Why The Agent's in Trouble

My mother is the back up cook at a convalescent hospital, which means she cooks when the main cook is off, which is every weekend and holiday. It is for this reason that I haven’t had an actual holiday dinner with her in years. I am ok with this, because it means I don’t have to choose between her and my dad on the actual holiday, although I do feel bad for my sister, who doesn’t have anywhere to go (we have different dads, and her dad is out of the picture. As is her loser baby daddy).

Anyway, yesterday was the last day my mother had off before Christmas, so she and my sister and my niece came over for pre-Christmas dinner. I already had the day off, and The Agent was going to only work a half day, coming home after his office Christmas luncheon. Cool. I took BK to daycare, and I kept Bug home with me so we could clean the house. My mother was coming over at 1, Bug would get some quality one on one time with her, and then The Agent would pick up BK and come home at 3. We would have dinner, open presents, and have a good time.

The day started out great. Bug and I had the house cleaned, my mother and sister came over at 1, Bug was excited to get them all to herself. I made a vanilla vodka and coke for myself and snuck one to my sister Kari (she’s only 16, but since she already has a 1-year-old daughter, I figure she’s already done worse than that). Merriment all around.

I made a lasagna for dinner, and it was ready at 3. The Agent had already said not to wait on dinner if he wasn’t there, so we ate without him, no big deal. But when he still wasn’t home at 4, I called him. He said that he had had a few drinks after the luncheon, but he would be leaving soon. He asked me to pick up BK. I was annoyed that he was late, but whatever. My sister and I left the girls with my mother and we drove to pick up BK, looking at a few cars for sale on the way. Good times with my sister.

We came back home, the family marveled over BK’s ultimate cuteness, and we hung out and waited for The Agent. And waited. And then waited some more. Finally, at 5:30, we opened presents without him. It was getting dark by then, my mother has poor night vision, she needed to get home.

The Agent missed it.

I blew it off to my mother like it was no big deal, but inside I was livid. Ugh! I hate making excuses for him. And I know some wives might have been worried about him, but I really wasn’t. I knew where he was.

Drinking with his coworkers. Clearly, more important than hanging with his family.

My mother and sister left, I fed the kids dinner, gave them baths put them to bed. Finally, at 9:30, I called the Agent again. I knew he was fine, but I had to make SURE, you know? So, I call him, and of course he was fine, but he was beyond drunk. “I’ll be home in a few minutes,” he slurred. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Of course we’ve had dinner!” I raged. “My mother’s gone! It’s 9:30 at night! You missed the whole thing!”

“Wait-- what time is it?”

“Agent, check your watch! It’s 9:30!”

The Agent said he had no idea it was so late, and he would come home right away. I told him he wasn’t going anywhere. It was obvious he was too drunk to drive. I told him to stay where he was, I would get him. The Agent said no, he didn’t want the kids going out in the cold. I said I’d rather have the kids go out in the cold than to a funeral and hung up.

The Agent dragged himself home at 11:30, which is earlier than I thought. Don’t worry, he didn’t drive, a coworker’s wife took him home. At least he did one thing right.

The Agent promptly went to the bathroom to throw up and then collapsed into bed. Gross.

It is now 11 am the next day as I write this. The Agent is still in bed. I got up 7 am, got the kids up, made them breakfast, played with them, did a load of dishes, put away the laundry, and put BK down for a nap.

I was in our room putting clothes away when the Agent stirred. “Hey, Baby,” he mumbled.

“Hi.”

“Were the kids crying earlier?”

“That was BK,” I answered flatly. “He fell down. He’s fine. He’s sleeping now.”

“What’s wrong, Baby?”

Ugh! Drunkard! “What do you think is wrong? You don’t get that I’m mad? You missed the whole thing! That was my mother’s Christmas, the only Christmas she’ll have, and this is only family you’ll have, and you decided to spend the night drinking instead.”

I left the room, without saying another word and without giving him a chance to respond. Not that he would have, anyway. He was too hung over to say anything, and what could he say? He knows he messed up.

So now, I’m trying to decide what to do next. I have one more present to go out and buy today, and I wanted to try to get to a Weight Watchers Meeting. I haven’t gone in 3 weeks, and my butt is showing the effects.

Is it more of a punishment to drag him with me, where he’s forced to function in the world but I’ll be able to help with the kids, or to make him stay home with the kids while I go out by myself, but really all he’ll have to do is lay on the couch and make sure the kids don’t poke each other in the eye?

Decisions, decisions…