Dear God Don't Take Him Now. You Don't Want Him.

I've been a little too Mommy Dearest lately in my blogging so I'm moving on. Normally that would mean ripping on my husband. I am pretty sure he's going to cock up Mother's Day again but I usually get something sweet that my son was forced to make in school. Hopefully that's the case this year.

The reason I can't slag on my husband is because I had an eye opening experience about two weeks ago. I was in the kitchen making dinner when I heard a loud thump like something big dropping hard. I thought my husband's computer or printer had fallen off his desk. I called his name and he didn't answer. I poked my head in the door of his office and couldn't see him. That was because he was lying on the ground out cold.

I ran over to him, shaking him trying to wake him. His eyes were open but his breathing was heavy and he was not responding at all. About a month ago we cancelled our home phone because we really never use it and only get telemarketing calls on it for the most part. I'd turned my cell phone off because I didn't want to be bothered while cooking.

I scrambled to get my phone, turn it on and wait while that stupid hourglass sifted the hands of frickin' time. When the phone came on I dialed 9111. That's 911 with an extra 1. When I realized my screw-up I was mashing the hang-up button and trying to redial when my husband woke up and looked at me like I was crazy. I was crying hysterically thinking he was having a stroke. He has those bad Southern genes, high cholesterol and high blood pressure. He has the blood pressure under control now (for the most part) but you never know.

So he's sitting there on the floor like he's just come out of a deep sleep. He had no recollection of what happened and no idea why I was crying. I told my friends it was like that scene in On Golden Pond when Norman appears to be leaving this life and Ethel is trying to keep him here. She says, "Dear God don't take him now. You don't want him." Believe me God, the same goes for Rod.

We just sat there for a few minutes - me trying to stop crying and Rod looking like a little kid who thinks he's in trouble. I am so thankful our son was in the shower and saw none of this. Rod tried standing up and it went pretty well. He had a huge knot on his head, a scrape at his temple and a small cut in the corner of his mouth - all on one side. He'd hit the metal base of a chair on the way down.

We sat there debating going to the ER when our son appeared. We decide it would be best to take my son to my brother's house if we were going to the ER.

By the way I called two urgent care places to try to have him seen there. The first was closing. The second had a seriously rude doctor on call. Fairfield Family Medical Care has no heart. I called them and got a receptionist who passed me to the doctor. I explained what had happened and the doctor said he would not see us - we had to go to the emergency room. So I started to explain why we didn't want to go to the emergency room, namely because my husband hadn't paid our COBRA for the month and I wasn't sure if we would have to pay for an ER visit ourselves. The doctor interrupted me to say he knows no one wants to go the ER but that's too bad. When I explained the possible lack of insurance, he continued to be an asshole but suggested that at the ER they would probably observe him until midnight. He told me not to give my husband anything to drink or eat except sips of water and no medication.

So that's what we did. We sat up until 12 and then I set my alarm to wake up every few hours to make sure he was still breathing. He is by the way, still breathing.

The next day my husband went to see our doctor and she prescribed a series of tests from an MRI to a carotid artery test. He passed the EKG and MRI. We're still waiting to hear about the carotid artery and the echocardiogram.

The doctor thinks my husband overdid it the weekend before - playing hours of baseball and then tennis with our son. Before he passed out he'd had a glass of wine that he drank quickly. She thinks the dehydration combined with the wine caused his blood pressure to plummet and he passed out.

Since my husband resigned from his job he's been working at home and that's always a bit irritating, but particularly now because we are also renovating our house and are basically sitting side by side in what used to be our dining room.

I guess I learned a few things from this experience. One be better prepared for emergencies. Two pay your GD insurance premium. Three I'm not ready for my husband to leave this life.

I Am a Shit

My husband didn't get home until 9:15 last night - Friday night. He was just, I don't even know the word, maybe wrecked, defeated? He was texting me from the train like he always does about what's for dinner and the answer was nothing. I left a cupcake for him that my neighbor gave us. My intent was to split it with him but he looked so friggin' bummed out, I told him to eat the whole thing.

I told him I had a good day. I had three unsolicited positive remarks on my blog. One from my stepsister even, who read Adventures in Babysitting and somehow didn't want to kill me for that story about taking care of her son.

He couldn't be consoled my husband. He wanted to talk about what a shitty day he had. I should've just sat there quietly and listened. Instead I laid into him about what the hell are we doing if he hates this job.

I thought he was enjoying it. He seemed cheery enough. Maybe it was just an exquisitely bad day. Seriously though, what are we doing? Will and I never see him during the week. He leaves at 8am and the earliest he'll be back is 9pm. That's everyday, Monday through Friday. And he's working on the weekend. Baseball is starting soon and I can't help Will. I used to have an arm but now I throw like a girl. And no way I can catch Will now, he's throwing way too hard.

