Cuz I'm TNT! Fight! Fight! Fight!
Last night was a bad one in the ol' McClary household. It began at dinner. Dinner is becoming one big nightmare as we attempt to get Stevie to eat anywhere from one to a few bites of healthy food.
It's not all his fault. We've been too forthcoming with the waffles and the whatnot. But now it's clampdown time. Long story short: We did everything pretty much right. We exposed him to a wide variety of fruits and veggies when he was a baby and have always tried to serve relatively healthy foods. As he grew, a serious aversion to fruits and veggies set in, until he even stopped drinking orange juice last year. We've tried the tricks; nothing seems to work. And by now he's built up such a mental block against these foods that when we ask him to eat them, he reverts back to toddlerhood and starts "itching all over!" Like, anxiety attack itching. So it's bad.
Last night we had grilled pork loin, salad, cornbread, and baked beans. He's fine with the pork loin, loves the cornbread (with honey), and the salad? We don't even try. It's the baked beans that launched him over the edge. Now, these are super brown sugary baked beans, and he used to like them just fine. They're not healthy, but we consider them a gateway bean to healthier bean eating. But, long story short, he wouldn't eat 'em, Kevin lost it (a RARE event), and a screaming match ensued. Marky got to witness it all; the phone saved me, but I was so distracted that I had to give it up and talk to my friend another time. I've never seen Kevin so mad at Stevie. But, damnit! The kid is being totally unreasonable about this whole thing. His doctor referred him to a nutritionist, even. It's bad.
I'll keep you up to date on the food issue (I know you're breathless with anticipation!), but I want to get to the fight.
After dinner, I went for a walk with my friend Matt, who is also trying to lose weight. I took Marko; Stevie couldn't go because he wouldn't eat his goddamn beans. No biggie for Kevin that I went--he can work with just Stevie around. So I go, and come back, and the kids are now in bed.
We have been doing a great deal of home refurbishing; I've been painting. I'm a decent painter, if a little sloppy. In the rooms that matter, I fill nail holes with either paint or spackle, tape off the trim, and I always do two coats (with a primer base, if necessary). Kevin hates to paint, and it's important to note that I do, too. However, he deals with the more skilled stuff, and I paint because I'm the untrained laborer, though one with a designer's eye for color.
A couple of nights ago Kevin criticized my painting. He said "You take a lot of shortcuts when you paint". Why? I can't even remember one reason, it was so insignificant. The other was because I didn't paint the attic hatch. It's wood, most of our house is wood, and it looked just fine. I made a command decision to not paint it, which I felt justified in making, as I do ALL of the painting. Kevin thought I should prime it (2 coats) and paint it (2 coats) so it will match the rest of the ceiling. A difference of opinion, but it would look better painted so, fine, I'll paint the damn thing. I was pretty irritated and told him so; after all, I've done ALL the painting--ceilings, walls, lots of tricky bullshit spots--which I hate, and it looks pretty good! And it's not like he's a master drywaller or trim god or anything--there were seams in the drywall mud, one little gap in the trim...but I said nothing about that.
And then, last night, as we were standing near the basement stairwell, which I had just painted, and it was a pain because I had to stand on an awkward ladder and reach and bend, and I had to do it fast because the kids were still awake and Kevin wanted to get to the trim, and no, I didn't take every preliminary step, and yes, I painted over very small spider webs and didn't fill the 3 nail holes because it's just a freakin' stairwell and it looks good and no one will ever notice, Kevin decided to point out the largest of the 3 nailholes and say "you didn't fill in the nailhole."
I'll give you a moment to soak that in.
I stared, assessing, looking for the "I'm joking" expression on his face. But it wasn't there. He was being serious. Are you fucking kidding me?!
"Are you fucking kidding me? Who gives a fuck?!" I ended up saying. And he looked at me as if to say "I feel sorry for you--your standards are so low" (I invite all of you to come by and look at it and tell me what you think, I feel that confident). So I did it; I mentioned the fact that not all of his work is topnotch yet it still looks fine and the house will look great and all is well and he has no right to say this shit. Caught in an argument he started but couldn't get out of (my thought), coupled with the earlier extreme frustration of trying to get our kid to eat a sugary bean, Kevin shouted something along the lines of "FUCK!!" and actually threw a mostly empty beer can across the kitchen and out to the barn he went.
Surprisingly not-as-fazed-as-I-should-have-been, I went to bed. I ignored him this morning until it was time to go and I finally said "Are you just going to pretend that didn't happen?" and he said that it had been a frustrating day and he shouldn't have taken it out on me . . . BUT it takes 5 minutes to fill a few nail holes. . . .
Once again, I'll pause for a sec.
I stared, said "I gotta go" and went to the car. And then I went back inside and went on a short tirade--you don't give me credit for all of the things I do, including going to a job I hate with an overly-critical asshole boss while you get to stay home and I'm working on the house every night and trying to lose weight while simultaneously being a good mom who spends time with the kids and yet you, who has been known to half-ass a few things (I didn't say half-ass), criticize me AGAIN for something that doesn't matter even though I got pissed the first time you did it and you're reminding me of my boss and even of my DAD. (Which is true. This is classic dad behavior, and my dad is his boss so he knows what I'm talking about and pretty much hates my dad.)
I think it worked. I got my apology (about fuckin' time!!!) and went on my way.
