I rarely have any complaints about my Mister. As I've blogged before, Mr. Peevie is virtually the embodiment of spousal perfection. He puts up with my many limitations, he understands me, he treats me with love, kindness, sensitivity, and respect.
However. Mr. Peevie has been known to be a tiny bit evil. And also? A wee bit helpless.
I hate helplessness. Helplessness makes me insane. When Mr. Peevie makes like he can't do something, or complains about a problem without actually taking steps to solve it ("Those kids are too loud!", for example, or "I just wish those kids would go outside") it makes me want to eat rocks.
"OK, so get up and tell them to be quiet!" I suggest, with an understandable, but teensy, edge to my voice. "Go tell them to get their loud behinds outside," I say, possibly through clenched jaw.
Or, if I'm doing the martyr thing, I'll sigh loudly, and get up and do it myself. And I'll fume about how some people are so helpless that I don't even know how they wipe their own butt. (And yes, I am quite aware that "the martyr thing" is just as emotionally unhealthy as the helpless thing. Shut up.)
So anyhoo, I received an invitation to meet up with friends for happy hour on Friday night, and I says to Mr. Peevie, I says, "Honey, I think I'm going to go out to Biv's for happy hour on Friday night."
"But you'll miss C. Peevie's camp open house," he objects.
"Yeah, I'll check with him, but I don't think he'll mind," I replied.
"But," and this is where I almost drop-kicked him into next week, "that means I'll have to take all three kids to the open house by myself!"
I looked at him in disbelief. "You are fucking kidding me," I said.
This summer I have been working from home, and dealing with kids--my own and those of half the neighborhood--from 7 in the morning until Mr. Peevie gets home from work at 5:30 or 6. I take them to camp, I pick them up from camp, I take them to doctor's appointments, I supervise them in the pool, I break up their fights, I feed them a hundred times a day, I give them their meds.
I'm not complaining--I'm very grateful to have a flexible work schedule that allows me to be home when my kids are home. But he's anxious about taking three kids to a two-hour event by himself? I'm just sayin'.
So then, I'm talking to C. Peevie, and I'm asking him, hey, honey--do you mind if I skip the open house on Friday night? Will they post your movie on YouTube? If you mind, seriously, I will totally be there. He didn't mind. But he did have this to say:
"But Mom, if you don't go, Daddy will have to take all of us to the open house by himself!"
I did NOT say what I seriously wanted to say, and I think you know what I mean. I did take the opportunity to educate him, however.
"C. Peevie, what do I do all day long, every day of the week? Do you REALLY think it's asking too much of Daddy to take you three to a two-hour open house by himself?"
"Ahhhh," he said.
I'm thinking that 20 years from now his wife will thank me.