New Shmoo

I have been absent for a while. It would seem failing at the craft fair has sent me into hiding out of embarrassment and frustration, but sadly that is not the case. Nope, I have just become a care giver to my post op husband.

Imma let that sink in.

You know how there’s a whole honest truth to the whole “Man Cold” thing? Well imagine that after surgery. Go ahead… i’ll wait.

I love my husband. I do.

(this is not a statement as much as a mantra I have been  repeating since the surgery)

Between a husband home and immobile after surgery and two kids home on winter break, and preparing for Christmas and decorating it’s safe to say I’m a few fries short of a happy meal right now.

I am counting down to Tuesday when at least the kids will be out of the house for hours at a time in a safe place where I do not have to manage them, their behavior, their bickering and fighting, their “nuh -uh, that’s not right it’s THIS way!” and dietary demands.

The other reality that has been fairly entertaining with a smidge of annoyance is the dawning of my reality on my husband. He’s not been around the kids for this many consecutive hours ever. Like, ever. And one of the kids has a cold!

He has no escape. He cannot wheel himself on his knee scooter down the stairs to escape. … well, he could if he had the right incentive, I suppose. There is no driving to the office to a last minute meeting. Also there’s a whole fun game of “stop interrupting when i’m talking to mom”

The kids don’t like sharing my attention anymore than I like dividing it up while explaining to all parties how to manage their individual frustrations.

and then I go smoke a cigarette.

Just kidding, I drink heavily.

No, that’s not right either. See, if I drank, then who would drive my husband to the ER in the event of an emergency? Not the 10 year old.

“So, Sarcasmica, how do you handle all that bottled up frustration and energy?”

I tell myself many other people have it much much worse. There are countless women out there taking care of sick kids, terminal family members, managing their own jobs and armies of medical professionals who are necessary for every day life.

Me, I just have to manage my entire family being home for two weeks while my husband recovers from foot surgery and is living in the world’s smelliest boot, rolling around the house dodging dogs and kids, and living in a hospital bed in the middle of our dining room-turned office-turned apartment.

So new year, at this point my only resolution is to keep my children alive to drop them off at school on January 3. Think I can make it? I’m not so sure!

Taking care of another adult has been quite eye-opening. For one it’s made me understand in our old age we better live in assisted living because there is no way in hell I am helping with bathroom duties… doodies… hehehehee

I can’t. It seems I don’t have it in me.

I was raised extremely independent. I am quite happy managing myself, taking care of myself, medicating myself. At this point I’m training my children for college independence and their only 6 and 10. “Make your own breakfast, bring down your laundry, start the car, take the meatloaf out of the oven.”

Kidding, but that’s my parenting goal. Self-sufficiency.

So now to have a grown ass person asking me to pick up a remote and hand it to him. Make a sandwich. Don’t forget to put on the mustard. Bring me a pillow for my foot, but not that one or that one… or that one. No not that direction, face it the other way. But don’t forget to position the corners like this.

It’s all I can do not to explode, people. And it’s not his fault. It’s not. He can’t help being an invalid giant child. I’d be miserable if I were solely dependent on another person to take care of me. He’s actually been in great spirits…. but being waited on hand and foot does have it’s perks come to think of it…

Funnily enough it’s not that i’m managing more around the house with him out of commission, either. Shocking spoiler alert: the trash is still being taken out like always, the dishes and laundry still get done without hiccups, and food gets put on the table like always.

“But how can that be?!?!”

strange, right?

This whole thing has been an exercise in patience, sympathy, patience, unselfishness, compassion and patience. I’ve swallowed so many comments and held back so many eye-rolls that I’m dangerously close to becoming a grown up. It’s terrifying!!!




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