Friday, August 20, 2010

Dear Husband

Here we sit on a lovely Friday afternoon in August.  I know you must be sitting at work looking forward to the weekend with your family.

A few things you should know about that.

At this moment, Sydney is claiming this is "the worst day ever".  She did not pass her level at bike camp.  Plus he brother got a small stuffed dragon at his camp this week and she did not.  She sees this as a great crime against humanity.

I did point out that she DID get a t shirt this week at bike camp (and her brother didn't) and that she has hundreds of stuffies that are neglected at home but this did nothing to improve her sour mood.

Jackson claimed "this day cannot get any worse" until I told him he was banned from the computer, he had to help me clean the house and do advanced homework for grade 4. Then he grudgingly agreed  that previously, the day could have gotten worse.

One of Jackson's complaints is that the ride-on car which he got for Christmas when he was 13 months old is not as cool or as big as the ride-on car Sydney got for her first birthday.  He wants a new one.  Words escape me. If you see two ride-on cars in the recycle bin by the time you get home, you should not be surprised.

He is also frustrated with something on the computer not cooperating. He blamed the fact that he couldn't win the "sheep dash" game on ill batteries in the mouse.

Finally, he is hostile over the fact that I won't tell him how much money we have in our bank account. I do not know why he wants to know this or what he wants to do with this information. I have told him only that we have more than his $20 guess and less than his $2 million guess.  He sees no reason for us to keep this information private.  His general approach to getting me to reveal this information is berating.

You know me well enough to appreciate how my mood can deteriorate under these circumstances. I did initially endeavour to remain positive and have made a number of constructive suggestions on how to turn this day around.  No suggestion has been treated with anything but grumps, groans, grunts and an occasional eye roll.

When all positive suggestions were rebuffed I told them that I wanted them to spend the afternoon researching how little most of the children in the world have instead of complaining that they don't have more stuff.

Ultimately the foul mood has been contagious and at this point no civil words are being exchanged between any of us.

I think if you should choose to come home under these circumstances, which I cannot recommend, bring gifts. 

For me:  a bottle of wine. 

For them: separate cages.

Love, Wife

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