Fickle – defined as changing frequently, especially as regards one’s loyalties, interests, or affection.
Forgetful – defined as apt or likely not to remember.
I’m trying to decide which one best defines my husband. I’m leaning towards both. And there may be some other F words that could work. A recent conversation with my other half went something like this:
Husband: I’ve been looking for a good shampoo for a while now.
Me (interrupting): Really? Where have you looked? Because you have not purchased a personal care item one time in more than a decade.
Husband: I’ve been looking in the shower. That’s where these kinds of things show up. Can I continue now?
Me: Of course.
Husband: Thank you. Anyway, I found this great shampoo. In a little blue bottle.
Me: The one that’s been in there for six years?
Husband: No. The one in the corner.
Me: I bought that for you six years ago. You told me you hated it. That I should stop experimenting and just get you the shampoo that you like.
Husband: I never said that.
Me: You definitely said that.
Husband: Why did you hide the shampoo from me?
Me: You mean right there in the shower? With all the other shampoo?
Husband: Yes. That’s spiteful.
I would like to say that this was an isolated incident. Instead, this is a regular occurrence in our lives. Shampoo is just the latest in a long string of insanity that I think he throws at me to prepare me for dementia: mine or his. Either way, there’s a lot of repetition, significant amounts of blank staring and an overwhelming sense of frustration.
There was the Peach Incident of 2016 when he asked me to get peach yogurt because “it’s my favorite.”
“The first time I met you, over 21 years ago, I had a peach lollipop. The big Charms kind. I told you how it tasted like childhood, and brought back such vivid, happy memories. You told me that you hated peach flavored things. It was flippant and scarring. I have never, not once, given you anything peach from that day forward.”
“That’s just peach flavor. Not peach itself.”
What??
Apparently, I had been living a lie for half of my life, depriving my children of the joy of peach lollipops, stealing joy from their childhoods.
Just this past week, I had an all-day event. It was scheduled for months. I started preparing him slowly. I would only mention it once a month until we were about one month out. Then, for two weeks, I mentioned it twice a week; once during the week when he was in a scheduled mindset and once on the weekend when I hoped there was some extra free space in his brain. For the second to last week, I mentioned it daily, explaining how I would need him to pick up the children, as I would be out late.
The day before, whilst running through the schedule for the next day, detailing which child would be where and at what times, it was his turn to interrupt.
“Is that tomorrow?”
“Yes, it’s tomorrow.”
“Oh. I’m not home tomorrow.”
Here’s where I utilized one of the blank stares.
“We’ve been discussing this for months.”
“I didn’t realize you meant tomorrow.”
As I mentioned, this is not a new phenomenon to me. I quickly reverted to plan B – because my life is a series of plan Bs – barely pausing for the speed bump I call my husband and heading directly to the HOV lane. I remember when our kids were babies and we made our first parent-couple friends. I would sometimes lament to my newest bestie how difficult it was to navigate his finickiness. I think she was unconvinced. I think she thought I had new-mom brain and that I was probably just tired (because, of course, I was freaking exhausted) and maybe even exaggerating.
I don’t remember the exact dish that was served, but my BFF made it specifically because when she had served it at another get-together, my husband had raved about it, “One of my favorites…best dish ever…etc.”
As she put it on the table, “What’s this? This looks great!”
“It’s (insert delicious, home cooked meal here). I made it for you. You love this dish.”
“I’ve never had this before, but it looks great!”
I experienced both an overwhelming feeling of pity at her bewilderment and a deep sense of satisfaction that she finally knew I was telling the truth.
“HAHA! I told you! I told you he’s insane!”
I may have proceeded to laugh and point with a little too much exuberance for everyone’s comfort. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why her oldest child calls me Scary Mommy. Hmm. I’ll have to look into that. Anyway, it was definitely a “misery loves company” moment. I’m not proud, but at least I’m not alone.
I don’t expect this to change. I am prepared for the rest of my days to be a constant game of Husband Roulette. At least he keeps it interesting.
I am currently researching every peach recipe I can find. We are going to have a peach bonanza. I don’t think that I will ever be able to recreate the perfect Charms lollipop, so I won’t even try. Instead, I found some bizarre peach-inspired creations. I think I’ll start with the Sausage and Peach Pancake Casserole from Organic Authority.
Because, why not?
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Laurie Nigro, is the mother of two biological children and one husband. She also takes care of a menagerie of animals that leaves throw-up around for her to step in in the middle of the night. Laurie’s passionate about frugal, natural living, which is a nice way of saying she’s a kombucha-brewing, incense-burning, foodie freak who tries really hard not to spend money on crap made by child laborers. You can hear her rant about her muse (aka husband) and other things that have no bearing on your life, in this space each Sunday.
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