Plain Insanity: The Father

I’ll admit it.  I daydream A LOT.  I fantasize A LOT.  It makes the days easier to handle.  I have a variety of daydreams I turn to.

I have fantasies grounded in reality.  Like: The boys take a three hour nap, allowing me to take a three hour nap.  My mom makes my favorite meal without me mentioning it, and she goes on to insist I have seconds, rather than muttering about how little weight she gained in her third pregnancy.  I find a surprise 20 bucks, and my mom insists on watching the boys so that I can go to the bookstore.

I have fantasies that are slightly grounded in reality.  Like: The Husband gives me a couple hundred dollars so that BFF and I can spend a day at the spa being pampered when I visit her in November.  My house is miraculously cleaned in the middle of the night as I sleep.  Evan graduates at the top of his class to get an excellent scholarship, where he gets a scholarship to an IV league law school where he meets a smart, beautiful young woman who is estranged from her family and loves us so much they decide to set up a dual practice here in Arizona and I get to watch the grandkids and have everyone over for holidays.  (I’ve had more years to plan Evan’s future than Sean’s, but Sean goes to the NFL in his.)  Hey, it could happen.

And some of my fantasies are not grounded at all in reality.  Like: The Husband dies in a car accident, leaving me with a surprise of a 5 million dollar life policy, so that I can raise the kids for a few years without working.  In that time span, I publish several novels, becoming famous enough to meet a certain handsome movie actor and carry on a secret affair that would not endanger my motherly duties because what kind of mother would I be then.  When the actor falls in love with me, I dump him as I would like to be that shallow one day, but besides I don’t need my children raised under the tabloid spotlight, and one of my books becomes a hit movie directed by one of my favorite directors, so I already have enough spotlight anyways.  See?  Not grounded in reality because first and foremost The Husband would have to submit to a blood test for that kind of life insurance policy, and that just won’t happen.

But The Husband on the other hand doesn’t understand which fantasies of his are grounded in reality and which are just plain fantasy.

He’s bragged about several projects that will let him retire early with millions in the bank, and because I believe my husband is an excellent business man, I’ll put these in the grounded in reality pile, though I think the time lines can be a bit exaggerated.

He’s talked about opening up a bar.  Not reality based.  He talked about owning a limo business.  Also not reality based.  He talked about starting an escort business because someone told him it was an excellent way to make large amounts of cash.  I allowed talk for a week before I told him his feminist wife would leave him.

Then there are the fantasies about where we’re going to live.  At first they were cute as he promised me during our courtship that he would move anywhere I wanted.  Then they slowly morphed into places he liked.  Like Havasu City because of the river, forgetting that it’s like 125 in the summer and one can’t live in the river or the fact he hated living in a small town as a kid.  The plan of living in CA for six months and Hawaii for six months, not understanding that the school year is nine months.

Then last week he dropped the bomb shell.  The Husband has decided that since he can work anywhere, that we need to live cheaply for another year, and that the lease is up at the end of march, we should move to the Caribbean for a year.  We would save money, the boys would be immersed in a foreign language, and we’ll live in a tropical paradise.

But The Husband has conveniently forgotten certain facts.  Like I’m due at the end of April.  That babies need regular check-ups and vaccines all year.  Many places in the Caribbean are more expensive than Arizona.  We moved to Arizona for the support of family.  That Evan needs to go to kindergarten next year.  That my tongue is so English I can’t roll an R to save my life.   Not to mention little storms called hurricanes barreling down on those tiny islands every year.

Usually I let The Husband play with his “real life plans” until I see that he’s serious, and then I intervene.  Except right now, I’m having a hard time biting my tongue.  Because, you know, I’m pregnant and would like to have a secure future.  It’s bad enough that he, my mother, my grandmother have all decided we should move at the end of the lease “because there’s no room for the baby.”  Now I have a husband who thinks it would be a great idea to move three time zones away?!  I need to borrow someone to knock some sense into this man.