Have you ever tried to sit down and write with a lot of noise in the background? Nearly impossible, right? This is the problem I’ve been having for a while now. I used to be so good at ‘tuning’ out my children when they were still in the house, but apparently I no longer have that gift. I notice everything going on around me. EVERYTHING! And this everything usually includes my puppies: Whimpering at the door when they want out. Growling and barking at each other, and as of lately, anything else that is going on outside our picture window. Skidding across kitchen floors, bumping into furniture, and tumbling across carpet while they chase each other. And the MOTHER of them all….the ‘squeaky’ toy. Yeah, that one was my fault. I insisted we buy it for them.
You know what the squeaky toy is the equivalent of? Remember that damn ‘corn popper’ toy that popped little balls in a sphere when kids pushed them across the floor? Ringing a bell anyone? My older, sister Nadine and her husband, Dale, bought my firstborn that toy after he’d learned to walk and was steady on his feet. I thought “Oh, how sweet”, and failed to pay attention to the almost maniacal laugh they had as they walked out the door. Know why? MOST ANNOYING TOY ON THE FACE OF THE FUCKING EARTH, THAT’S WHY! It didn’t occur to me that I was three years old when they got together, was a pain-in-their-ass, and now it was payback time. Yep, that damn kid popped his way through the remainder of his One’s and the better part of his Two’s. I nearly lost my mind. Much the same way I’m doing now. What the hell was I thinking, anyway? Two days into having this little, blue, squeaky toy, the Old Man glanced over at me from his position on the couch where he was trying to watch tv and said, “I hate you”. Then it was my turn to have the maniacal laugh.
I currently am sitting here in bed trying to key out something of value, while listening to some classical music. I’m finding it’s the only thing that calms them down some–or bores them to tears–and I can actually get a chance to write if I can get them to nap. It’s not working this morning though. They woke me up at five and have been going, going, going, since before my first cup of coffee. The squeaky toy–as hysterical as this may sound–is my failed attempt at keeping them occupied so they will sit in one place and stop climbing up and down off the bed. Yeah, I know I could get up and go downstairs where they have room to run, but I don’t feel like it yet, k? The problem is the squeaky toy is a huge distraction and more punishment than it is help.
This brings me to the real topic of this post…knowing the difference between what helps and what hurts. In my case, knowing what I want and need, but taking the most ass-backwards ways of trying to get them and expecting results. Umm…cause that’s gonna happen. I realized my mistake this morning as the Old Man was leaving for work.
Oh, you know after the shenanigan he pulled the other night that I’m still madder than hell and not speaking to him, right? Not speaking to him and not sleeping with him. I spent the first night on the couch, and after have just made sure the moment he comes home I head upstairs to my bedroom for the night. He’s smart enough to know venturing up here means risking an argument and has thus far chose to stay down there. The problem is, I found myself pondering over the question this morning of who exactly is being punished here by my silent treatment. I have the dogs all day, and the moment I go upstairs they follow me. Because they are with me, when they need out I’m the one that takes them out. If I leave them and he lets them back in, they come right back upstairs to find me. I’m not sleeping, because…well…I can’t sleep without the Old Man, all right! Which means I’m up till way after midnight till I’m so exhausted I finally fall asleep, but am awakened around five a.m. when he’s downstairs getting ready for work and the dogs hear him. This probably wouldn’t be so terrible if I were one of those people that could go right back to sleep, but I’m not. When I’m up…I’m UP.
Yep, I’m a big, damn idiot! I’m sitting here thinking this morning in my fog of half-sleep/half-awake that I haven’t punished him one iota, but rather have given him exactly what he wanted. This whole thing came about and boils down to his not wanting to spend any time with me and failing to take responsibility for these puppies he wanted so bad. This was the basis of the whole argument. So what happens? In my anger I take the puppies upstairs with me every evening, so now he has free reign of the downstairs to do as he pleases without any interference from us. WTF? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose, or something. And on top of it, I’m not getting my eight hours beauty sleep–that is well needed at my age, I might add–and am dragging ass worse than I was before. But the real pillar of my stupidity has to be that he hasn’t been made to answer, apologize, or whatever for his actions because I’m not talking to him. So in the words of the great Aretha Franklin Who’s Zoomin’ Who?
I think it’s safe to say I need to change my strategy and would be better off to be the ‘squeaky’ wheel. After all, it is the one that gets the grease, right? Ha..ha.. 😉 I can be squeaky. I’ve seen me do it!