So here I am. When I go home, it will be better. It's worth it. But criticize my all-in-all above average painting again. . . .
It's not all his fault. We've been too forthcoming with the waffles and the whatnot. But now it's clampdown time. Long story short: We did everything pretty much right. We exposed him to a wide variety of fruits and veggies when he was a baby and have always tried to serve relatively healthy foods. As he grew, a serious aversion to fruits and veggies set in, until he even stopped drinking orange juice last year. We've tried the tricks; nothing seems to work. And by now he's built up such a mental block against these foods that when we ask him to eat them, he reverts back to toddlerhood and starts "itching all over!" Like, anxiety attack itching. So it's bad.
Last night we had grilled pork loin, salad, cornbread, and baked beans. He's fine with the pork loin, loves the cornbread (with honey), and the salad? We don't even try. It's the baked beans that launched him over the edge. Now, these are super brown sugary baked beans, and he used to like them just fine. They're not healthy, but we consider them a gateway bean to healthier bean eating. But, long story short, he wouldn't eat 'em, Kevin lost it (a RARE event), and a screaming match ensued. Marky got to witness it all; the phone saved me, but I was so distracted that I had to give it up and talk to my friend another time. I've never seen Kevin so mad at Stevie. But, damnit! The kid is being totally unreasonable about this whole thing. His doctor referred him to a nutritionist, even. It's bad.
I'll keep you up to date on the food issue (I know you're breathless with anticipation!), but I want to get to the fight.
After dinner, I went for a walk with my friend Matt, who is also trying to lose weight. I took Marko; Stevie couldn't go because he wouldn't eat his goddamn beans. No biggie for Kevin that I went--he can work with just Stevie around. So I go, and come back, and the kids are now in bed.
We have been doing a great deal of home refurbishing; I've been painting. I'm a decent painter, if a little sloppy. In the rooms that matter, I fill nail holes with either paint or spackle, tape off the trim, and I always do two coats (with a primer base, if necessary). Kevin hates to paint, and it's important to note that I do, too. However, he deals with the more skilled stuff, and I paint because I'm the untrained laborer, though one with a designer's eye for color.
A couple of nights ago Kevin criticized my painting. He said "You take a lot of shortcuts when you paint". Why? I can't even remember one reason, it was so insignificant. The other was because I didn't paint the attic hatch. It's wood, most of our house is wood, and it looked just fine. I made a command decision to not paint it, which I felt justified in making, as I do ALL of the painting. Kevin thought I should prime it (2 coats) and paint it (2 coats) so it will match the rest of the ceiling. A difference of opinion, but it would look better painted so, fine, I'll paint the damn thing. I was pretty irritated and told him so; after all, I've done ALL the painting--ceilings, walls, lots of tricky bullshit spots--which I hate, and it looks pretty good! And it's not like he's a master drywaller or trim god or anything--there were seams in the drywall mud, one little gap in the trim...but I said nothing about that.
And then, last night, as we were standing near the basement stairwell, which I had just painted, and it was a pain because I had to stand on an awkward ladder and reach and bend, and I had to do it fast because the kids were still awake and Kevin wanted to get to the trim, and no, I didn't take every preliminary step, and yes, I painted over very small spider webs and didn't fill the 3 nail holes because it's just a freakin' stairwell and it looks good and no one will ever notice, Kevin decided to point out the largest of the 3 nailholes and say "you didn't fill in the nailhole."
I'll give you a moment to soak that in.
I stared, assessing, looking for the "I'm joking" expression on his face. But it wasn't there. He was being serious. Are you fucking kidding me?!
"Are you fucking kidding me? Who gives a fuck?!" I ended up saying. And he looked at me as if to say "I feel sorry for you--your standards are so low" (I invite all of you to come by and look at it and tell me what you think, I feel that confident). So I did it; I mentioned the fact that not all of his work is topnotch yet it still looks fine and the house will look great and all is well and he has no right to say this shit. Caught in an argument he started but couldn't get out of (my thought), coupled with the earlier extreme frustration of trying to get our kid to eat a sugary bean, Kevin shouted something along the lines of "FUCK!!" and actually threw a mostly empty beer can across the kitchen and out to the barn he went.
Surprisingly not-as-fazed-as-I-should-have-been, I went to bed. I ignored him this morning until it was time to go and I finally said "Are you just going to pretend that didn't happen?" and he said that it had been a frustrating day and he shouldn't have taken it out on me . . . BUT it takes 5 minutes to fill a few nail holes. . . .
Once again, I'll pause for a sec.
I stared, said "I gotta go" and went to the car. And then I went back inside and went on a short tirade--you don't give me credit for all of the things I do, including going to a job I hate with an overly-critical asshole boss while you get to stay home and I'm working on the house every night and trying to lose weight while simultaneously being a good mom who spends time with the kids and yet you, who has been known to half-ass a few things (I didn't say half-ass), criticize me AGAIN for something that doesn't matter even though I got pissed the first time you did it and you're reminding me of my boss and even of my DAD. (Which is true. This is classic dad behavior, and my dad is his boss so he knows what I'm talking about and pretty much hates my dad.)
I think it worked. I got my apology (about fuckin' time!!!) and went on my way.
So here I am. When I go home, it will be better. It's worth it. But criticize my all-in-all above average painting again. . . .
posted by lulu | 6:31 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home