It's inevitable, destined to happen. It's 5:00PM, (or what ever time you're hubby gets home) and you are waiting. From your point of view you've been alone with the crazy little people all day long. You're tired, achy, cranky and in desperate need of a bath. If you hear "Mommy can I have a ..." one more time you are going to freak out. You have been counting down the minutes since 4:15. When he comes home you can have a break, maybe a walk or a bath or go into your room and read your People magazine. anything will do as long as you can do it alone. You only have to hold on until 5:00 and then you'll get your 15 minutes of peace and quiet. Your 15 minute sanity saver.
You see the car. Oh yes, he's finally home. Oh that beautiful man is home. He pulls into the driveway and gets out of the car. You gaze out the window with a feeling of utter joy and excitement. You notice he seems to be moving rather slowly. The three year old is pulling on your pant leg, the 1 1/2 year old smells funny and the 5 year old is screaming "I want some chicken nuggets!" Your husband stops, he waves. Oh God, he's going to say hello to the neighbor! No you insane fool, please come in, just keep walking and come in. Oh the commotion that is going on inside your head. You can feel the insanity creeping up on you. Fifteen minutes go by. You have changed the baby's diaper, fixed the nuggets and wiped the 3 year olds nose twice. Finally you see him turn away and walk toward the door. Alright, that wasn't so bad, you're still alive and relatively sane. He stops and bends down to pick up a fallen branch off the driveway. What's wrong with him? Is he crazy? Has he lost all of his senses completely? "Get your ass in here you deranged lunatic!" (inside your head of course) You head to the front door. You'll scream at him, make obscene gestures anything to get him moving. On your way to the door, you pass the mirror in the hallway. What the... the cheap mascara you put on yesterday is smeared under your puffy red eyes. You are pale. Your hair, which has been falling out since you had the first child, is a royal mess and in a fluorescent pink scrunchy you got in the 80's. The extra large Winnie the Pooh sweat shirt you're wearing is stretched out and stained. Is that baby food or spit up? Your sweat pants are inside out and covered with paint from when you painted the second, no ,third child's nursery. Girl you are one ugly sight! Who are you? Is that you? It couldn't be! Then you hear child number two crying, "Mommy i want some bicken nubbets too!"
The horrible, mean, selfish husband walks in. He looks at you. You can feel the tears filling your eyes. He looks around at the messy house. He hears the commotion coming from the other room. His expression is one that you've seen before. It's a cross between confusion, denial and fear. Then he says it. The words that will be ringing in your ears for the next twenty years. the words you'll repeat to him during future arguments. The words that can make you doubt every accomplishment you thought you had made today. "WHAT DID YOU DO ALL DAY LONG?"
Now, you know there are women out there who have done good time for killing their husbands. You really don't want to do time in jail, right? Yes, it would be a break, solitary confinement IS time alone. No, you have the children to think about. Yes, those crazy little people who are staring at you right now with their minds reeling, thinking about what you can do for them next. Ok, you do love them, after all it was their first little smiles that made you realize the world really could be a beautiful place. It is them you lie in bed at night worrying about. they are the ones you hold and wish you could have them in your arms forever. So, it will be them that saves that clueless husband of yours from being killed. After all, without him, there would be no them, and when you look at those sweet little smiles it is him you see.
So you grab your People Magazine and a towel, go in to the bathroom and start the bath. While your soaking away the day you hear crying coming from the kitchen. He's attempting to make dinner. The crazy little people are now tired and giving him a good taste of your medicine. You get up and throw on your clothes. You go into the kitchen and give him a tissue, tell him to dry his eyes and you'll finish dinner. It's true a mother's work is never done.
Melanie hardy
Melanie Hardy
