Friday, March 12, 2010


It's after six on a Friday night and Daddy isn't home yet.
Tonight I get why a Mom of three kids several years back put a strike sign out on her front yard and sat out there for days. She made the national news. MOM on STRIKE her sign read. She slept in a tent on the front yard. Seriously.

I wasn't considering a tent tonight though, my plan of escape was to pack a small bag with clothes and bath salts, pass the baby off the moment my husband walked in the door and go buy a bottle of Merlot, some chocolates and bee line it to the nearest decent hotel. That's my fantasy night...wild huh?

Tonight, the chocolate ice cream in the boys bedroom carpet...the uncooked dinner, the boys rough housing, the sticky substance on the floor, the baby screaming because I just put him down for what? 2 seconds? (please God help me find my Beco baby carrier...) the orders not filled...all cry out for me, in some cases literally....for me to grow six limbs and take care of them NOW!

The crazy idea that leaving it all would somehow make it better flirts with me like a cocky fraternity pledge. Not that I would ever, ever, ever....but I get now why the highest number of affairs happen when couples have kids that are 2-5 years old. Again, seriously. It's just escape.
Crazy days like this and no respect for the partner could easily lead to a crumbling foundation...I can see how it happens. I don't like what I see.

So I sigh, allowing myself the indulgence of my identity....swearing in my head, hissing at me to say "Calgon take me away!" and go...and then I say thank you very much, not today....and I pick up the baby, kiss his chocolaty cheek, write a few notes for my husband with clear but respectful directions about dinner (his cell phone died...note to Todd: Please buy a remote/second cell charger), give the boys direction to play outside and I retreat to bed with the baby. Mommy needs a time home.

Several minutes later, baby and I snoozing, I hear my husband come in the door. He is happy to see his sons running at him and then the reality of the mess on the carpet sinks in. Then he is not happy. Chocolate ice cream in the BEDROOM???!!!
I don't get up. It's his turn I reason...
He makes dinner and brings it to me...ohhh so's good too!...I start to thaw...but he delivers it with a set scowl on his face and I do not engage.
A short time later he comes in, neutral now...we both breathe, and he just asks how I am. He says that whatever is going on for me is OK. And I love him madly. I love that he can be with my ups and downs. I love that he can be my rock when I fall. I love that he can steam clean the carpet after a full day at work and not break something. I sink into his deep brown eyes, thank him, apologize for the retreat...and when he shushes me, I get again that I don't have to apologize. I'm here, he's here, the kids are alive. I don't need to strike. Not tonight anyway.

Zen Honeycutt

Please note: this is an old picture of my middle son as a baby...along with the many things on my list to do is to find my camera. This is a fine example of today, however, gets the job done.

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