This Is How We Do It In Our House

I really think my friend's husband is an asshole.

The longer I have known him, the more I loathe him.

My kids have never been good nappers. Never.

When I was preggo with LittleMan, my then 12-18 month old LittleBird would nap for 45 minutes in the afternoon. That's it. Total. For the whole day.

And that would be after I rocked her, soothed her, laid down with her, prayed to any god or goddess that would listen.

There were days when I honestly did not know if we would make it to 5 o'clock without serious bodily harm to one of us.

I have learned lots of tricks. I have learned lots of relaxation techniques, both for myself and the kids. Nap time is still a source of stress and frustration for me, but I stick with it and try to keep my sanity. My kids are much better people when they have napped. It is worth the struggle. Mostly.

Enter close friend Nurse and her husband, Worthless. Nurse does everything and then some. I think Worthless never steps up to the plate because he doesn't have to. She never gives him the opportunity, and he does not insist.

Their kids have always been excellent nappers/bed-timers. Since they were infants, they could lay the kids in their beds, give them a kiss, and the kids would roll over and go to sleep. No battles, no tears. It was the most bizarre and unnatural thing I have ever seen.

While visiting their house during my second pregnancy, LittleBird was having major separation anxiety from her dad. She has never been easy to get down for nap or bedtime--add to that the stress of travelling, and it was a hard hard trip. Getting her to fall asleep required my laying down next to her. And it often took an hour or two for her to settle down enough to fall asleep.

My last night at their house, LittleBird wouldn't go down. I had to pack. We were downstairs in the living room trying to get my suitcases in order. Their two children were sleeping in their beds like Stepford Children sweet cherubs.

LittleBird is freaking out in Nurse's lap. Nurse is attempting to read to her and distract her from my packing. All LittleBird wants is for me to hold her, but I have got to pack.

In the midst of all this, Worthless the husband asks about putting her back into bed. I say that she won't go to sleep if I am not there, and I have to pack as it is nearing midnight and we have to get up at the crack of dawn.

And then he actually says: Well, you see how we do it in our house.

You. Mother. Fucker.

It took all of my mental energy not to rip his testicles off and shove them up his ass.

I believe I looked at him and said, "Well, you just go right on ahead and see how that works out for ya" while inclining my head towards my screaming daughter.

But I may have fantasized that part later.

See, that was a year and a half ago.

I am still not over it.

Every afternoon that my kids give me a hard time, I relive that moment in my head.

I relive every comment I wish I had been able to say.

I realize that I obsess over this. I realize that this is because I never got to deal with it. I have tried every strategy to let it go. On good days, I can. It has gotten easier because my kids have been napping better. It has gotten easier because I know what a schmuck he is. He is worthless when it comes to dealing with his own children, and I know I ought not take any stock in what he says.

But it is hard.

Just the other day I was talking to Nurse on the phone, and she had to let me go because her kids were "boycotting" their naps, and she had to go and take care of them.

And I allowed myself the pleasure: I thought your kids always napped.

Not snarky. Not bitchy. Just matter of fact.

She explained that they had become really difficult at nap time lately.

Huh. Isn't that a shame.

I wanted to tell her to let her husband just put them to bed because, obviously, that is how it is done at their house.

But I didn't.

But I wanted to.