To start with the obvious, I know that it's not just my husband who is annoying me tonight. There are rather a few other annoying (but none too serious triggers):
- Not knowing if I have skin cancer
- Having to break it to the fusspot that she can't do her very most favorite activity in the world
- Having broken reading glasses
- The stupid judgmental woman I had to deal with tonight
And really, these are not that big a deal. Even the stupid skin cancer. But for not quite fair reasons, all of them are making me pissed at my husband. See, he's been gone a week. A week in a new job, in a new city, but with a fully furnished apartment, plenty of friends around, and fairly normal working hours. And in the past week (and honestly, the many weeks before), it apparently has not so much as crossed his mind to ask if I might need some help. I know he can't change diapers or sort laundry or do dishes or supervise bedtime, but there are plenty of things he can do from 200 miles away. And it seems to have not even crossed his mind.
Skin cancer. Runs in my family, of the fairly serious variety. Many years ago I had 2 moles removed and biopsies. No problem. I thought all was well but one of them regrew in a rather ominous shape so I saw a dermatologist about 2 weeks ago. The good news is that when moles re-grow after being removed, they apparently always look odd. The bad news is that it looks really odd and covers a fairly large amount of skin. BUT, I might not need the surgery to remove it if we could get the medical records from the last biopsy (circa 2007) to find out what type of mole it was. Cue medical records soundtrack of doom. 3 faxed release forms, 5 phone calls, and they still haven't released the biopsy (which has now been located) to me. I'm pretty sure any competent adult could assist with nagging phone calls at this point, but nope, that'll be all me and as a result I may not know whether I have skin cancer for another full week or two.
Ballet. The fusspot loves ballet. She's really awful at it, and we managed to not only find a very fun, relaxed class but I loved it because it was both cheap and uber-diverse (we're on the edge of 2 quite distinct neighborhoods. When we head South, you get the millionaires, when you head North you get the policewomen taking their sons to ballet after a long shift). At least once a day she puts on her ballet shoes and practices and role plays being Ms. S, her beloved teacher. Except that this year the class has been moved to 1:45 pm, when she'll still be in school. There are options: commit to weekend classes, or find another ballet class in the neighborhood (there are at least 10 in a 10 minute walk). This seems like an easy task for my husband and google, but nope, that'll be me e-mailing every program for their schedule and availability. And also breaking it to the fusspot that she may not see her beloved teacher again.
Len.scrafters. Kinda sucks. 5 visits to get new lenses in my reading glasses, and apparently this time they got the prescription right but somehow stretched out the glasses for someone with a much, much bigger head than me (they are the same frames as before). Seems like someone could take over calling to complain since I've already been there 5 times. I mean, it's a busy NYC store and they didn't even have to ask my name when I walked in this evening.
Which takes us to tonight. Synagogue (and yes, I know I shouldn't be on my computer but I'm sitting here alone stewing and I figure this will at least get some of the anger out so I can be pleasant when my children wake up at 4 am again). And very judgmental old ladies. I spent the afternoon with some mormon friends, and like the evangelical churches where I grew up, they have a super-well-developed hot meals for new moms and childcare during services program. Not so much my people. There is nothing on Friday night, and if we commit to kids services on Saturday I never step foot in real services (note: missing husband, single parent). So we go every Friday night. And usually people are lovely, but all summer the old ladies have been giving me death glowers. And tonight my kids were really obnoxious. The fusspot took of her shoes and danced on the pews, the dumpling fussed non-stop unless I let him play with the door handles ... so it was a bit rough. And nobody offered to help. Or a kind word. Or even just a nice to see you tonight. All I got was judgey judgey point up their nose and turn away distastefully looks. And it made me so pissed. It's Friday night. I'm exhausted. I'm single parenting. I need to go to services to recharge, and I am committed to raising my children in a religious community that I love. And not a single woman there could so much as give me a smile (and this is not true of the men, mind you. We sit separately but the men are overwhelmingly polite, friendly, and happy to help out the kids. My guess is the men who don't like other peoples kids find it easy to steer a wide berth).
So yeah, it's just me sitting on the couch feeling pissed. I don't get it. I even teach this stuff: the second shift, the economics of women juggling more than men ... and yet I really can't figure out an easy way out.
- Not knowing if I have skin cancer
- Having to break it to the fusspot that she can't do her very most favorite activity in the world
- Having broken reading glasses
- The stupid judgmental woman I had to deal with tonight
And really, these are not that big a deal. Even the stupid skin cancer. But for not quite fair reasons, all of them are making me pissed at my husband. See, he's been gone a week. A week in a new job, in a new city, but with a fully furnished apartment, plenty of friends around, and fairly normal working hours. And in the past week (and honestly, the many weeks before), it apparently has not so much as crossed his mind to ask if I might need some help. I know he can't change diapers or sort laundry or do dishes or supervise bedtime, but there are plenty of things he can do from 200 miles away. And it seems to have not even crossed his mind.
Skin cancer. Runs in my family, of the fairly serious variety. Many years ago I had 2 moles removed and biopsies. No problem. I thought all was well but one of them regrew in a rather ominous shape so I saw a dermatologist about 2 weeks ago. The good news is that when moles re-grow after being removed, they apparently always look odd. The bad news is that it looks really odd and covers a fairly large amount of skin. BUT, I might not need the surgery to remove it if we could get the medical records from the last biopsy (circa 2007) to find out what type of mole it was. Cue medical records soundtrack of doom. 3 faxed release forms, 5 phone calls, and they still haven't released the biopsy (which has now been located) to me. I'm pretty sure any competent adult could assist with nagging phone calls at this point, but nope, that'll be all me and as a result I may not know whether I have skin cancer for another full week or two.
