. I couln’t keep anything down, and I just felt like crap with a capital “C” and used with a capital “U.”
Do you think anyone in my family would even take notice at my condition and say, “Mom, is there anything I can get you? Green tea or chicken soup?” HUH! You’ve got to be frickin’ crazy! Not only that, the sink sat piled with high with dishes, the laundry room floor growing a mountain of dirty towels and clothes, and in general, no one even makes an attempt at cleaning up after themselves. There are stacks and piles of clean clothes that people walk by 100 times a day, and it seems to never occur to them to take the stuff up and put it away, or fold it. I’m lying there, trapped in a body that doesn’t want to get up, thinking about all the things in my house that need to be tended to. The loft is a mess, my kitchen isn’t suitable for even a neighbor to visit, and I’m feeling terrible, and despite it all, I still feel like I should be doing something about it.
There are times on a normal day, I’ll make a pot of coffee and bring my 20 year old son a cup of hot coffee, just the way he likes it, just because. I love him and it makes me happy to do unexpected nice things for him. In fact, I do it more often than not. My husband gets waited on most of the day (sometimes reluctantly on my part.) but, still he gets taken care of. In fact, if I really think about it, I’m giving and giving all day long and not getting much in return. I thought being a living example is the way you teach others to be the same way.
Yesterday was garbage day and I asked my oldest if he would take the little bit of trash out to the curb on his way to the train yesterday morning. He either didn’t hear me, or he ignored me, but all the same, he failed to put the garbage out and take the pizza boxes out from the kitchen. I am lying on the couch, looking into my kitchen and I can see the pizza boxes stacked on top of the garbage. I hear the garbage men in front of my house, so I run out, weak and feeling green and I hand the guy the pizza boxes and roll over the can of garbage that my son should have done hours ago.
What does it take for people to ‘get it?’ I don’t understand. When I was a kid, it was automatic to do nice things for people, and to have sympathy for them when they were ill. I wanted to take care of them in some way. Am I raising a houseful of sociopaths?
I would love to go on strike, to really stick it to them. Just to show them how crappy I feel. Oh, by the way, my husband’s no better. Yesterday, while I was green with flu, he told me to drive to the bank and make his tax deposit, when he could have done it for me, just this once. But, on principle, he firmly said, “NO”. I went and made his damn deposit, but he just better watch while he has his back to me on the sofa. He just might find a butter knife stuck in it.
So, how shall I end this ramble of woe? I guess I can say I deserve it. After all, I made those kids what they are and obviously, I did a poor job. My husband is a shining example of how to treat a sick wife, so why should my kids do any different? What I get when I complain about this kind of thing is that I’m the bitch. Well, I suppose that makes me a bitch then.
I’m going to NYC the second week of October and instead of feeling the guilt I usually feel when I leave my family for a weekend, I’m not going to look back. I deserve this mini getaway from them. I’ve taken enough crap to last me a lifetime and I’m tired of it. Maybe then, they’ll see what its like for a few days with out mom and all she does for them and my husband will see what its like without a servant on duty. Only then, after my absense, will they, possibly, but not likely, appreciate me.
I’ll believe it when I see it. Signed: The Bitch