My Biannual Rant

Every couple of months—probably at least biannually—I go on a rant about my sucky work/marriage/co-parenting schedule. We have reached that time of the year again, my lucky readers. As extreme heat and humidity grips the nation and we are all forced indoors by the oppressive swelter, I find myself feeling rather disgruntled. Agitated, even. Okay, let’s just call a spade a spade. I am damn pissy.

Hot and pissy. And sweaty…which makes it all the more unpleasant.

When Ruanita got her therapist’s license a year ago, everything was supposed to improve. After enjoying a year-long sabbatical to study for her licensing exam (which, by the way, totally rocked! Every woman should have their very own housewife!), Ruanita was going to get a day job and we were going to be regular nine-to-fivers. Our weekday evenings would consist of three children snoozing happily in their beds while their parents drank too much wine and fell asleep on the couch watching Law & Order. Weekends would be family time—time for barbecues and trips up North and swimming in our local watering holes. You know…the stuff of typical American family life.

As is usually the case in our world, things did not quite pan out as expected.

Ruanita took another evening job working for the same company she worked for prior to getting her license. We thought the schedule would be easier because she would only work four days a week—Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. It made sense because, going into work at 2PM during the week, she could volunteer in the children’s classrooms in the mornings. She could take them to school each day. We would only have to pay for an after school babysitter three days a week. We wouldn’t be single parents all week long. She would actually get to watch some television during the week. All in all, a completely workable schedule. Or so we thought.

Here’s the thing, however…I work Monday through Friday. She works every single weekend. This means that we have exactly zero days off work together. Zero! Zilch! Even when Ruanita was working that crappy evening job Monday through Friday at least we had weekends together. Now I see her on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings—after I have worked eight hours and am too tired to be pleasant company. After the kids have had all day to work themselves up into a good and proper whiny state. After Ruanita has spent the day cleaning the house and entertaining the above-mentioned whiny children. When we’re all crabby and frustrated and ready for bed.

Because there are no weekends together, there are no family outings to the beach. No family road trips to Lake Superior. No family visits to the Children’s Museum. Or the zoo. Or the Science Museum. Or even the freaking scorching hot concrete wading pool at the park up the street! No family outings anywhere!

And it will be even worse come winter because it will already be dark by the time I am finished working on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. That’s something to look forward to!

And it’s not like she’s working at McDonald’s. She is highly educated woman. She has a Bachelor’s degree. She has a Master’s degree. She has a professional license. She shouldn’t have to work McDonald’s hours with a Master’s degree.

But here’s the worst part—I am once again doing the single parenting thing four days a week. Every. Single. Weekend. Entertaining (or, more appropriately, failing to entertain) the kids alone. And since school has been out, Ruanita is doing the stay-at-home mom thing three days a week. AND holding down a full-time job. When did it get so dang complicated?

Okay, I lied to you. The single parenting is not really the worst part. Here’s the worst part—I feel like I can tell you this because we are all friends here—I have not had sex since the kids were let out of school six and a half weeks ago! Six and a half looooong weeks! (Sshhh...don't tell anyone.)

So I am pissy. And hot. And lonely. And, okay—let’s just call a spade a spade again—horny as a tenth grade school boy.

I will probably be over it tomorrow, but today I am feeling the full-on frontal assault of the annoyance that this schedule creates. And I feel like ranting.

So I am. So I did.