“You can write about daddy and girls making pancakes,”
“There’s nothing really illicit about that,”
“You don’t have to be illicit all the time, you can be human too.”
Ah, husband. Such a good heart, but doesn’t really get the point. I want to write about sexy things, controversial things, fun things and love. I suppose writing about him in the kitchen us making us vegan pancakes (because we’re out of eggs) with our girls is about love.
‘Disapproved of or not permitted for moral or ethical reasons’ doesn’t really describe family life unless you come from a pretty fucked up family.
This is a conversation I just had with my daughter.
“Can I put water in this?”
“What is it?”
“A tic tac container,”
“Why not? Why can’t I put water in it?”
“Why do you need to put water in everything?”
“I don’t. I don’t put water in everything. I don’t put water in shirts…”
Today is just a lazy Sunday and I’m too tired to think of writing a terribly interesting blog post. Therefor, you can have a heaping shovel full of inane drivel.
My husband has decided to go off his medication. He just went off Effexor and onto Wellburtrin last week. We had this conversation in the shower yesterday. He told me that he was tired of relying on medication to keep him stable and he needs to learn how to deal with himself without the medication.
It’s fine, I suppose, except that he is quick to anger, irrationally so, and I’m afraid that it won’t be fair to the kids or to me for him to be off his medication. I told him I would support him, because if it was me, I wouldn’t want to have to rely on medication to placate me so I can make it through life. However, if he becomes too difficult to deal with, I told him I would call him out on it.
He said it’s too easy for him to take a pill that levels him out because that’s the easy way and he’ll choose that every time. However, if he chooses to go off the medication, then he actually has to deal with what’s going on, especially inside him.
I tried to tell him that moving could really shake him up and might pull him out of his funk.
“If I can’t deal with myself here, how can I deal with myself somewhere else? I need to take baby steps.”
Fine. But I think I’m starting to wear him down a bit on the moving idea.
“What are you going to do when I move to the west coast? Because that’s what I’m working for, and saving for,”
“Baby steps, dear, baby steps.”
I need to get out of Greyopolis. I honestly don’t think I can spend another winter in this fuckhole.
I told Granny I would never move while she was still alive. I would never take the kids away from her. That in itself would probably kill her.
She now weighs 72 lbs and looks like a skeleton. She’s on a liquid diet (hooray for Ensure and Jello, ugh) because she ends up puking up solid food. It seriously is just a matter of time and it’s weighing heavily on my mind.
Now that I’ve thoroughly bummed myself out, I need to psych myself up for taking my girls rock climbing today. They got harnesses for Christmas and we’ve yet to take them climbing. It’ll be a fun day.