“Have you booked your flight yet?”
“I don’t think I’m going to go…”
“Why?”
“I don’t wanna leave you with the three kiddos for the whole weekend.”
“No. I want you to go. You never do anything for yourself. You need to do this.”
{pause}
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I truly, sincerely want for you to go on a guys’ weekend. But before you book, you need to know… When you are preparing to go, I will, most definitely, be in a huff. I will likely be completely moody. I will probably remind you that you are the father of three children before you head out the door. While you are gone… if you call, I may be short and terse. I may tell you the children are being the worst they’ve ever been. And that their behavior is worse than any other child that has ever lived. I may say I had to wake with the babe 84 times over night and woke for the day at 3:30 am. And that the basement is flooded and the house is a complete sty. And if instead, there is an absence of communication, I will passive aggressively text you asking if everything is okay. And when you don’t respond to the text within 12 seconds, I could possibly think you are dead. And then text you as many as 16 more texts. But in all sincerity, it is so important to me that you go.”
“Soooo… I’m not gonna go.”
“No, no. I seriously want you to go. Did I not just say that? Did you not hear what I said… honest to goodness, you should totally go. I just wanted to explain the likelihood of irrational, envious behavior in advance. I’m nothing if not self-aware.”
………………
So the hubs… he’s been away this weekend. Not on business. But on a dude trip. To watch soccer. And no, not in Brazil, which I have to admit, is what I originally thought… not that he was going to Brazil… but that he was going to watch actual, in-the-flesh, live soccer games. Because I’m going to be honest and say I had no clue where the World Cup was taking place. {I’m pretty out of the loop these days… I still don’t think I know what Flappy Bird is and I just realized overalls are back in style.} Instead, he’s maxxin’ and relaxin’ with some friends, golfing, watching games, and taking a little break from reality. Which he totally deserves. But I have to admit, it’s sometimes hard for me to stay focused on that now that we are parents… and parents to 3, at that. It’s hard to not think, okay so when do I go away for 60 hours {that’s if I were counting.}. And this is also where I mention that my 6 month old just decided bottles are way less cool than boobs. Greeeaaaat.
When things like 6 hour golf outings on the weekends and multiple happy hours a week come up, I have to summon the woman my husby married… the non-sahm-mother-to-an-infant woman who was more understanding, had better hair, and was as happy-go-lucky as could be. Puhhhhlease… tell me I am not the only wife who has these thoughts. Because I don’t think men do this. Or feel this way. Like, when the hubcap says, “Go get your feet done, you need a break” he means “Go get your feet done, you need a break”… whereas, there may have possibly been occasions where I say, “If you want to go to happy hour, then you should go” where I may have actually been thinking, “yes. You go to happy hour and I will have regular hour because there is nothing extra happy for me about you coming home later than anticipated. And you’re welcome for providing the childcare.” Eeeeek. I know. I’m a shrew. Or, on occasion, when work travel comes up, I find myself, at some point thinking, when will I ever travel for work? Because unless Obama starts shelling out bucks to SAHMs, the outlook of business travel for me is bleak. But sometimes, my inner child just wants things to be fair. Again, puhhhhhhhlease… someone, anyone, ever feel that way? Whether that way is that you want it to be fair or that you are a shrew?
But this weekend, well, it’s honestly been really great. No… there is no sarcasm here. I am 100% serious {I know. Weird}. And I haven’t even felt like a scorned mama. Not once. Maybe it’s because I had prepared myself for the worst case scenario. Who knows. Or maybe it’s because at this point, I am used to being a mom. Or possibly it’s because I am genuinely happy for the mister to get a chance to not have to worry about keeping the home fires burning for a weekend. Because what makes me the happiest? From our little correspondence, it sounds as though the hubster is having a rockin’ good time. And I am hoping he comes back rejuvenated {or at least not completely hung over}. And I hope that he’ll feel like he should try to get away more often {or as often as time and coin allow}… specifically once the babe stops waking up at 5:30 every morning.
I have done everything in my power to not be a freakazoid or be a shrew {and yes, I am high fiving myself right now. As I type}. I’ve done everything to go from honest to goodness. And outside of it taking me an hour to put together a new hot wheels track {I hate you, hot wheels} there really haven’t been any hiccups. My three little sweeties and I have had a nice little weekend. That may have something to do with the ice cream sandwiches, late bedtimes, and Lego Movie we’ve had going on over here but hey, it’s the weekend. And, bonus… Barrett even told me that he didn’t expect me to be so much fun {oh, the honesty}.
Of course, if I had to do this all, every day, by myself. Well… that would be a totally different story. Because I’m not that great at flying solo. Because he’s half of the team. And the reality is, I like my Mr. A LOT. And I feel fortunate to get to parent with him. And I like being able to share stories with him at the end of the day. And the fact that he makes breakfast every morning, well, that’s just the cherry on top.
