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Principe gets in the way of my mood swing

September 7, 2009

Yesterday Principe and I both awoke wishing we had gone to bed about four hours earlier than we had. It isn’t that we had gone to bed so late the night before (about 1:30am) but it was late enough after a week of feeling like we havne’t slept enough and consistantly being awoke by Queenie at 7:30 every morning. I woke up first and laid on the couch for about an hour after getting Queenie’s morning snack out and diaper changed. When 8:30 rolled around Principe stumbled out of the bedroom claiming he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep and that he felt (just a second, Queenie is pounding on my leg, asking me to dance with her to “Old McDonald.”) Anyway, he complained about being tired and said he was going to get the paper. This was code for: I will be sitting on the couch all day reading the paper and doozing.

While he was gone I started to tackle the house. Dinner with BIL and SIL still hadn’t been cleaned up since the night before, the kitchen needed some help and there was a strange smell coming either from the fridge or the trash…and the trash had been taken out by Principe (but not without me having to ask him.)

My pregnancy hormones araging I started in on the dining room table and the kitchen. When Principe walked in I was still elbow deep in bubbles and grease. As I was tired my griping was becoming more and more violent in my head and even though I understood Principe’s code earlier, when he laid down on the couch with the paper I only had mean things running through myhead that I won’t type out because I don’t want you to start hating me. The worst was that he did his typical: “Why don’t you come hang out with us and then we’ll do all that together?” This statement (that he constantly makes when I am cleaning) pisses me off because A: I’m already doing stuff, already in the mood to get it done, I’m not going to quit and he knows it. B: It won’t get done later because there is never any time later.

Within the course of two hours I was able to clean the bathroom, clean the kitchen, empty and load the dishwasher, wash the other dishes by hand, do a load of laundry and make breakfast. Oh, yeah. I made breakfast. While I was cleaning Queenie started whining her hungry whine (something we don’t hear too often!). Instead of doing something Principe just ignored it. Even managed to ignore my very loud statements of, “Okay, Honey. I know you’re hungry. Just one second. I KNOW YOU ARE HUNGRY…!” Men’s selective hearing is amazing.

Guess who cleaned up breakfast?

Then Queenie started dancing and asked us to dance so my mood swung back to being good. Seeing her wiggle her butt is just so funny. It even got me to stop think about how annoyed I was with her daddy.

And then he screwed up again. Just as Queenie and I were ready to go outside and play he decided he had to sit on the potty. And he took the paper with him. (What is with men? Why do they like to sit on the pot with a dirty butt for hours at a time?) This ticked me off again as I knew he was going to take a good half and hour. So I told him we were going without him, that we’d see him at the park. He shouted okay, without acknowledging my crabby soaked words.

Shopping went alright even though I felt like vomitting all of a sudden, which sucked but it woke Principe up a little to declare that he would make lunch. How nice of him.

We bought mega-lego blocks for Queenie which were, and still are, a big hit. I took a nap, which helped bring my mood swinging back to the center enough to pick up the kitchen again, make bread and take Queenie outside to play in the evening. Principe was busy watching tennis.

And things continued well until bathtime when I was told to make dinner while he took a bath with Queenie. And in the middle of making dinner and breakfast cookies for the next day he shouts, “Whenever you’re ready!”

What was that supposed to mean, I asked? You have to come get her, he told me. Oh, no. You take a bath with her, learn to get yourself out and then her out, just like I do.

Lots of sighing followed, but he seemed to get over it quickly enough so I forgot about it as well. And as I put Queenie to bed he even set the paper down long enough to fold the clothes I had dumped on his side of the bed. But of course he only put away his own. Which is a sore spot with me as I put away all clothes when I fold them, although I have, at times, left his out just to spite him. And when I bring up the topic, for the hundreth time, of why he can’t even learn where his daughter’s clothes go he is only capable of responding with grunts and groans that reek of incompetence and laziness, making me want to punch him in the face, drag him into Queenie’s room and shove his face into every drawer in an effort to make him memorize where things go.

And the mood never swung back up. Just kept lowering and lowering. After dinner we had to work on the translation I have finished. I did not studying translating, but I take on work at times to feel like I am doing something. This document is economical, so I am reviewing it with PRincipe before senidng it to make sure things are okay. The majority of it is, but I difnitely made some mistakes and the attitude that he has about it makes me want to stick my middle finger in his eye. It isn’t his fault really, as his entire family has this problem of thinking they know more than everyone else and take on this “I’m the teacher and you are a first grader” attitude when correcting or teaching or even just talking. His tone of voice became more and more irritating as he would interrupt me to tell me, “You have to make that plural. If it’s plural in Spanish, why wouldn’t you make it plural in English?”

Needless to say, my attitude got defensive and darker. He said three times that it wouldn’t hurt for me to be nice to him, but instead of lashing out I just bit my lip and continued with the document. I didn’t want to get into it. Until he gave me lip about something that had a specific other meaning in finance that I would never know about. That’s when I told him that he could have a better attitude towards me. Instead of agreeing he sighed loudly, said we could do two more pages, told me I was tired and crabby and needed to go to bed. 12:30 at night I’m not going to fight. Not going to do it. And I think I was gracious, don’t you?

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