I am a bit disappointed with HH lately. I don't know why I say 'lately'. This is an ongoing problem, but I've been so busy lately, I suppose, that it has become a bone of contention.
HH does not help out. Like, when I dropped two tax forms onto the kitchen floor, and he happened to walk by me feverishly working on those taxes at the kitchen table on his way to his precious MiniMansion down in the woods. He made a big, exaggerated step over them. Then he turned around and looked at me, the pain of my eyes burning into his back having gotten his attention. "What? Did you expect me to pick them up?" NO! I didn't expect any such thing. It's just like anything dropped on the floor--he will step over it and wait for me to pick it up. A child would have offered to pick up those tax forms. Not HH. I suppose he thought I planned on filing them there.
Let's see...then there's the basket of laundry I was folding in the midst of getting supper ready. You'd think that when HH walked in from an entire freakin' day down at his MiniMansion on Sunday, he would have seen that laundry basket in front of his La-Z-Boy, and thought, "I could finish folding these towels." But no. That thought didn't enter his head. He sat somewhere else.
The expired left-over jug of milk that I set by his cell-phone-staging area was left there for two days. Normally, if I put something there, that means that as he walks out the door, he should dump it out to the pets. Not any more. He just thinks I am now storing milk on the kitchen counter instead of in the refrigerator.
Same for the cardboard boxes after a shopping spree at Save-A-Lot. I put them by the kitchen door, a clue for him to take them over to his burn pile at the BARn. Three of them sat by the door all weekend.
And those wastebaskets apparently empty themselves now, because when they are full, HH does not take them out and put in a new bag, but rather steps his foot into them to shove stuff down so more can be piled on top.
Or when he has a day off and decides to fry up some bacon and eggs, and then washes HIS pan and HIS plate and HIS fork, leaving the other dishes in their places for me when I find time to do them. Have I mentioned that I do not have a dishwasher?
HH just doesn't get it. It's not like I expect him to do the laundry and the cooking and the shopping and the cleaning and the dish-washing and the bill-paying and the child care. I'd only like him to use some common sense and help out. And not to lecture me from his La-Z-Boy about being a complainer if I dare to ask him why he leaves his soda can and snack wrapper next to the chair for ME to pick up.
He just doesn't get it.
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4 comments:
I get it, HM. Oh, I get it.
Mine acts like I'm out of my mind if I ask him to put his dirty dish in the sink-- not to wash it, mind you, but just to put it in the sink. He does fold laundry sometimes and do a few other chores, but I feel like I am always cleaning and never getting anything clean. As soon as I get the kitchen counters cleaned up, for example, he comes through and makes a sandwich or something, and when he's done the mayo, cheese wrapper, and sometimes even the deli meat are still on the counter, along with a pile of crumbs. On the table you will find another pile of crumbs, a dirty plate, a wad of used paper towels, an empty glass, and usually the open bottle of whatever he was drinking. He acts like it's a restaurant and you're just supposed to get up and leave everything as is, but until I start finding tips, I'm gonna resent it a little.
Quick story then I'll stop hijacking. Last night I had to go somewhere from 6:30 to about 8:30. Charlie was asleep when I left, but his next meal was supposed to be at about 7:00 or 7:15. I asked Tim to feed him at that time, and to give him some rice cereal before giving him a bottle. Waking him up to feed him is better than HIM waking ME up to feed him. Tim refused, saying it would just have to be a cereal free night. When I asked him if he was going to refuse to help once Charlie is off bottles completely, he said no, not as long as he doesn't have to mix anything up. The man mixes people's chemotherapy drugs for a living, but will not pour some baby formula over rice cereal, stir it, and shovel it into his waiting mouth. When I got home the baby was still asleep, had slept through his meal time, and woke up at 9 to eat. AND for some reason when he gets late dinner, he gets up to eat multiple times during the night, so I had a long, long night, all because Tim didn't want to mix up some cereal and feed the young'un. I'm sure he justified it in his mind by reminding himself that he had been at work all day, as if I'm watching Oprah and eating bon-bons.
Now I'm pissed off. Crap.
Miss Ann,
Sing it, Sistah! The pharmacy tech not being able to mix formula and rice cereal is a good one.
HH brags about the time The Veteran was a toddler, and HH was left at home to supervise him. The Veteran peed his diaper, and then pooped, and it was saggy. So HH and his buddies DUCT TAPED the top of the diaper so it wouldn't fall off, and waited for the kid's mother to come home an change him.
He's a prince among men.
Sigh. Men.
Wonder how he would react if you put a note on everything you wanted him to do. For instance the milk "please throw this out for the pets" and the box "please burn" etc.
Selective hearing and seeing I suppose.
Chick,
I don't think he would even read it. Selective seeing, indeed!
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