Ramblings of a Mad Cow

I wasn’t always this bitter. I wasn’t always this pissed off. One thing I’ve learned from being married is not to expect too much. One thing I’ve learned from having kids is to expect even less. I guess that’s where it all started. This discord between my husband and I.

Husband or father
My husband is 18 years older and I am. I was 20 when we got married. He worked in the evenings, so sometimes I would go over my aunts or go visit a friend. If he managed to beat me home there was hell to pay. “Where the hell were you?” “What’s the matter with you? I went over my aunts for a while.” After the first month I should have picked up on the clues, but I didn’t. He was jealous. He was jealous of everything I did that didn’t evolve around him. It took me a couple of years to get through to him but I’ll get back to that in another section.

The first couple years of marriage were hell, pure and simple. HELL! I couldn’t go anywhere without him flipping out on me. “Where the hell were you? Who did you go with? Who was there? Why did you go there?” Hello, I was out with my aunt. Where didn’t we go. Back in those days, she was a yard sale hunter. And we didn’t stay in the area either. We went all over the place. We might start out here in the area, but then we may visit 6 countys before the day was over. He now knows that if I go out with her, not to expect me home any time soon.

Anyway, he actually expected me to ask for permission to go anywhere. Yes dad. Yeah right! He wouldn’t give me any money unless the “chores” were done. “I’ll give you some spending money if the laundry is done when I get home from work.” He used to say. Bull sh--- It’s not Saturday so laundry don’t need to be done. Okay, 2 can play at this game. I don’t need his money. I’d hike my butt down to the corner store and make a few calls. By the time I was done, I had a couple odd jobs and $50 in my pocket. When he got home I’d tell him, “I’m going to walmart to get those jeans I want.” I even let him go with me to watch me spend it. “Where did you get money?” he would ask. “Well, since you like to put conditions on everything and I needed some new jeans. I made a few phone calls, got a couple house cleaning jobs and vola - $50, so stick that in your top hat and smoke it.” Sure, doing the laundry was a simple enough thing to do, but it was the principle of it. I really hate being told what to do. You do this and you can go there. You do that and you can have this. HA! Yeah right. I’m not your child so don’t treat me like one. I know what to do and when to do it. And get this, I even know HOW to do it. Oh, and he really got sick of me calling him dad.


To cheat or not to cheat


I guess we’d been married about 2 years. I decided to go back to college. He was home during the day with the kids. They were small so not too much trouble, the oldest was 2 and the youngest was only a couple of months old. I left for school about an hour before my first class to pick up my cousin. It wasn’t like I was going out of my way. I had to pass her street to get to the college anyway so what the hell.

I come home one day and I was running a little late because the class ran over a bit and I had a couple of questions. Well I walked in the door and my husband goes off, “What took you so long to get home? How were you with? Who’s your boyfriend?” on and on he would go. It was like a monthly thing. I got my period, he got his … I don’t know what you’d call it. But it was like clock work. After about 6 or 8 months I couldn’t take it no more. He jumped on me with the same questions. I yelled, “Enough!” and walked over to the phone and picked it up. He asked me what I was doing. “You’re going to constantly accuse me of having an affair when I’m not. Well hell, you’re accusing me of it so I might as well have one because in your eyes I’m already guilty.” Damn shame the guy wasn’t home.

Treats: fair or unfair

When my kids were small, they were angels. They did everything I asked of them and then some. Of course, there was a little treat before bedtime: a popcicle, a piece of cake, a little bit of candy. Ok ok, you got me. They were bribes, damn it, and they worked. If they didn’t do what they were told, they didn’t get anything other than the joy of watching the other enjoy what they weren’t getting. And I made them watch too. “If you’d put away what you pulled out like you were told, you’d be eating some of that too.” It worked real good.

Well for awhile anyway. Until my husband’s shift got changed and he was home at bedtime. We had some doozy’s over that. He said it wasn’t fair. I said it was plenty fair. “You do what you’re supposed to do and you get the reward. You don’t do it and you get jack.” I said I don’t know how many times. I heard I don’t know how many times, “My mother yadda yadda yadda”. Hey bud, take a good look. I’m not your mother and guess what? These aren’t her kids. Get used to it.

The kids heard him say “It’s not fair.” It stuck in their little heads. From then on whenever I gave a treat to the kid that did what they were told, the other screamed “It’s not fair”. So from then on it was one for all and all for one. If one didn’t do what they were told then neither got a treat. Of course, then I heard “That’s not fair” from the other.

Master?

When my husband came in from work he used to strip on his way to the bedroom. Pants thrown on the couch, shirt on a kitchen chair, a sock on the floor between the kitchen and the living room, the other sock on the floor of the bedroom, then he’d climb in bed and go to sleep. He’d wake up and eat. He’d leave his dishes in the living room. Uh, okay, like what’s going on here. I spent all day cleaning and he comes home and trashes the place. I have 2 kids to clean up after, I’ll be damned if I’m going to clean up after him too. So one day I met him at the front door and followed him through the house. Head bowed, “Oh masser I’z get dat fo you” “Tank you masser” I’d follow him to the bathroom and grab the tp. “When masser done I’z wipe your ass” That got me chased out of the bathroom. So I’d wait outside the door and follow him up to the bedroom. This was probably the kicker, I grabbed the belt off the floor and handed it to him, “Masser, you wants to beat me now or when you wake up.” He looked up at me like I’d lost my mind. “What is your problem?” “Well I don’t know about you, but I spent all day cleaning. Then you come in and toss your clothes all over the house and leave your dishes where ever you please. And it’s not occasionally, it’s every freaking day. I feel like your slave not your wife.” He’s still a slob but he does pick up after himself more than he used to. And if the kids make a mess he says, “Clean it up yourself, she’s your mother not your slave.”