Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

Diary of a Work Widow

I am not military wife material.  Okay, some days I'm not really wife material at all, but I am just not one of those women who can patiently hold down the homefront while my Hero goes off to fight someone else's battles-- somewhere far away from our home, children, and leaky faucets.  I truly appreciate those men and their wives (honestly, the wives a little more than the men, but that's a relational bias); they allow me the freedom to sit here and be glad I'm not them.  But I want my hubby right here every night to pretend to listen to my list of the day's woes while he tries to hear the dialogue for Lost over my none-too-meek-and-gentle voice.  I'm sure he's grateful for closed captioning.

All of this, of course, is leading up to a spousal work abandonment issue.  No, he didn't abandon his work; his work required him to abandon the kids and me.  Bright and early Monday morning, he kissed our mournful cherubs goodbye and left me with these wise and considerate words:

"There's a big spider hanging just above the side door in the garage.  You might want to make sure that you don't go out that door."

Now, I admit, some men would have acknowledged that big spiders are really God's gift to husbands-- an easy entry into the "my hero" hall of fame.  My dear spousal unit, however, was a tad bit distracted by the abysmal prospect of four days without his family.  I'm sure that's what it was.  It had nothing to do with visions of late-night gaming on his laptop, unsupervised visits to as many Taco Bell dinners as he wanted, or sleeping in a bed without an occasional sharp nudge and "roll over, you're snoring" disturbing his sleep.  No, my sweet soul mate was just so close to tears that he didn't see the look of incredulity that crossed my face before he managed to get out the door.  That's what it was.

Of course, I forgot to mention that he left me with a low-grade fever and four perfectly behaved children-- one of whom had a fever of 102.4F when his daddy walked out the door.

I called into my coaching job at the YMCA and cancelled, got sickie son settled on the couch with a Dora the Explorer video, and plowed into school.  Sure, I could have justified taking the day off, but the adrenaline of being on my own had taken over and I wanted to conquer a mountain-- or at least math.

The day went surprisingly well, overall.  There were glitches, like a leaky pull-up, but the children were so well-behaved for the majority of the day that it mostly sailed by.  I even gave baths, cleaned up the kitchen, and gave myself a well-deserved shower before parading off to my own bed with the air of a beauty queen.  I had conquered.

Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall (Proverbs 16:18).  God is patient.  God is loving.  But there are natural consequences to pride-- especially the pride of thinking we did something God was nice enough to handle for us.  It was time to bring in my real children.

Tuesday did not proceed well.  Princess Moo (DD1) was up at the crack of dawn to nurse.  When she went back to bed, Prince Dannyboy (3DS3) the Sick decided it was his turn to get up, so I dragged my very tired self downstairs to make breakfast.  While he was comfortably watching Dora again, I made up pancakes and bacon, then called the other two boys to eat.  So far, so good.  Princess woke up and had breakfast, too, and the day got started.

Here's where that funny blurring effect started.  Do you ever have days that are so bad that you can't remember an exact order, only that certain events occurred?  That was Tuesday.

There was the screaming.  Prince Berryboy (1DS7) spent nearly as much time in his room on time-out as he did "in public".  There was the crying.  Princess Moo cried because she is a princess and that's how she gets her way.  Prince Dannyboy (3) cried because he was feeling better, but Mommy wasn't, so he couldn't go outside to play.  Prince Derryboy (2DS4) cried because he has a sensitive spirit and his brothers have, well, boy spirits.  Prince Berryboy (1) cried because he wanted me to give up on school and let him play all day like his brothers.  Mommy cried because of all of the above, continuing low-grade fever, a sudden outbreak of acne that brought back well-buried memories of high school, and a surge of hormones.

Then there was the poop.  I'm not sure why God has chosen to bless my family with so many poop incidents-- a good psychologist could probably come up with some wonderful analogies to me being uptight or something.  But on this lovely day, September 19th, 2006, we added to our poop story repetoire.

We had three containment leaks during the day (one pull-up, two diapers), plus an anonymous little prince who delayed going to the bathroom too long and had to be cleaned up (along with said bathroom).  By dinnertime, sweet and gentle Mommy was replaced by a cross-eyed, growling Troll who was ready to pounce on the slightest infraction.

Princess wouldn't eat much.  The boys whined about their meal.  I left the Princess with a biter biscuit and cleaned up the table, then came back to clean her up.  Had I just left her in her booster chair all night, perhaps disaster could have been averted.  Had I been fluent in Princess Speak, I might have heard the warning.  Instead, I picked her up with a little jiggle to get her laughing... and got a little splat! sound instead.

