Friday yet?

It’s been a week of sick and whiny husband, who thankfully has been going to bed when he gets home from work so I don’t have to hear it.

A toddler going on a biting frenzy at daycare. I’ve had a total of 6 - count ‘em SIX. forms to sign because he’s bitten children in his class. I’ve had it with the teachers, who are young enough to be in high school still, and who really don’t seem to give a shit that they are responsible for practically RAISING our children.
If this isn’t something that you enjoy get. another. fuckin’. job. We, the parents, do not feel comfortable with people that are just doing it to get paid. A child care worker is someone that has to have heart and love their job. Kinda like a nurse. It’s not something that you just say. Hey! I wanna work with kids because - um. I like them. Fuck that. Seriously.

Oh. And I think Mike gave whatever he had to Carter. Kid ate only two bites of his dinner before he walked into the living room and fuckin’ barfed.

Lovely.

So. Tell me. Is it Friday yet?

Not that it would really help my situation, because I still have to cater to a sick child and husband. Fuck me. Life is Grand. When did I sign up for this shit?

:::

Oh, on a side note. A dear friend noted that my site is very slow loading. I just want you to know that I know. I think it has something to do with either my web host, my plug ins and/or my graphics. I am diligently trying to figure it out. (In my spare time of course.)

Oh! and there’s fuckin’ fruit flies in my house. Only a little, but enough to drive me bat shit crazy.

If you’re having a GNO (girl’s night out) this weekend. Puh-leease come steal me away.

So we’re having a little but of an identity crisis lately at the House of Me. Nah, not me this time. I think I know where I stand. For now.

Carter.

He calls me Daddy.

He calls Mike. Mommy or Mike.

It’s been happening a lot of the past month or so and only escalating.

When I drop him off at daycare, every morning I get : “Daddy!” as he wails for me to pick him up. I gently remind him: “Carter, I’m Mommy.”

“DADDY!”

*sigh*

It’s worse for Mike though. I can’t think of anything more emasculating then being out in public with your toddler son yelling “Mommy!” while point directly at him. Seriously, there is no confusion on our parts. He is clearly calling Mike, mommy.

Lately, he’s been calling him mommy less and Mike more. At first I thought he was saying “Mine!” but when Mike leaves, comes home, hands something to Carter he gets: “Bye My” (read: Mike), “HI, Mi” or “Tank-ku Mi”

Mike is to the point where it’s really getting to him and has requested that I call him Daddy. You know, to encourage Carter to do it.

Me: So, when we’re out at the store or something, and I need to get your attention.. I have to say Daddy?

Mike: Yes. *stone cold sober straight faced*

Me: You’re fuckin’ kidding right? I have to yell out Daddy! if I’m trying to get your attention for something?

Mike: Yes (looking at me with that what-the-fuck-is-so-hard-to-understand-about-this face).

Me: Seriously? Call you Daddy?

Mike (all exaggerated like): YESSSS. Call me Daddy. All the time.

Me: Even when we’re doing it? Oh! God! Yes! Oh Daddy! Oh! My! God! DADDY!!!! *sounding all sexy like*

Mike: Fuck off. Seriously.

So we tried to put the plan into action. I picked up Carter as we’re headed out to the car and mention something about Daddy and the car when he looks at me kinda stunned. Fine. Whatever. I then asked him to hand Daddy his cup; while Mike outstretches his hand to receive the cup Carter looks at me, looks at Mike and says “No. No. Daddy” *points at Mike* “Mommy!”

Mike gives me an evil I’mgonnafuckinkillyou glare.

We may have our work cut out for us on this one.

(Note: I think this is really all my fault. Well, the Mike part at least. I did *maybe* on one occasion a couple of occasions encourage Carter call him Mike. But not Mommy. I didn’t do that. Promise! Even though I kinda wish I had, because I find it super funny!)

Sometimes my job requires that we work night shifts in the subway tunnels after the trains finish running for the day. Last night was one of those nights.
I actually really like them because I get the next day off work (which, like today? Day before the long weekend? Fabulous!), but the hardest part is getting my bubble butt outta bed. I hate getting up as it is, so waking from my peaceful slumber at 1:00am to go to work? Meh. I could pass in a heartbeat.

Uneventful night really, except for the subway workers telling freaky ghost stories about working nights in the tunnels. As they sat off in the distance, trying to one-up each other with a freakier story (because men need to have even the best and scariest ghost stories), the lights flickered and the entire tunnel went pitch black. I nearly jumped outta my damn skin! They came back fast though, thank Jeebus.

