An Open Letter To Father & Husband

Dearest Husband,

I see the look in your eye when you come home after a long day at work to find the house looking like a bunch of wild monkeys completely trashed it. I've heard you ask, more than once, what I do all day. Of course, I sit on my butt and eat bonbons, right? First of all, I don't even think I've ever eaten a bonbon and the only time I sat down today, it was right on to of a chocolate pop-tart that stuck to my butt and stayed there half the day until Josiah asked me if I pooped my pants.

When the kids were eating lunch and watching Caillou, I tip-toed ever-so-quietly to the bathroom, thinking maybe I could, for once, pee in private. Nope. I know Dada has a completely different bathroom experience. You know, one that is silent and allows for reading a book, watching your iPad or whatever else you do in there for 30 minutes at a time. I, on the other hand, have one child trying to wipe Mama's heiny and the other laughing while proclaiming, "Mama pooped!". Meanwhile, whatever once wanted so badly to exit my body has long since decided otherwise.

Once my bathroom trip has ended and I eventually herd the crew back to lunch and sit down to eat my own plate of food. We are all eating lasagna leftovers and it's tastes great, especially since it's the first meal I've had today. Then come the questions.. "What are you eating, Mama?" "I am eating the same thing as you, lasagna." And the question of doom: "Can I taste it?" There goes my lunch. What is it about anything on my plate always being more delicious than their own? If I'm lucky, I get to eat the little cold lasagna bits off of their plate if they are too full to finish after gobbling down all of mine. Yum! Quite different from nice restaurant lunches each day with friends when you get to eat your own plate of hot, delicious, freshly made food.

A great deal of the remaining afternoon is spent overusing the word "NO!" and repeatedly telling the boys not to hit, not to kick, not to push, not to touch and, eventually, not to even look at each other. All of the things I promised my children would never do, they did. Around 3pm I realized I hadn't even brushed my teeth, so I run up to the bathroom to do so and, a few seconds into brushing I don't hear anything. Your interpretation of this phenomena is that the kids are, for once, getting along. How great is that? Maybe you will stay upstairs a little longer to savor the moment. Little do you know, they are downstairs cutting the cat's hair (or their own), "cooking" with real foods and liquids or, my favorite, making art... on the windows with markers and crayons. My supersonic hearing knows something is going on down there, so mid-brush I run to the rail and watch as something inevitably is being destroyed. (Just this year I have said good-bye to 2 remotes, 1 cell phone and charger, a rug, a purse that became "art" with markers and 3 glasses.)

By the time you get home, yes, you find me on the couch and in a bad mood. I don't want you touching me with a 10-foot pole and this annoys you even more. After all, I got to stay home all afternoon while you worked so hard. I know there really is no way for you to comprehend my feelings and emotions that have overwhelmed me by 6pm at night. This is why I've devised a way for you to gain some clarity, to experience what I go through. After all, experience is really the best way to learn, right? Therefore, this weekend I am going away with my friends to enjoy fresh, hot meals, conversations that do not involve baby talk or using the word no over and over again, going to the bathroom alone, taking a bath alone! You, on the other hand, can live the wonderful, bonbon-popping lifestyle I live every day. Enjoy the weekend, rest up and relax because come Monday you'll be back at work again. God forbid.

Your Loving Wife