My youngest daughter came down with a really nasty bug this week while we had family staying with us from out of town. I basically kept her in my bedroom to avoid spreading the germs and spent my time washing my hands, running up and down the stairs, cleaning up after Pukefest 2012, while cooking and entertaining guests who were wonderfully understanding of the predicament.

Someone not so understanding? The husband. Who at one point tried to make me feel guilty for sitting up with our daughter while she hurled and ran a high fever and coughed herself silly instead of hanging out on the patio with our guests. Seriously. Did he offer to help? Take over sick duty since the family was my cousin that I haven't seen in 20 years? Nope.

Thursday and Friday were abnormally long days at work for him. I'd love to say he made overtime or something but given he is on salary it just meant he made a whole lot less those two days. Typically, I cut him a wide berth for being extra tired, especially since we were up late with our guests, but given that I was running on about 3 hours of sleep from Monday all the way through Friday night - I was a tad less sympathetic to his fatigue after 2 long days. He came home Friday loaded for bear, ready to have some sort of argument over something stupid, I was exhausted and basically just ejected him from the room rather than drag it out into full blown hall way sex. Hall way sex? That's where you pass each other in the hall way and yell, "Fuck you!" and get responded to with, "No. Fuck YOU."

Now it's Saturday morning and mom (that would be me) is officially spent. I've managed to keep the house relatively clean, fresh coffee in the pot every morning, made dinner almost every night and nursed a sick kid. In his world, he is the most exhausted, most put out, and has expended the most amount of energy. Did I mention he slept somewhere else while I sat up with sick kid?

It would be nice to hear, "wow, you probably need a break. Why don't you take a nap while I keep tabs on everything." Except, I know I'd wake up and find him asleep in front of the television while the kid sat there glassy eyed, nose running, dry heaving and scorching like a human furnace.

While I have loads of sympathy for the sick kid, I've got to say I'm reaching the end of  my rope. When an eight year old whines and refuses to actually speak and tell you what is hurting or how she is feeling when you ask - I'm not exactly going to continue with the "oh, poor baby" routine. I love my kid, but she's 8 not 8 months old. I'm well past the point of checking her diaper, feeding her, burping her and running through the whole routine until she goes to sleep or stops crying. Which, is basically what I told her last night when she insisted on whimpering instead of telling me what was wrong. This morning she made her grand entrance downstairs to plop her ass on the couch and proceeded to throw a full blown crying jag where her dad and sister could see her because I wanted her to actually try to EAT something before she took her medicine. Tears, hysterical sobbing and "you are so MEEEEAAAAAANNNNN to MEEEEEEEEEEE" with full blown dramatic flourish for her captive viewing audience. I marched her back upstairs and plopped her back into bed. There is just no way I am going to cater to an 8 year old acting like a 2 year old - especially after the entire week of practically no sleep that I've had.

So, combine that with the husband's "oh poor me" routine and I've had it. I'm sorry, honey, I don't want to hear how tired and achy you are or how hard those two days have been for you. Fresh out of sympathy - I ran out of it roughly the same time I ran out of "supportive husband." And, if I hear you peacefully snoring while I clean the kitchen and clean up after a sick kid and company one more time - there is a really good chance that I'm going to jam a banana up both of your nostrils.

Originally, I started this as a brief update to the other Bitches. Turns out, I'm not so good at being brief this morning.

I hate to sound punitive and immature, but I finally snapped. I'm always the recipient of the "freezer treatment" when I've pissed my husband off. It gets annoying and it's hurtful. It is also somewhat satisfying when you finally get to turn the tables.

You see, on Saturday after a round of "nothing spectacular but fairly satisfying sex" I made my husband a margarita (complete with salt rimmed glass, freshly squeezed lime juice, fresh orange juice, etc. you get the point) and I brought it to him out on the patio. I sat down and we were chatting with our oldest daughter and a friend who was over. The plan was for us to play a game on the lawn in the backyard and so I asked my husband if he would pick up the dog bombs. Dog bomb disposal is his chore around the house. I clean toilets and bathrooms - he can pick up the dog bombs.

He told me he had and I pointed out, nicely, that he missed a pile. Considering we were about to have balls rolling around the backyard (for a game, keep your mind out of the gutter!) it was necessary for all of the bombs to be picked up. He bristled and proceeded to tell me in a nasty and degrading tone that I knew where the shovel was and could go clean up the dog bombs myself. The conversation degraded from there with me plastering my "I'm going to kill you in private" smile on my face in front of company. He began stubbornly, stumbling full steam ahead into what he is just now beginning to realize was saying all the wrong things he possibly could, disrespecting and embarrassing me in front of both one of our kids and company.

I got up and disappeared into the house and that was the last I have spoken to my husband, willingly. Unless he addresses me specifically by name and I deem it important to the basic function of the household, I refuse to acknowledge his presence at all.

Except for my not being able to resist shooting him with the kitchen sprayer through the kitchen window and soaking his ass while he bent over fixing something. Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of the kitchen quickly enough and what followed was something out of a Doris Day movie with me crouched down behind the kitchen island pretending to clean something up and him blatantly catching me, essentially hiding from him.

