His favorite part is the "butt" of the bread. Where as I am always digging out the middle of the bread loaf for the soft, melt in your mouth goodness, Alex loves the crunchy end. He especially loves when the outside is a little overdone so the ends get extra crisp. It's weird, but it's what he likes.
Last night, I hit a low point in my life. It had been a chaotic two days of me over committing myself and not using the best of my time management skills. Doctor's appointments, craigslist sales, dinner co-op, and bible study piled on top of regular kid pick ups and drop offs, tantrums, and laundry totally threw me over the edge.
It is during these sorts of days that my lack of Monday-Friday spousal support feels excruciating. I am normally pretty good at handling breakfast through bedtime solo every day, but on the really chaotic days I tend to have breakdowns where I feel sorry for myself, while simultaneously building a lot of anger toward my husband's inability to ever be here to take over even one small aspect of this parenting stuff during the week.
It's not pretty.
It's possible that while making spaghetti and meatballs from scratch (not the noodles) for three families and trying to tell Cole that he was just going to have to figure out how to turn his pajamas right side out by himself because Mommy can't handle anything else that I started to cry and say, "why can't he just come home once during a night like this? Why am I always doing this all alone?"
Total pity party moment. Oh it's so ugly and pathetic.
(It's not even entirely true...Sue came and cleaned up most of the kitchen while I put Stella and Cole to bed and Alex ended up doing all the dishes after he got home later. But let's not focus on that because it detracts from how sorry I was feeling for myself.)
After finishing the three meals though and getting everyone to bed, I was starving and totally depleted. I finally had a chance to pour myself a glass of wine and get my own dinner together, but I was still feeling frustrated and a bit angry towards Alex. Though the wine helped, I still looked around for a way to ease my pain.
I saw the loaf of bread sitting on the island, waiting to be sliced. His favorite thing. I immediately grabbed the bread knife and sawed off the butts of the bread...and put them on my plate. I don't even like it, but I wanted it for the simple reason that if I ate it, Alex couldn't.
In a pathetic, not particularly imaginative way, maybe.
I am not proud of what I did, but it did make me feel a little better and for that I have no regrets.
When Alex got home though, I remembered I had already been pathetically passive aggressive with his lunch. I had intentionally packed him egg salad, knowing full well that Tuesday is a meeting day and that nothing smells worse in a lunch than egg salad. It's delicious, but foul.
I remember actually giggling when I spread it over the bread that morning, thinking about what a horrible lunch to have on a day when you are around other people. I am so lame and apparently in need of more adult interaction and/or therapy.
So after he arrived home I asked him about his lunch and you know what he had the nerve to say to me?
"Oh yeah, it was good. THANK YOU."
What an asshole!
Apparently he was really hungry around 9 am so he ate the egg salad then, and then because I had packed him enough food he had plenty to eat around lunch time too. He was sincerely grateful. He did mention that is smelled a lot, but only after my prompting and he didn't even mind!
He totally messed up my sabotage!
Surely he would be disappointed when going for a slice of bread though. I mean, spaghetti and meat balls is a meal begging for lots of crusty bread to go with it.
Nope. All he said was how great it was and then did all the dishes.
Can you believe what a jerk he is?
He figured out exactly what I was doing and decided to kill me with kindness. He didn't want to give me the satisfaction of seeing him upset and frustrated by how cruel I was being with the food because he is so tricky!
Or, he's always that nice about food and is eternally grateful that I prepare food for him and never, ever complains about it even if he is eating dinner at 10 pm because he's worked his ass of all day.
I hate it when he turns out to be a better person than I am. It just makes my pathetic pity party look selfish and immature and above all else, ineffective. I need a new strategy.
What smells worse than egg salad?