Popping the crazy button

You know those timers in the Thanksgiving turkey that pop up when the turkey is finished cooking (or turned into sawdust, as per Alton Brown)? Well if Nick had a button that popped up when he went completely off the rails, it popped this morning. I don't think that if he put on a tutu and did cartwheels down the parkway that I could be any more convinced.

This conclusion is based on his soliloquy which started last night and resumed this morning upon his waking. It was primarily devoted to my poor organizational and time management skills.

I decided that pointing out that his organizational skills are the ones that led him to decide that the best way to arrange the family room furniture would be in a vertical fashion, with one sofa placed on top of the other. This was done to allow room for the addition of a 6 foot folding table for him to put his ever growing mounds of papers on, as the little fucker started pissing on the ones left on the floor. What did he think they meant by "paper trained"??

The arrangement is somewhat prohibitive for my mom; maybe we should just get a ladder, then she'd be able to get up there and we wouldn't have to worry so much about another broken hip. Myself, I think it's sorta classy; why not showcase all your furniture, even if you have to stack it?

Nick's recent bout of craziness is in response to the news that The Board has seen fit to allow me to sit for exams. Now what were they thinking? This will force Nick to participate in the feeding and care of our children, and this is very unsettling to him. He's torn between not wanting my mom here to help vs. having to figure out where the laundry facilities are, and how the hell you operate them.

Additionally, I worry about his ability to remember to pick to kids up; he claims to have "a system"; however I have some reservations. This is because even after having had the same office schedule for 3 years, he still cannot figure out which days I work. Every Thursday without fail, he calls the office and asks my secretary where I am, then calls me to see if I'm sick or just being a princess or what. EVERY Thursday.

He hates it when my mother is here because then he can't yell (as much), and he seems to be inhibited enough by her presence that he opts against sitting around drinking beer in his boxers after work. Thank God for Mom.