After one week off with the kids, I'm back at work tomorrow. J asked me whether I would rather have another week off or head back to work, should the choice be there. Sadly, I had to think about it for a minute.
Don't get me wrong - I absolutely love my boys, and adore being their mom. But being lone entertainment director for a two-year-old and nine-year-old is tough work. Fun and rewarding most of the time, but tough. (For what it's worth, even though I did hesitate before answering, my final response was that yes, I would like another week at home with the kids. And I really meant it!)
Speaking of J, he's doing his best to make himself useful and pleasant today. He's feeling guilty and, damn it, he should. Yesterday afternoon, I took the boys over to my friend Nikki's place for a couple of hours. When we got back around 5pm, he was half in the bag. I knew it the second I walked through the door: three or four drinks in, he acquires this dumbass look in his eyes. I am not exaggerating - they glaze over and look sort of vacant. Another drink or two beyond that, and he begins to slur as well. It wasn't difficult to figure out how he spent his time while we were gone.
He made it through dinner (barely) and passed out on the couch by 6:30pm while Nathan watched his Pokemon DVD right beside him. What a role model, huh? It makes me sick that my kids have to witness this.
The ultimatum has been issued in the past. The line drawn in the sand. But he keeps stepping over it. And me? I just keep drawing new lines. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I'm angrier with him or myself.