Do you ever have one of those weekends where you feel you are at your breaking point? I’ve already had a few and I haven’t even been married that long. During one of the many times this weekend that I retreated to my bedroom, I took a break from watching Teen Mom on Netflix to think about the last few times I was this frustrated and upset and figured it out. It happens whenever DH phones it in. It, of course, being parenting.

On some step-weekends, DH is great. He barbeques, he plans a bowling night, he plays Just Dance with them, and, most importantly, he doesn’t take any of their crap. Other step-weekends, like this one, he plays on his computer, doesn’t bother telling them to pick up after themselves and pretends he doesn’t hear their incessant fighting, arguing, demanding. To ignore that much shrieking, he must be some sort of Zen-master.

Unfortunately, I was not born with these Zen-like abilities. I’m from Texas. I don’t take shit from nobody. That’s right. Comment on my double-negative and I will go America on your ass. So because I am not Zen and because I refuse to let my home turn into Peewee’s Playhouse, my instinct is to step up.

“Enough fighting! You think I want to hear you arguing all day long???”

“Where are your wet clothes from when your dad let you jump in the pool fully dressed? Don’t you know if I don’t wash them they will get moldy?”

“I don’t care how your grandmother makes mashed potatoes. You will eat what I make and you will like it.”

All the while, DH sits at his computer, looking up things on Amazon he will never buy.

This weekend was especially rough. Perhaps the SD’s are going through puberty or something because they were impossible. And perhaps DH is…I don’t know. Something. When they leave I am stressed out of my mind and only several glasses of sangria and Advil can calm me. Once calm I decided that I can’t go on like this. It isn’t fair that I have to adjust going from one person to a family of five and no one has to change anything but me. Shouldn’t my husband be helping me make this transition? Shouldn’t he be embarrassed when his children act this way? Shouldn’t they be embarrassed to be around a semi-new woman and be such slobs?

I decided to have a talk with DH. There needed to be some compromise, some ground rules. There has to be something done. I am literally at my wits’ end. And I don’t even know what that means. So here are the rules we came up with:

1) I will make a conscious effort to not do so much. I am finding that while DH is out riding bikes with the SDs, I am making myself into a martyr but using this time to clean the kitchen because they made a mess during breakfast, and washing and folding clothes, and sweeping the floors. I feel like Cinderella because I am acting like her.

2) DH will NOT phone it in anymore. He will NOT ignore their constant fighting, whining, demanding and yelling.

3) I will not retreat out of the house anymore. I am guilty of leaving the house to hang out with friends whenever it gets too much for me. Apparently he feels I am abandoning our relationship when I do this.

4) He will make more of an effort to give me more attention during these weekends. Once the steps arrive, he usually forgets I exist as they lay all over him and are crying for “daddydaddydaddy” nonstop.

5) I will make more of an effort to interact with them when they are here. He thinks I don’t participate in playing with them as a family enough. Whatevs.

So we shall see what the next steps weekend brings us. I read somewhere that it takes 7 years for a blended family to get used to it. I guess that means I have another 6 years and 9 months to go. Shoot me now.

Any other suggestions that have worked for you more experienced stepmonsters out there?