A desire for wickedness in the other

You know that I have S.'s old job, no? She used to be the full-time parent in charge of domestic duties, one and all. Homework. Cleaning. Laundry. Shopping. Cooking. You know the drill. She now works a hair over part time and I do all the work of parenting and homemaking. When we last were communicating, through letters (hand-written on her part; always typed and edited and rewritten on mine), she spoke again and again of how horrible I am as a person, especially toward the kids. I noted that she was no saint herself back in the day when I was actually working fifty plus hours a week. She dropped off the tots at the gym childcare, worked out a few hours, then came home for a lengthy nap. When all the children were awake and in the house, she shoved earplugs into her head, fed them simple boiled or microwaved foods, and dumped them into bed by 6:30 pm. Mommy needs her special time.

I am absolutely certain of this: my shortcomings are equal to or greater than S.'s at her worst when it comes to parenting. At times I am short, easily frustrated, and downright mean. However, I have noticed that I am not the only adult in this house who exhibits such behaviour. And when I hear the same tones of frustration and anger from her lips, I can't help but smile a smug little smile. Ha! Bitch! You ain't all that.

So it goes with a debased relationship. Everything becomes a special case. Ordinarily you would want to encourage someone to avoid yelling at children, cursing at computers, or seething at poor drivers. Ordinarily you would quietly pray for a soul captive to anxieties. In our case, though, it is a cause for celebration! You suck worse than I do, you sucky sucker! Your moral high-ground is nothing more than a farce, you silly woman! The greater her sinful disposition, see, the better my position. I quietly assume the high-ground simply by watching her falter in the flesh.