But, other than that, I've managed to steadily apply the ice treatment with astonishing consistency. At first he seemed to enjoy it, he watched obnoxious movies while monopolizing the family room, he stayed out drinking on the patio until late while blaring music loudly and most likely pissing off our neighbors. When he finally stumbled into bed he began moaning, flopping, and thrashing in his sleep. I pulled out my trusty straight pin and jabbed him soundly any time he rolled over or intruded on my space. I finally just pointed it in the direction of his ass so every time he rolled over he rolled right on top of it - usually with the amusing result of him jumping and lurching back to the other side of the bed. I had to remind myself that Celeste always told me to be careful laughing so I wouldn't shake the bed and wake him up, but the truth is, it's easy to torment someone who is sleeping off a good drunk.

That was Saturday night. Sunday was quiet and boring. I took our oldest daughter out for some light grocery shopping and left him with our youngest playing video games. I spent the evening having a lovely salmon dinner and chatting with our kids and a guest we had over while carefully never including him in the conversation.

Then sometime around 6am this morning he rolled over in bed and attempted to cuddle. I moved over and shoved him off me. He tried again and I scooted over, carefully shoving the comforter and sheet into a wadded barrier between the two of us to fill the gap before he had the opportunity to. He finally took the hint and got up.

There was a time when I would have accepted his affection and let him off the hook. But the fact that he has elected to be so stubborn when a proper, contrite apology would have cleared it up and certainly improved the weekend - is making it very easy for me to just ignore him completely. It used to bother me, us not getting along. He's just about to realize that it bothers me less and less.

Thursday evening my husband told me that he had made plans for me for Mother's Day... all day, he emphasized. Friday I asked if he had spoken to the kids at all. After all, at the very least they would need dad to cough up some money so they could buy cards or do something. He said he would and that he had planned to take us all out to breakfast for Mother's Day and then make me a nice dinner. I asked if he might want to take a drive up to the mountains after breakfast, he said we could but that he would have to postpone putting a Kindle on lay-away for me since gas is so expensive. I agreed because I was slightly miffed that he would wait until the day before Mother's Day to put a Kindle on lay-away, I manage our finances and know it could have been done at least a week or more ago and it might have made for a nice thoughtful surprise considering I mentioned it casually around Christmas.

In retrospect I have a sneaking suspicion that dragging me down to Best Buy to put the Kindle on lay-away was part of his festivities for the day. Not only do I hate going to Best Buy, but I also detest being dragged along to purchase gifts intended for me. Especially when "lay-away" doesn't count as "purchase".

Sunday morning I got up, my husband was still snoring. I got ready to go out for breakfast. It was 9am and clearly, we were running out of "breakfast" time. I came downstairs to find the kitchen a mess and my older children gone. I went back upstairs - husband still snoring. I went back to my desk and played some games on Facebook and dinked around on the computer, then went back upstairs to do my youngest daughter's hair. It was 10:30, my husband was still snoring and my kids came in from shopping.

It would seem that my husband waited until Saturday night to mention picking up cards or a gift or something for me. He didn't even tell them about breakfast on Sunday. By the time he got up and got ready it was noon and we headed out for lunch. He had selected a restaurant that HE had been wanting to try for breakfast... only no one ordered breakfast considering it was after noon.

After lunch we drove to the hospital where his mother had been admitted the day before (nothing that serious, she was having trouble breathing he visited her on Saturday and she was chatty Cathy - so much for trouble breathing), he left us waiting in the parking lot for over an hour while he stopped off at the gift shop and bought his mother flowers and went in to visit.

As we pulled out of the parking lot he said to me, "Mom asked what you got for mother's day (because after a 2 year absence from our lives, clearly, she was owed a nicer present, I'm sure) and I told her you got a Kindle." He smirked and laughed at this as his mother, the week before, had told him that if he bought her a kindle she would go live in a retirement facility. I said, "You're joking, right?" He said, "Of course I am, I wouldn't tell her that."

But it would seem it was totally acceptable to make the joke to me when obviously - he hadn't bought me so much as a card for Mother's Day - but his mother got flowers. The woman who gave him three children - nothing. The woman who stabbed him in the back repeatedly and disappeared for over 2 years while ganging up with my psycho mother - fresh flowers from the not-exactly-cheap gift shop.

We took a drive up to the mountains as we drove back into town he said, "Hmm, I'm not all that hungry after that big lunch. Do you guys want to do leftovers for dinner?" He followed that up by asking if I wanted to pick up some beer at the store.

We came home and I went upstairs, showered and crawled into bed. He knew I was hurt and upset so instead of doing something about it he proceeded to compare me to my mother, told me I do this "at all the holidays" and is now going on 24 hours of ignoring me completely. As I type this he is in the kitchen (freshly cleaned after I made a beautiful pasta dinner) restringing his fishing pole. He's either planning on fishing after work or he's prepping the pole for the fishing tournament he's been PLANNING for the WHOLE FAMILY to attend for the last month. I booked a camping site at the lake weeks ago.

That's right... he can plan WEEKS in advance for a fishing tournament, send the kids out the night before Mother's Day for a card, and buy his mother fresh flowers for Mother's Day.

It will be a cold, cold day in hell before he ever gets laid.