So my wonderful husband, who travels a lot with his job, offered (take a moment, ladies, and let that sink in...he offered) to take the kids on the road with him for a couple of days over this past holiday break. Can you say, "heck yes!" So off they went. Never mind that I had what I felt to be a really bad cold at the time. (In my own defense, I'd held court on the couch for the previous day and a half. Might've been Christmas let-down but I really think it was the cold.) I was thankful to have the break since I didn't feel well and the kids had started to become bored. (How does that happen a mere three days after Christmas?)
I can't tell you what surprised me more: The almost immediate medical recovery I experienced or the nesting that subsequently took over. I decided the next day to take down the interior holiday decorations. I piddled (that's a word my mom used to use, "piddlin' around"...I like it) almost all day long, but got a tremendous amount of work done. In fact, I took down everything but the tree, which, as everyone knows is bad luck to take down prior to New Years Eve. (That's what my Grandma always said, along with don't cross a black cat's path, don't walk under an open ladder, don't step on any cracks, don't open umbrellas in the house....I was pretty scared to do much of anything as a child.) I was shocked at how easy it was to get this done, especially since I had begun the day with no clear plan. But the house got organized, cleaned, and...get this...REMAINED CLEAN for the duration of their trip.
When they returned two days later, I readied myself for the reaction I felt sure was coming. I anticipated how bowled over they'd be by how great the house looked. I looked for the amazement in their eyes from my speedy recovery. I waited quietly for their reactions, but all I really could hear was the pissy tone my husband had while he unloaded all the overnight bags and his computer bag. Apparently, two days alone with the girls had turned him into....me! It was like looking at a masculine, mobile version of me at the end of any given day: cranky, negative, and mostly unaware of his own tone. I would've said something, in fact, I'm pretty sure I asked if there'd been a problem. "No," he said, "no problem. But those girls are loud. And they never stop talking. And they eat a lot."
Welcome to my world, buddy.
I think it might've been an hour before I had to yell upstairs, with my "angry voice", for one of the kids to do something I'd already asked them to do. I know this because I was shocked by how quickly I was morphing back into my old self. But as I laid in bed that night, I wondered if I would like the quiet in 7 or so more years as much as I had in those previous days. Something tells me I'll struggle as most moms do with the quiet of my future home. But I have a sneaky suspicion that I won't mind it completely, as long as I have them back in my house from time to time, if only to bark something to them again.
