A matter of trust

NOTE: NOT INTENDED FOR ANYONE TO READ BUT MERELY WRITTEN FOR MENTAL HEALTH OF POSTER. PLEASE MOVE ON TO NEXT POST.

"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

We threw a birthday party today for Samantha (more about that later). As I'm frantically packing a diaper bag for Jack, I notice that there are two bottles in his diaper bag from daycare. I immediately become unhinged because Ned knows he's not supposed to bring home the bottles from daycare. New daycare regulations require that all bottles stay at the school b/c the school wants to make sure that the bottles are properly cleaned and sterilized. A virus/bug/the plague went through the baby room a few weeks ago and the new regulation was imposed in response to that problem. In any event, Ned has already been told more than once that HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BRING HOME THE BABY BOTTLES!!!!!

My first instinct is to call Ned on his cell phone and start yelling at him. However, in the spirit of the day and in an attempt to keep the peace, I practice restraint and just put the bottles in the sink and decide I will discuss the matter with him later. All the while I'm thinking and muttering to myself over and over "you must learn to channel your anger better; you must learn to channel your anger better..." Anyway, my mom's here making food for the party and I mention to her (in a derogatory tone) "Ned brought home the bottles again." My sister Tammy asks what the big deal is. Mom, knowing the problems I've had on this subject tells Tammy, Ned's not supposed to bring home the bottles. We leave it there and go to the party.

Party is a blast. More about that later when I actually go to the garage and get my camera and go through the pics. Ned and I are at home alone with the kids running over the day we've had. It was about as close to the Cleavers as we ever get. I go to fix Jack a bottle and as I attempt to give it to him I notice the bottle has "Reenie" written on it. I look at Ned and say matter-of-factly: "This bottle has Reenie written on it." As the words are sinking in, I jerk the bottle away from Jack and start freaking out. I immediately go into orbit and start freaking on Ned. Ned tells me that he didn't bring home Jack's bottles and that he would bet a million dollars they are in Jack's cubby. OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T BRING HOME JACK'S BOTTLES; YOU BROUGHT HOME SOMEONE NAMED REENIE'S BOTTLES. THIS IS A MILLION TIMES WORSE. I don't know Reenie or if there even is a baby named Reenie in the baby room. My paranoia immediately starts kicking in. Reenie's bottles are now mixed in our bottle supply. There is no way to distinguish them from each other. They are all the standard Avent 9 oz bottles. What will we do? What will we do???

Ned insists he did not put those bottles in the diaper bag. I tell him that he MUST address this with the preschool immediately. He tells me that maybe Reenie's parents put the bottles in there and we should make sure before we freak out on the teachers. I tell him that's fine but if Reenie's parents put their kid's bottles in our bag, the teacher need to freak out on them. All the while I'm thinking, DON'T PEOPLE LOOK IN THEIR KID'S BAGS???

We immediately put every bottle we have in the dishwasher to sterilize them. I don't know what else to do. And then the blame game begins. I ask Ned, "why didn't you ask someone why Reenie's bottles were in Jack's bag before you left?" He blames me for not noticing that one of the bottles said Reenie before my mom washed it. (My mom is legally blind.) I tell him that he has a responsibility to check to make sure our kids have their things and only their things. Then out comes the line of all lines: "Well I blame you for not trusting that I knew not to bring the bottles home. If you had trusted in my ability to do the right thing, Reenie's bottles wouldn't be in our bottle supply." I'm astounded that he had the nerve to say something like this. At least once a week one of our kids comes home without one of their things, i.e., a bib, jacket, piece of clothing, etc. Usually Ned shrugs this off and just will say, "Quit being such a bib Nazi" or something along those lines. Plus, he wants me to call my mom and tell her that he knows not to bring home the bottles from daycare. So I pick up the phone, call my parent's house, and leave the following message:

"Hey Mom. Ned wanted me to let you know that he knows not to bring home Jack's bottles from daycare. Instead, he brought home someone named Reenie's bottles. Talk to you later. Love you. Allie."

Why can't dads help keep up with their kid's belongings? Is this all husbands or just my husband? Then we start the fight where I inform him that bottles and sippy cups are personal use items, like a toothbrush. He disagrees.

Ned-- "Well we're running them through the dishwasher."

Allie-- "Well I don't care. You could run a cup from Bob's house through the dishwasher and I still wouldn't want to drink out of it. (Bob is this person we know who keeps a very, how shall I put it, untidy home. Furthermore, if you are named Bob and are a friend of ours, I am not talking about you. The name has been changed to protect the identity of the real Bob.).

Ned-- "Why don't you just run and put it on your blog? But before you do, I want the opportunity to counterblog."

Allison-- "Go ahead and counterblog. I would love to read it."

Which brings me to this point. After I talk about the birthday party in a post to be written soon, I may take a break from blogging. It's become the weapon du jour in our house. If Ned does something that Samantha doesn't like, she will tell him "mommy's going to post it on her blog."
Plus, despite what some might construe as some fairly teethy posts, I'm doing a lot of self-editing. I told my friend Jennifer that maybe I need to start a super-secret blog that only people like her would have access to.

Guess what. I feel better already. Maybe I should keep blogging; it's certainly cheaper than therapy.

Love,
Allie