A Testament To Your Asshole-ness.

I’ve been trying to get my Bean to go to bed early for the last couple of nights, only to be foiled by my husband at every turn. Tonight I had her out of the bath, teeth brushed and ready for bed while he was helping 1/1 and her two friends (that I’m babysitting) do their homework. In french. My husband is french and I am english (not british english!)

He told her they were going to watch a show before bed. Then continued to help the girls with their homework. For half an hour.

Finally I asked him to come upstairs.

“I’ve been trying to get her into bed early because she’s been waking up cranky for the last 4 days,”

“Well I’m busy helping the girls do their homework.”

“That’s fine, but you should have told her no shows tonight.”

“I wanted to watch a show with her tonight.”

“Why couldn’t you have done that earlier? Now it’s going to be way past her bedtime when she goes to bed.”

“Maybe you should be down there helping the girls with their homework.”

“I can’t. I don’t understand how.”

“A testament to your intelligence.”

And with that, he slammed the door as he left the room.

Really? A testament to my intelligence that I don’t understand the language well enough to help them do their homework? If I could punch him with my tiny, ineffectual fists and actually do damage, I might try.

I’m so mad. I’m so frustrated. I want to strangle him.

Fuck you, my dearest husband. You are a complete asshole. Something I wish I could say to your face but I’ve told you enough times that the only thing names do cause someone else to feel bad. It’s just bad arguing.

However, here on my blog I can say whatever I want and right now I hope you develop a terrible headache and are incapacitated for the rest of the night.

You infuriate me beyond reason and I want to scream and yell and pull out my hair and cock punch you. I want to yell at you for being such an asshole and for making me feel so belittled and inconsequential to you.

I feel like you’re not proud of me. I feel like you don’t brag about me, or that you don’t want to brag about me. You make me feel inferior to you, because I’m a stay-at-home mom and I can’t keep this house clean. You make me feel stupid and belittled, insignificant.

In my anger and my frustration, right now, just in this moment, I hate you.


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