Ballet. The fusspot loves ballet. She's really awful at it, and we managed to not only find a very fun, relaxed class but I loved it because it was both cheap and uber-diverse (we're on the edge of 2 quite distinct neighborhoods. When we head South, you get the millionaires, when you head North you get the policewomen taking their sons to ballet after a long shift). At least once a day she puts on her ballet shoes and practices and role plays being Ms. S, her beloved teacher. Except that this year the class has been moved to 1:45 pm, when she'll still be in school. There are options: commit to weekend classes, or find another ballet class in the neighborhood (there are at least 10 in a 10 minute walk). This seems like an easy task for my husband and google, but nope, that'll be me e-mailing every program for their schedule and availability. And also breaking it to the fusspot that she may not see her beloved teacher again.
Len.scrafters. Kinda sucks. 5 visits to get new lenses in my reading glasses, and apparently this time they got the prescription right but somehow stretched out the glasses for someone with a much, much bigger head than me (they are the same frames as before). Seems like someone could take over calling to complain since I've already been there 5 times. I mean, it's a busy NYC store and they didn't even have to ask my name when I walked in this evening.
Which takes us to tonight. Synagogue (and yes, I know I shouldn't be on my computer but I'm sitting here alone stewing and I figure this will at least get some of the anger out so I can be pleasant when my children wake up at 4 am again). And very judgmental old ladies. I spent the afternoon with some mormon friends, and like the evangelical churches where I grew up, they have a super-well-developed hot meals for new moms and childcare during services program. Not so much my people. There is nothing on Friday night, and if we commit to kids services on Saturday I never step foot in real services (note: missing husband, single parent). So we go every Friday night. And usually people are lovely, but all summer the old ladies have been giving me death glowers. And tonight my kids were really obnoxious. The fusspot took of her shoes and danced on the pews, the dumpling fussed non-stop unless I let him play with the door handles ... so it was a bit rough. And nobody offered to help. Or a kind word. Or even just a nice to see you tonight. All I got was judgey judgey point up their nose and turn away distastefully looks. And it made me so pissed. It's Friday night. I'm exhausted. I'm single parenting. I need to go to services to recharge, and I am committed to raising my children in a religious community that I love. And not a single woman there could so much as give me a smile (and this is not true of the men, mind you. We sit separately but the men are overwhelmingly polite, friendly, and happy to help out the kids. My guess is the men who don't like other peoples kids find it easy to steer a wide berth).
So yeah, it's just me sitting on the couch feeling pissed. I don't get it. I even teach this stuff: the second shift, the economics of women juggling more than men ... and yet I really can't figure out an easy way out.
3 comments:
Because... sadly, there's not a way out. I hate to agree with Ann Romney on ANYTHING, but there isn't. Women do more than men almost always. It starts with having the baby - we go through all the difficult physical stuff to have the baby, we breast feed the babies, etc., and there it is, right off the bat, we are on the hook more than any guy. This isn't to say that men can't be good and supportive and loving, etc. But we get the burden to bear.
There is nothing worse than a cancer scare. Nothing. God, I'm so sorry you have to go through this. I've never even met you, but just follow your blog due to another friend, but I get a deep awful health scare. I hope that everything works out.
Screw the judgmental ladies. You are there for your children and yourself. I know that it sucks to be looked down upon for your own parenting practices, but really, it's their damned problem, not yours. You are bringing them to services - how many people in this modern world even make that much effort?
I don't know how you do it. If I were you, I'd be going cross-eyed with exhaustion and being fed up. You are doing an amazing job and I wish you the best of luck through this first school year of the Fusspot's pre-K.
My heavens you have a ton on your plate right now. I'm so sorry it's so incredibly overwhelming. (And, once again, I have no idea how you do it, I remain SO impressed.) But just because you're superwoman doesn't mean it's fun.
Judge-y ladies at any religious service should either mind their own business and pay a little more attention to services & less to their fellow congregants or--better--step up and ask if they can give you a hand. Surely they've been somewhere NEAR where you are at some point in their lives?!? Grrrr.
Thinking of you. Hoping things ease up soon--that someone else steps up or that things just ease naturally or both. Please keep us posted on the cancer scare, I'll be worried until you hear it's ok.
I'm so sorry about the cancer scare. My dad was just diagnosed & I keep meaning to go get checked out- but...(and here is where I really feel your frustration) the hub has been tasked with finding a new primary doc for the whole family. After giving him a list of 17 in a 1 mile radius (ie- walkable) over 6 months ago- I still sit here without a doctor. The kids still have their mildly out of the way ped & all, but I just don't get how he can go to battle with an ob office over a circumcision (a story for a post I will maybe get to someday) but can't find us one doctor or a daycare. And he's the one that wants them in daycare/preschool!
Men don't seem to do well with managing the myriad of minutia it takes to run a family They focus on their job (whatever it is) and do it ad everything else is not even within the realm of their consciousness.
But it does suck to have to do it all. And being single and feeling judged at the end of what I can only imagine is a very very long week plain old sucks too. I'm sorry and I hope that a balance is found.
Keep us posted on your results- hoping for good news for you.
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