Two Must-Dos Down

One to go - the ad book.

Today, I finished that bracelet *and* the transcription/arrangement of Quem Pastores (and got it sent off to the choir director at that!). Oh, and I got the Christmas draw slips prepped and mailed out *and* I finished all but one item on my Christmas shopping list - go me!

But I also lost my temper at my daughter, which upsets me no end - I always feel like such an awful mother when that happens. Why did I lose my temper? Sometimes two years old is VERY Two. And VERY Two is VERY trying. I know I expect too much and, really, regularly, I try very hard to control that. It's just that after being alone with her all week and then tacking Saturday on as well, I have thoroughly had my fill of a child who won't listen and blithely does whatever the hell she wants to instead of what I'm asking her to do.

God bless all the patient and loving childcare workers out there. They're saints. I ain't.

And, on the whole, it was a trying day. John was gone most all day knocking doors for the mayoral candidate, leaving me with Disobedient Girl, and then decided that a cold, windy, gray, and rainy day was a good day to open the windows and wash them. Lest you think that I asked him to wash the windows, I did not. Frankly, they weren't that bad in my book. But, no, he decided to make the house just as cold and damp as outside.

Now, he was gone a lot this week too - a couple of campaign meetings, late nights at work - and when he asked what I wanted to do tonight, I said, let's just get "grown up" food takeout and watch a movie - we haven't spent hardly any time together this week. He agreed, made a fuss about me picking which restaurant, and said he'd pick up the takeout at 8 if I'd do Katie's bath-n-bed.

So, it's 8 o'clock. He's still washing windows. I'm doing the bath-n-bed routine with Katie. It's 8:30, he's made no move to even call in the take out. I put Katie to bed. He decides to take a shower. It's 8:45, I make myself mac'n'cheese. He's still in the shower. I'm still freezing my ass off because the house is ice cold. It's 8:55, I've eaten my mac'n'cheese and washed the dishes. He's still in the shower. It's 9:05, he comes drifting down. "Are you sure you don't want take out? Do you want take out dessert?"

No, asshole, I wanted takeout when I came down from putting Katie to bed. Thus, the 8 p.m. time for you to leave. I don't want it now - it'd be at least 9:40 before you got back with it. What the fuck makes you think I want to eat dinner at fucking 9:40 at night??!! And, as for spending time together, it clearly wasn't a priority to you. Please go somewhere else. Now.

He says he'll watch Katie all day tomorrow. I'll believe it when I fucking see it. What that means, really, is that he'll wash more windows while she plays and won't notice when she toddles off to "where's Mama??" (read: make me fucking nuts again).

Men are just fucking unreliable.