Merry Chrismakawnazacha!

Been at a loss as to what to write lately. Everything has been great at home. Loving the kid's break from school. I've had my share of screaming fits, but I haven't killed anyone yet, or blistered anyone's behind except maybe for wanting to skin my husband's behind because he hasn't been able to tear himself away from his electrical devices, or work since he started his "vacation".

I call him "Bob" (no, not the battery operated boyfriend), after my father Bob who has seemingly been married to his job for the better part of my life.

"I could take a job at McDonald's" my husband says.

I can haz cheezburgers?

Although the idea of endless cheeseburgers is appealing, if it wasn't for my husband's wonderful job, I wouldn't be able to stay at home and do whatever the fuck I want 24 hours a day and still have time to bitch to him about spending his free time in front of the xbox with an occasional hug for me in between blitzes and toilet breaks.

Oh wait.

We played Monopoly tonight. I was "the shoe" because I like shoes. He proceeded to call me "the old shoe" and all the kids fell on board with that. Name calling was abound in my general direction for the duration of the game.

Halfway through, I traded myself in for the hat. Then I was called, "The old worn hat".

This is my life.

I don't think I would trade it though. I don't think...

The other side seems much worse. My husband loves me, he works VERY hard, he is committed to me and our kids, he provides us with everything we could ever dream of and as I mentioned, I get to do whatever the fuck I want.

The bennies of this include being able to take whatever job I want. This means I get to follow a dream, take a pissy stupid job somewhere for peanuts, volunteer wherever, or do something I actually WANT to do. Wisely, I chose something I WANT to do, get paid peanuts, but also enjoy doing it. I also get to home school my 4 year old (who for some reason, seems to know more than my 10 year old).

He has it good though, my husband. He has to work and that's pretty much the scope of it. Of course, supporting the six of us is a hell of a lot on one person's shoulders, but the home and the children and everything else functioning is my area. If he interferes in my area, I get a little pissy.

He doesn't fold right. Dishes don't get put away in the right places. He tries to cook something then forgets it's in the oven...until I smell burning. The garbage rarely gets out on time, he has a pile of 22 pairs of dirty socks on the floor of side of his bed that will magically disappear the next time the laundry fairy comes. I cook all the meals, host all the parties, decorate, undecorate for the holidays, grocery shop, and shuttle the kids to and from their activities.

I even shovel the snow, or the police come...either one.

This is a finely tuned machine, our home.

We rarely fight anymore. What's to fight about? It's been 12 years. There is nothing left to argue over. We have fought almost every big fight there is to be fought. We have reached the point of acceptance. I'm not perfect, he isn't perfect, the kids aren't perfect, the house isn't perfect, our families aren't perfect, the food isn't perfect, the clothes aren't as clean as they can be, there is a mess here and there, we have overdue library books, sometimes we are late, and the money flies out as fast as it comes in.

It's life and we have accepted it for what it is.

I wouldn't change a damned thing and neither would he.