The Mighty Hunter walked all over my feelings Wednesday as we drove back from Dauphin Island.
I sat there, with a tear poised perfectly on my left eye, just under my eyelashes, reflecting the setting sun and blinded without my sunglasses so that he could see me in the mirror and feel like the scumbag he was.
Till he apologized.
A little random background info...
I have a speaking dyslexia lately. I see a pillow and call it a toaster. I see my son and call him by the puppy's name. I blame it on the baby and all my brains flowing out my nips and also hearing "lookmommymommylooklookmommymommylook" 7,928,003 times a day.
Stinkerbell was in the very back seat of the Pimped Out Mamamobile and I was seated in the seat directly behind the empty front passenger's seat as The Mighty Hunter drove. (explanation is a whole 'nother post) Lucky was directly behind the driver's seat. Stinkerbell was moving around in the back seat and I was concerned that she would break the framed Baby Dedication Certificate that The Mighty Hunter
tossed carefully packed away there.
"take off your headphones. take off your headphones."
silence till she answers me with the Southern manners I'm trying my best to
brainwash train her to use.
wiggle. climb. dirty feet on the seats. knees terrifyingly close to the glass, about to break it and scar her for life.
"be still. BE STILL! give me the envelope."
"yes. give it here."
from the driver's seat: "what's wrong?"
baby crying now
Stinkerbell hands me the only things she can find that might be associated with an envelope.
"not that. give me that!" pointing and angry now. "thank. you."
driver's seat: "what is it?"
"I was trying to keep her from breaking the glass in this... this... this thing of Lucky's!" brow furrowed. left eyebrow raising. voice revealing high level of irritation. baby crying still. where's that stupid pappie?
"she gave it to you."
"no she gave me this piece of paper first. then after I pointed it out, she gave it to me."
"mommy, you asked for an envelope."
Now, I really want to ask her why she didn't give me an envelope. I want to ask her why she didn't read my swiss cheese mind and give me what I really wanted, what I meant, not what I said.
from the driver's seat (get ready to get po'd) "mommy's sorry she yelled at you. you did good baby." (And no, I can't get him to improve his English.) glares at me in the mirror.
Stinkerbell thankfully puts her headphones back on her head so that I can tear into him.
"don't apologize for me to her. EV-ER. that would have po'd you to the moon and back. don't do that to me. I know when I make a mistake. I admit my mistakes to her. I apologize to her. I ask her to forgive me. I do this all the time. don't do it for me. it was insulting."
The tear forms but doesn't run down my cheek. I refuse too cry. But I can clench my teeth and raise my left eyebrow and huff and puff. I am enjoying the ride down Guilt Trip Highway.
poor use of English language
can't spell any form of "there", "their" or "they're"
"I shouldn't have apologized for you."
I let that one big, fat tear sit on my cheekbone for another 30 minutes. He deserved it.
Now that I've griped about my darling husband's inconsiderate jerky stupid-man behavior, I need to tell you what else I think about him.
Only a little, I promise.
This weekend at Dauphin Island, we stayed at his dad's condo. His brother (BIL) was there also. SIL had to work, so Stinkerbell and I were the only girls.
Many times vacations are not very vacationy for moms. When you go to a hotel, you get a little more "time off" than when you stay at a condo or rental house. Condos and houses are a little more comfy in some ways, but there are kitchens to clean and towels to wash and no one to make beds for you and refill the toilet paper roll for you. So, there are moments when going away to the Island is not very relaxing for me.
But, The Mighty Hunter is aware of this and does a lot to make my time as vacationy as possible too. I rarely cook while we are at the condo. He is the Grill Master Commander Extraordinaire. He goes to the store and buys all he needs and really enjoys the whole thing. He really is pretty good at it too. He usually buys shrimp and grills it on skewers.
I was amazed the first time he did it. They were spaced out nicely and not over-cooked and as pretty as shrimp can be. Now I can't tell you if they were very good or not. I don't eat shrimp. It's texture is like plastic. I've tried every preparation and seasoning and flavoring and variety and blah blah blah. I just don't like to eat plastic food. Thankyouverymuchanyway, I'll just eat my chicken.
He grilled chicken and grouper, and they were yummmmmy. He cleans the grill. He does a half-decent job of cleaning up the kitchen after himself while at the beach.
He takes Stinkerbell to the pool or fishing or for a ride on the SeaDoo, when I'm attached to Lucky at the boob. He picks up after himself in the bedroom and bathroom while there - much better than at home!
He does what he can to give me some time-off too.
And he thinks I'm "beautiful and sexy" and tells me so all the time. And, yes, I usually think he's saying that just to get some. But, still, this fluffy-bellied, insecure, post-partum mom needs to hear it.
And lemmetellya, he loves his babies. LOVES! HIS! BABIES!
He was one of those guys that I dated that probalby wouldn't have been my parent's choice for me. He was wild. He had a goal for his dates, and it wasn't honorable. He drank and often it was too much. My Baptist preacher-dad would have locked me in my room if he had known that.
But when I saw him for the first time, I knew he was something special, not to mention sexy. He had this long, strong, muscular neck and a beautiful tanned complexion. His soft brown eyes also had a look about them that was a little naughty. Not mischevious so much as naughty.
He is a pest. He stopped by here while I was trying to eat a salad for lunch just a little bit ago. I had gotten an email from one of his sales managers. I asked him what I needed to know to answer the email. He started poking his finger in my ear and doing his hyena-giggle. It forced me to reply to the sales-guy with an "I'll get back you after I kill him for poking me in the ear." I whopped him with the throw pillow, and he ran off.
He is very smart. He has amazed me with his understanding of accounting and the financial part of running his business. Yes, I know his degree is in economics, but for some reason I doubted him. He had never worked for himself before. His primary job history is with the large insurance company. I'm so proud of him.
He's a good guy.
I think I've said it before, but I'll say it again.
He loves fiercely and tenderly. He provides and nurtures. He snuggles and caresses gently. He wept when he buried his mother and cried tears of joy when his babies were born. He carries the burdens of this family with strength and peace. He kicks butt when necessary, but always demonstrates his deep love for those who are blessed with it.
He is a good man. He is a good husband. He is a good dad. He is a good friend. He is a good boy.
I'll keep him. And knowing all his good qualities, I'll forgive him for being a jerk. But I reserve the right to blog about it.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
note: I've been pecking at this for several days ande finally decided to click the Orange Button.