This isn't gonna be a fun ride

I was just lying in bed contemplating my life, and wondering where I went wrong. Not to sound whiny or anything, but I am feeling beleaguered. I've been told that I have a reputation at work for being ... not sure how to put this ... not aggressive, per se, but definitely hard. Not difficult, mind you, but clipped, precise, impatient - those all might fit. For example, when having a discussion with the local office head of the outsourcing company my employer uses, he started off with polite small talk, which we managed to rush through because my time is short. When we got into his actual business-related questions, I handled them with brief, concise, straight-to-the-point answers. Although he had scheduled the meeting for half an hour, we were done in 10 minutes. He told me at the end that this was why he liked dealing with me - I have no time for wasting.

For another example, one of my business system users once mentioned, during the course of the conversation, that she had trouble believing that at home I am outvoted and overruled. When I told her that at heart I'm really a marshmallow, she was shocked. SHOCKED.

Unfortunately, that's the real point. Somehow, although I am the sole breadwinner who supports a family of six, including a husband who hasn't been gainfully employed in 12 years, I get virtually no respect at home. I have to scrub the word "Doormat" off my forehead every night before I go to bed, but it's just going to show up again tomorrow when I set foot in the house after work. My natural desire to be accommodating and helpful has resulted in most of my family feeling that they can treat me with disdain.

I find this, to say the least, extremely frustrating. Although I never completed college, I did start. Since I'd rather read than watch TV, except for my weekly installment of "The Biggest Loser", I've picked up a few things here and there. In addition, my job requires me to work with all levels of the business community, all the way up to CEO/COO/CFO. Early on, I was intimidated. Now, I have no time to waste on that either. The last COO of our company, who left last year, sent me an email telling me he had always enjoyed working with me, and loved my sense of humor, which he "almost always understood". I know I have a dry sense of humor. I can't help it, it's a defense mechanism. This same gentleman, when told I had tendered my resignation (months prior to his departure), called me personally to ask me if there was anything he could do to convince me to stay - and at that time, I was an employee of a joint venture between his company and an offshore outsourcing company - essentially, a consultant. He, the COO, called me, a schlub programmer with a "Manager" title who doesn't even have a college degree. Granted, I've worked my ass off for years.

So WHY, might you ask, am I complaining? Here's why. Tonight, at 10pm, I walked into my daughter's room and asked her, very politely, with a "honey" thrown in, to get off the phone and into bed. She yelled at me. This happens often. Yes, she's a teenager. Yes, years of PMS have recently come to physical fruition. However, I'm pretty damn sure I knew better than to talk to my mother that way.

Here's another example. My husband, who is nominally a homemaker in that he stays home and doesn't work, will also complain, when I get home, about unfolded laundry, unvacuumed floors, unwashed dishes. Never mind that he's at the house for the entire day, doing nothing. Never mind that the unwashed dishes weren't in the sink when I left that morning for work.

How did it get to this point? How is it possible that I can work all day, stress 24/7 about my ability to provide for my family, hand over money to the kids for essentials like new lip gloss and the latest video game, without being able to expect that some chores will be done or the bare minimum standards of politeness will be adhered to?

The outlook is not entirely bleak - my older son, also a teenager and the oldest of the bunch, actually volunteers to help. If he sees me pulling the bag out of the garbage can, he'll take it from me and bring it outside. When I was sick for five of the seven days of my recent "vacation" (during which the phone continually rang with calls from work), he was the only one to ask if I'd taken any medicine or if maybe I thought I should see a doctor. But the girls, hormonal little beings, were focused totally on things they needed from me.

Is it this way for all parents? I've got this idea, call me crazy, that some women have supportive, well-meaning husbands and children who don't regard them as some kind of moronic enemy. I feel like I'm falling apart here, afloat on a tiny raft, surrounded by sharks, out of fresh water and not even an island in sight. Maybe that's why I'm contemplating the only mid-life-crisis purchase I can really afford - a tattoo. It's gonna be a lemon, literally. I figure it'll symbolize several things, not least of which the fact that genetically I was given a lemon body that I should be able to send back for a trade-up. A friend at work even found a fairly attractive one, and I figure that when I wrinkle the tattoo will do the same along with me, and will realistically resemble a lemon that's been left in the crisper for too long.

If anybody's reading this, HELP. Any suggestions will do - send me a message in a bottle, and maybe it'll help me find that damn island by floating ashore.