Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Fractured Cardiac Organ

My heart is breaking a little bit right now. Because no matter what I do for Farmer H and the #1 son, it is not good enough.

I wake up #1 three times before I leave for work. And he yells at me that he's awake.

I put a load of jeans in the washer at 2:00 a.m., and switch them to the dryer at 5:00. But that's just my job.

I rearrange my schedule to pick up Farmer H at the car dealership in the opposite direction of my way home to the Mansion, all because #1 can't do it after robot practice. But I never do anything for anybody else.

I wash the entire contents of the silverware tray every night, because somehow folks around this Mansion find enough food to dirty twelve twelve big forks, twelve little forks, twelve serving spoons, and twelve little spoons between the hours of 5:00-11:00 p.m.

I am the aphid of the sixteen-year-old ant boy. He drops into my classroom to feed on whatever he can find in my mini-fridge or The Pony's snack drawer. He grabs bottles of water like they are free. Yet refuses to carry in replacement cases of water.

I stand at the stove warming supper for 45 minutes, yet Farmer H runs off to town rather than eat while it is hot.

I walk back to the bread cabinet to hand #1 a roll for a turkey sandwich, turkey which I have warmed separately from supper, because he is sitting closer to the roll than I, but asks me to get it for him.

I spend $360 to put brakes on #1's truck, and he asks me to buy him a $30 Nerf gun. Of course, it's a bargain, because it usually costs $60.

I go to the kitchen for some leftover pumpkin pie, and find that not only have Farmer H and #1 eaten an entire cherry pie, but also the two pieces of pumpkin.

I spend days looking for gifts for my family. But I never include Farmer H., world-renowned for his love of and skill in shopping.

If I complain, I am attacked in stereo. And I've learned to never, ever answer the question, "What's wrong?"

The Pony thanks me for anything and everything I do for him.
He's what keeps me going.


Chickadee said...

I think you need a long vacation away from the simpletons. Or maybe go on strike. They'd be lost without you.

Mommy Needs a Xanax said...

Yes. You need a vacay. They took one without you. Take one without them! I fantasize about doing this to Tim. I'd love to just walk out for about 4-5 days and leave him here with both children. I seriously doubt he'd have any more questions about what I do all day.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I can't leave The Pony with them. He would perish. They would not save him any hot dogs (the breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions), and would forget to buy new clothes for him when they reached the end of their wardrobe.

I sincerely need a vacay in the worst way. A week at the casino would do wonders for my disposition. Unless a drunken frat boy pulls my crank again.

But if I'm gone, who will buy the pies?