Everyone has those aha moments, as if they’re seeing things for the first time. In one moment, it all becomes crystal clear and a wave of relief washes over finally allowing you to breathe again. You want to laugh hysterically because the answer was so simple. At the same time, you want to cry over all of the wasted energy you invested. Regardless, you vow to simply “be” and move on with your life without ever looking back.
OK, this should be the part where I start talking about my “aha moment,” only I haven’t had it. So the madness continues and I’m unlikely to get any clarity in the near future. In the meantime, the roller coaster of love-hate rolls on. Now lately J-Fed has been on his best behavior. With the departure of nanny and my mother Kuku, it’s a whole new ballgame.
However, we’re still fighting like cats and dogs despite our new “working” relationship.
One of the arguments J-Fed and I continue to have is his refusal to admit that taking care of a 6-year-old and a 7-month-old AND working full time is a lot. He seems to think it’s a walk in the park. Yeah, maybe a park in East LA. And the truth of the matter is I don’t think there is any way that I would ever be able to prove it to J-Fed. Why? Because the Fedster has me beat at my own game.
Out of the goodness of his empty heart, he’s been lending a helping hand. I’m compelled to say I don’t know where this is all coming from. I mean yes he’s been attentive to the children since he moved out. However, these days he’s going above and beyond. Ok, that’s a stretch, but he still is making an attempt.
As much as I bitch about J-Fed, I have to admit he’s far from a deadbeat. He pays his money on time, even early in some cases. I’m sure if I asked him, he’d even give me extra since he's always more than happy to tip the help. I’m not saying he deserves an award, but at least he does his part. On the same note, he could do more. But beggars can’t be choosers.
On Saturday, he took both girls for four hours. Now J-Fed’s not stupid by any stretch of the imagination. He’s downright resourceful. He knows there is safety in numbers. So what does he do? He invites all of the women and children in the neighborhood (my neighborhood) to go over to his apartment pool. That way he has backup! Obviously, the Fedster realizes if it’s a battle for me, it would be a war for him. By assembling the desperate housewives and their respected children, he not only has someone to hold baby, he has someone to entertain daughter. A+ for planning Fedster.
When he returned, I asked him how it went, waiting for some acknowledgement that it wasn’t exactly a cakewalk. But no, “it was no problem at all,” he said. The tone of indignation in his voice said it all. He thought I was incompetent. But I knew better. If I had two women and five kids with me, I’d have no problem caring for daughters either. Repeat after me again, SAFETY IN NUMBERS.
Now Sunday, he did fall short. He had promised to wash the dogs and take the kids for another few hours. Needless to say, when J-Fed didn’t show the hounds of Basketcaseville treated themselves to a day at the spa and the kids played in traffic while I enjoyed daiquiris on the beach.
Where in the world was Waldo? My guess is that the desperate housewives were booked for the afternoon.
Monday rolled around and the Fedster once again offered his services to my dismay. Was I dreaming or was the Fedster coming through? He showed up at the house with a big old grin. I would have liked to go the gym as I had planned, but time didn’t permit. Instead I had enough time to get to Wal-Mart and back.
Little did J-Fed know, I left him with the children during what I like to call “unhappy hour.” Those are the two hours of the day where everything runs amuck. Between 5:30 and 7:30, I have to cook dinner, feed the dogs, do the dishes, give both kids a bath, and contend with a very crabby 7-month-old all while trying to keep a demanding 5-year-old entertained. Even the bionic woman would have trouble with this one. So superjerk was definitely going to struggle.
“Go ahead. I’ve got it from here. Have fun! Do something for yourself. I have it all under control,” he told me. I smelled a rat and it was 6’4, good looking and smart enough to find a way around having to bust his butt with the kids.
J-Fed was already ahead of the game because both kids were fed. Rumor has it that I wasn’t out of the neighborhood five minutes before the Fedster sprinted down to the desperate housewives with both kids in tow faster than you can say “insolent jerk running down the street”. Yep, they were cooing over the baby, cuddling with daughter and kidding with the Fedster. Ah, it must be good to be king.
When I arrived back home, it appeared that J-Fed had made it through unhappy hour unscathed. Was I missing something here? I mean, he was good with the kids but damn he wasn’t THAT good. Yet as he exited the house with a hop, skip and a jump, I realized there had to be more to it.
I was no more the wiser until the following day when one of my spies tipped me off to the happs. J-Fed had once again turned to the desperate housewives in his time of need. Now, I’m not saying that I wouldn’t do the same if I were J-Fed. I’m just saying that for the love of God, admit that it ain’t that easy and show some empathy for me. Don’t walk around here acting like a monkey could take care of these two kids, even if a monkey has been taking care of them. (Monkey being J-Fed)
In all seriousness, having J-Fed do his part makes me not so bitter. But what would make me even less bitter is if he gave credit where credit is due.
Maybe if I had the desperate housewives helping me take care of the kids I’d be walking around with a smile on my face too.
Addendum: J-Fed later admitted that just getting the kids in his car, dressed and down to his apartment was more difficult than he EVER imagined. He agreed that by the time he got down to the pool a whole 30 minutes later, he had to take a dip and wash away the stress. Too bad he came back up for air.