So I'm up now at 4am. blogging about this mess. Writing, writing, just keep writing. For what? The only money I make writing has absolutely nothing to do with this blog, which is unfortunately the only writing I really enjoy.

Yesterday on the thread (yes, the same thread, world's longest, will soon have a spot next to world's largest ball of twine), yesterday Jack took a "hafe" day as he put it. Jack is in the process of losing his job as a well-paid lawyer. In light of that situation, he decided to say f - it and he took off to watch his little girl swim.

I keep telling my husband you have more power than you think. Don't let them mess with you because you think you have no power. And in most years, that would be true. But this year, with the way things are going, there could definitely be another 100 guys in line to take his shitty ass job. We won't even have paid health benefits until April so if he quits now, we are screwed

Here's what Jack said on the thread:

Since these f-ers have turned me loose in the worst possible f-ing time, I said f-them today and left at 1:30 - watched my daughter Sarah's swimming lesson at 2:00, then went to the gym, then hung out with my kids (Sam too) and that's how I spent my hafe day, the other hafe.

Things are bleak. Things are grim. There's a feeling out there that the worst could happen at any point. I should've listened to my husband who has apparently been telling me for several weeks now that he's unhappy, but I missed the signs. Now he's downstairs sleeping with Will because he never gets to see him. And I'm up here, blogging in obscurity.

I have to write this thing. I have to keep putting it out there even if no one reads it and nothing ever comes of it. It's like the thread. My blog sustains me during tough times and we are in tough times. My husband is proof of that. I'll tell you one thing, that biatch at work who's giving him so much trouble, better back off. I will come after her. I will write about her and make her life a living hell, if only in my own mind and on this here blog.

Why I Have to Kill My Husband

So it's come to this. I want to kill him. Sure I could divorce him, but where's the satisfaction in that? Murder. That's the stuff of Shakespeare.

He came home early yesterday because we had a parent-teacher conference. It was good to see him but I was in a foul mood because...well I was going to list the reasons but it doesn't really matter. They seem kind of silly now, but at the time I was pissed.

So we raced off to parent-teacher conference, raced home. I grabbed my son to take him to karate, changing in the car, came home and found my husband upstairs playing guitar and blasting Emmylou Harris. In re: my earlier post When George Clooney Comes a Knockin', another one on my husband's list is Emmylou.

I'm staring at my 50th bushel of laundry for the day, two unmade beds and dirty dishes and he's upstairs playing guitar. I haul the laundry upstairs and start making the bed, huffing and puffing to show my anger but he can't hear me of course because he's playing Red Dirt Girl or some other freakin' song for the tenth time. See he's playing guitar along with the song so he has to restart it when he gets off the pace.

I had a conversation with my friend LouLou the other day. She also wants to kill her husband. But we had this conversation about anger and why we're so angry all the time. It's basically the same situation only I think she may have it worse because her husband is actually in a band for cripe's sake. But she said something to me that made me think, so much so that I wrote it down. She said she was talking to a friend of hers and I can't remember exactly the circumstance but her friend was saying Lou should live everyday like it's her last and think about what her obituary would say. And Lou said, "Is that really how I want to be remembered? I kept a clean house?"

Oh I know what it was, her husband had ignored a pile of laundry for about three weeks and LouLou was testing him to see when he would notice. I believe the result of this test was that he never noticed and she ultimately had to fold. Anyway, that's what I wrote down. Is this how I want to be remembered?

Back to my annoying husband. My husband and I frequently argue about house stuff. His answer is always, "Just make me a list and I'll do whatever you want." But see here's the thing, and it is a thing because I saw a very similar scene played out in the movie The Break-Up. Do you remember that whole lemons scene? Baby wanted 12 lemons because they were show lemons. Then they have this big argument about him not doing the dishes and he said you didn't ask me to do the dishes and she says I don't want to ask you, I want you to want to do the dishes.

That is the principle of it. That sums it up for me. I don't want to write a list for my husband. I want him to notice the laundry and the unmade beds and the dirty dishes and take it upon himself to do something about them. Because he loves me. Because he wants to be helpful. Because he thought of it on his own. Not because I made him do it.

Women are looking for signs. Maybe not all women, but many women are looking for signs from their husbands. I tell my husband all the time, it's the little things that women want. Sure a big, fat piece of jewelry is nice every once in awhile but that's not what really does it for women. Women want the door opened for them. We're hoping for flowers, coffee in the morning or breakfast in bed. You don't even have to make the breakfast. You could go buy the breakfast. We're watching you, testing you all the time.

I told my husband about this a long time ago and we've discussed it several times since. So I know he knows this but he doesn't do these things or doesn't do them with any regularity. So I said to him one time, "If you know these things make me happy and you intentionally don't do them, you are making a choice." Then I think he said something about me making a list.

You see your Honor that's why I had to kill him. He didn't make the bed or do any laundry. Cooking? Forget about it. She'll understand. I know she will.