I tend to have a very graphic and relentless imagination. I think up the worst, most horrific things sometimes. I don’t know why, but I’ve aways been that way. Anyway, this morning driving home, at 5-freakin’-A.M. I has an episode of gruesome thoughts. Drunk drivers hitting me, me falling asleep… you name it, I thought it. That, I can handle. But it only got worse once I began to feel sleep creeping up on my. My eyelids became increasingly heavier, I was not really paying that much attention to my actions. I just wanted to get home, get off the road and crawl back into bed.
I came upon a car going incredibly slow on the highway and erratically weaving into different lanes. As I came up beside him, he appeared to be falling asleep behind the wheel. Unsure if it was alcohol induced, or just exhaustion like me.

As I passed the car, I watched in my rear view mirror as he slowly crept into the fast lane in front of a speeding car. Thankfully the other driver reacted promptly and was able avoid the car, but I watched in horror, wondering what the hell I should do.

As I drove along, I periodically looked in the mirror trying to keep an eye on the car, failing to keep up, he was drifting further and further behind. I made the decision to pull over and wait to see him pass and then judge what to do from there.

I knew I wanted to get home. I wanted to get myself off the road since I was so tired. But what about him? Do I sacrifice myself (or someone else) by making a dangerous decision to follow him? Do I call and wait for police and stay even longer to explain what happened? Do I forget it and go home?

The driver never passed me as I waited on the shoulder.

I went home. Back to bed.

I have been unable to shake this feeling that I made a bad decision. I feel as though I should have stayed. I should have followed. Just in case.

But where do I draw the line? I made a decision based on my needs. Selfish? Maybe. What if he was drunk? What if he hit and killed someone? Would me staying out there, watching over this person be just as bad as having him driving erratically all over the highway, since I was deliriously tired?

In my eyes a person deliriously tired is just as bad as a person drinking and driving. Though it’s not as severely punishable; driving tired is also impaired. It’s also dangerous, deliberate and deadly.

What do you think?

:::

Mike’s my two year old today. I’ve sent my toddler off to daycare so I can care for another - his father.
Mike had emergency dental surgery this morning for an abscessed wisdom tooth. Ironic no? Wisdom.. yet he waited so long and let it deteriorate to the point where it’s caused minor gum damage and a horrible infection? *gag* No wisdom in that if I do say so myself. (Now, me? There’s some wisdom!)

As much as I love him, he’s ridiculously annoying when he’s drugged up. He’s reverts back to an over dramatic preteen. Picture a teenager drunk for the first time. Yup, that’s my 30 year old (soon!) husband.

Makes me so hot for him. *swoon* *cough, cough* *gag*

Thank Jeebus he’s in a drug induced slumber at the moment.

Hopefully it lasts until Monday.

:::

This post is FAR too long, but I have some GREAT news!! (I think it’s great so, it’s great.)

I’ll share it Sinday (Or Sunday, depends on who you are) since I have a wedding of two dear friends to attend tomorrow. Now flying solo, by the way. Dick (read: Mike) did this on purpose. Stupid teeth.

When we decided to have to children I was prepared to resign to the fact that I would be the sole caregiver. I came to terms with the idea of being the bather, reader, play friend, cook, changer, etc. I just knew that these would be the tasks I would have to add to my never ending list.
I assumed I would be the one in charge of coordinating daycare as well as a back up; I would be the one to take sick days when he was ill. I would essentially be the sole emotional provider to our child.

Was I wasn’t prepared for?

I wasn’t expecting the mornings you’d let me sleep in while you and Carter made breakfast together; nor did I expect the never-ending times the two of you run, play and toss a ball outside. I didn’t expect you to take every opportunity to cramp yourself into a kiddie pool just to see the smile on your child’s face. I wasn’t prepared for the screams of joy coming from the bathroom during bath time; nor did I anticipate you taking bath time on as your one-on-one time with Carter to let me relax for a little.

I always knew you were a great man. But a father? You proved me utterly and completely wrong, in the best way possible. You’ve truly out-done yourself. You’re amazing! Your unconditional love is so apparent when I catch you watching him. The laughs and hugs you two share are memories I will cherish forever. Though sometimes you tend to over-react I know that you’d never, ever let something happen to him. I know that you will be a very involved parent and love him no matter the life choice he makes.

For all that and more, I am truly glad you’re my baby’s daddy.

Happy Father’s Day Daddies!