So I was upstairs putting away yet another load of rapidly multiplying laundry when I hear Howie screaming my name downstairs. "WHAT!", I yell back. "Licha, Licha, Licha..........Bear is acting tired, what should I do?" I stopped and grit my teeth together and rolled my eyes and shook my head and said, "maybe you should give her some vivarin cause babies don't need THAT much sleep", I snap back. "SMART ASS!", says Howie.
I know, I know..I am a smart ass, but seriously, what kind of remark did he expect? If you ask a stupid ass question, expect my smart ass remark. After 5 years of fatherhood he can't figure out what to do with a tired baby?? I am so sick of his stupid questions, I swear...sometimes I wonder if the man has a brain at all. Howie is a very intelligent man, but he must put his brain on "pause: autopilot" when he gets home from work because he asks me a million retarded questions.
I was already in a bad mood today, who knows why...just a bad mood; the kind that just sparks out of nowhere and is virtually uncontrollable. I skipped down the stairs and say, "what the hell, you can't figure out that a tired baby might....I don't know....need to go to BED!" "Well, I didn't know what you wanted me to do", he says....a pitiful excuse at self defense. "I'm so stinkin' tired of your stupid questions. I need you to use what the good lord gave you and make a decision here and there." "I don't want to get in TROUBLE if I don't do exactly what you want" he quips. And I'M the smart ass!!! He basically said that in order to avoid being wrong or getting in any type of trouble for using his brain, he instead chooses to act stupid. "You get mad at all my questions, even if they're not stupid." "That's cause they're all STUPID!"
Instead of saying "did we have plans to go anywhere soon cause Bear needs to be put down" he asks "what do I do?". There's a huge difference. I explain it to him in terms that he can understand. "If you feel like you have poop that's about to slide out of your ass and you need to poop right away even though we're leaving the house at any minute just say: I need to poop, can I have a few minutes? You don't need to say: Um there's stuff that's seeping from my butt hole what should I do now? Help! Help! What do I do?? You're a grown ass man who can think for himself and if you use your head and make a rational decision there is no way that I'm going to get pissed off at you. I get mad when you DON'T use your head, when you fein stupidity and refuse to take responsibility. That's what gets you in trouble, jackass!
What's funny is that Howie deals with these issues at work every day. He has taken on some vital roles at work which means that his work load has tripled and his stress level is through the roof. He knows what it's like to have people picking at him all day, asking dumb questions and making him bear the brunt of the work. He comes home and complains how people don't use their noggins and expect him to lead them around as if they cannot think for themselves. He laments this as he says, "it's 5:00 do you think we should feed the kids." "Nope, they ate this morning, they're good", I say! C'mon. How can he not see the correlation here??
All day long I hear stupid questions and have to tell the kids EXACTLY what to do. I wish I didn't have to:
Me: (To Birdie) Get your shoes and put them on
Me: Your shoes...ON!
Me: Shoes....get them on...
Birdie: What shoes
Me: The shoes on the shoe rack
Birdie: Which ones?
Me: *smoke trickling from my ears* The purple shoes on the top rack of the white shoe rack next to the garage steps. Put one shoe on each foot! NOW!!!!
So excuse me, Howie when my patience has been worn to shreds by the end of the day. I don't have any patience left for you and your stupid questions. "You're so mean *sniffles*, you're always in a bad mood at the end of the day." No shit! You mean....how dare I? How dare I be in a bad mood after taking care of YOUR children who have the asking stupid questions gene!! Sorry if I'm not all peaches and cream when you get home from work because it's 6:00 and Birdie is bouncing off the walls, the boy has pooped for the umpteenth time and Bear is cranky as....well, a BEAR! All of this while I'm trying to make dinner, the dog is under my feet blocking my every step and the cat is swatting at my apron strings.
Do not....I repeat...DO NOT come up in this house asking me "what are you doing?" when you can plainly see that I am trying to cook dinner. Don't ask me or I just might have to add a little spice of strychnine! Stop asking stupid questions or I will poison your pasta!! Enough with the stupid questions already!
Please tell me that I am not the only woman who deals with this! If you are a guy, please explain this to me because all I get from Howie is "I don't know"!