Poop was oozing out the leg of her pants, trickling over her toes, and plopping with appropriate sound effects on the floor and my foot.  My foot.  Covered in baby feces.

I remained calm and collected-- for the three seconds it took for it to sink in.  I sent Prince Berryboy (1) for paper towels, Prince Derryboy (2) for wipes, and Prince Dannyboy (3) to distract the cats, who thought that the poop looked a lot like their cat food.  Really, I screamed all this, but I was also trying to convey a Poopy Princess, overloaded diaper, and squishy sock onto the tiled part of our home before more gifts slithered down her leg.

There's a lot of blurring at this point.  I know the Princess got cleaned up.  I know the laundry got started.  I know the sweet boys were in tears because their Daddy called and their Mommy read him the riot act on everything from Huggies diapers (sorry, but anyone who tells me that Huggies work as well as Pampers can come clean up the next time Huggies leaks) to his work to having cats who wanted to eat poop.  I then kindly and submissively informed him that if he wanted to talk to his children, he had to come home and rescue his wife.  Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I held the kids hostage by phone.  He didn't come home, either.

I think the kitchen did eventually get cleaned up that night.  It wasn't a bath night, so the children were read to by a hoarse and growly Mommy and tucked into their beds.  I remembered an hour later that I hadn't had them do their chores, so I had to feed our critters and clean the cat box.  I wasn't sure which chore looked like the earlier diaper fiasco, but the memory wasn't a good one.  I trudged off to bed without any pride at all.

Wednesday a few things happened.  I realized I was down to two diaper wipes which, based on the previous day's experiences, was an insufficient number to get me through one diaper, let alone a full day.  Prince Derryboy (2) came down with the dreaded illness, but in his sweet way, just wanted to sleep or be held.  I found out why the hormones had been so bad, too.

You have to cut me some slack here.  I have been pregnant or nursing for all but about two months of the last five and a half years.  Unless I'd just had a baby, I didn't have to visit a certain feminine aisle of the local store.  In fact, I didn't have to visit then, either, because I was delegated to recovery duty.  So I was a little rusty on the technicalities of what it means to be a woman with a woman's curse.

PMS.  I had been PMSing.

Just the knowledge that this is what it was became remarkably freeing.  When Prince Derryboy (2) threw up all over himself and the couch because he didn't want to interrupt Mommy to let her know he felt sick, I only growled under my breath (and aimed a kick at the very agile cat who thought THAT was food, too).  When Prince Berryboy (1) and Prince Dannyboy (3) fought like dogs cooped up inside too long (or boys cooped up inside too long), I mostly managed to mostly use time outs and other constructive methods, rather than jumping into the fray.  Even tonight when the Princess woke me up at midnight, then Prince Berryboy (1) came into the room to notify me HE was sick, and I took the Princess back to her room-- only to have the cats manage to push her door open and wake her up-- even after all that, I was able to come in here and blog about it in relative peace.  I have knowledge now.  Knowledge is power.  I can fight my hormones if I know they're there.

Dear Hubby comes home tonight.  He will probably find a wife who forgot to shower last night (unless I squeeze one in today, which is my big Goal for the day), a few dishes we didn't get to, trash that really needs to be taken to the curb, and children who are a bit whiny and clinging.  But at least I'll have the hormones under control.  I won't immediately run off to our room and lock myself in for a moment of blessed solitude.  I will wait at least ten full minutes for him to adjust to the joys of home life.

But I'm still not touching that spider.

I can relate....

8:10 AM, Sep. 21, 2006 .. Posted by GenesisFamily

As a military spouse who has spent many days and nights alone...
Poop and barf seem to always follow pride! I am glad your husband is coming home soon, hopefully that spider is still waiting for him!

Wow, I guess I didn't have it so bad after all!

9:48 PM, Sep. 21, 2006 .. Posted by grace4gayle

How weird, My hubby left on Monday and is coming home tonight too! Could they be at the same place? Mine's in San Diego for a business conference.

You definately earned the mommy of the year award. That was way beyond the call of duty....or maybe that is the call. Time for a new phone?!?

Gayle

Untitled Comment

6:07 PM, Sep. 22, 2006 .. Posted by flapjacks

Aw... I won't offer to get the spider for you, but have some {{{hugs}}} - I think you need 'em :-)
Alice

Work Widow

3:20 PM, Oct. 2, 2006 .. Posted by doehillhomeschool

Bless you for having such a good sense of humor about a really rotten time. You are right, those military wives deserve their own holiday! I'm really enjoying your blog.