Stressing, Sorting, and Scratching

     He's. Finally. Home.

     To all of you single parents out there, military wives, etc., I am tipping my virtual hat, bringing you a frappachino, pulling up a comfy chair, and staring at you with wonder and amazement. All kidding aside, I don't know how you do it.

     My husband just returned from being out of town for four days. Did you catch that? Four. Measly. Days. And I am a shell of my former self.

     I love my husband, and I miss him while he is gone, but that is not what ailed me. In fact, sometimes it's fun to fall asleep with the TV on, spread out all my books and magazines, and not worry that the crunch of the popcorn inside my head while I'm chewing might really sound like that outside of my head. I am not scared to be alone. I have a Glock, and I know how to use it. But...FOR THE LOVE...I do not have the energy to do it all by myself. Would it be at least a little different if I were a 25-year-old mother? Perhaps. Would it be a little easier if I had only one child? Maybe. But coming from someone who sometimes has a come apart just trying to get two boys out the door and in the car to go to Target, I do not see how all you souls who are out there doing it alone trudge forward day after day. I really don't.

     Whenever my husband tells me he will be going on a trip, I cringe. And then I whine. Like a three-year-old. But before you decide I am the biggest wimp you have ever encountered, please let me explain.

     I think we have some sort of curse. Kidding...sort of. Let's see, there was the time that he went out of town that my youngest son, a mere infant at the time, had a horrible reaction to penicillin, and I had to grab my older son and dump him with a friend while I drove out into the night to seek emergency medical care. The next time he was gone, my oldest fell and had to get stiches in his noggin. There was the time he was gone that we all got the stomach virus. Another time I got the swine flu. It was yet another time that my oldest was eating fruit before baseball practice and fell out of the kitchen chair jabbing his fork through his tonsil, and the last time my husband was gone was when the tornados swept through Alabama as we all sat in the floor of the bathroom wearing baseball helmets.

     So, needless to say, when he says he's leaving, I begin to whine. And, low and behold, this last time...yep, if you've follwed my blog you know that I've been dealing with an unexplained anaphylactic reaction to a possible sudden nut allergy, at almost 40 years of eating nuts. I'm convinced it occurred only because he traveled.

     While trying to be uber positive minded in the year 2012, the week of hives wasn't all bad. After a week of being on steroids (so bad for you) for the relentless hives, I have gotten more done than I have since we were married. Granted, I am shaking all over, have had hardly any sleep, feel snippy, paranoid, sweaty, and feel like I look like a wide-eyed PTO mom gone rogue. But I will say that I have actually DONE some Pinterest projects.

     Granted, one of my "projects" had my husband laughing more than he has since my son, during his first bath home from the hospital, peed an arch all the way across the room--straight into my confused, and unfortunately very open mouth. My husband who was administering the bath, thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. The even more unfortunate part was the amount of time it took my C-section ravaged self to actually figure out where the freakishly powerful stream was coming from and how long it finally took me to close my mouth. Sort of like when you wipeout, but it takes a second for mind and body to connect so you actually release the waterski rope:)

     But anyway, sorry to digress. Let's just say that when my husband saw that project, I'm not so sure he was laughing "with" me.  

     While he was gone, I even found the dog disgusted with my late night shenanigans.  Rather than doing all those things that need to be done, like mopping the floor or doing laundry (my mom might actually hyperventilate reading this), I do all those weird things that if you walked into my house you would never even notice. There it was, 2 a.m., and I was crouched down in the bathroom floor going through bathroom cabinets and deciding the importance of various sample travel shampoos and toiletries. My dog was fed up with these late nights and my complete abandonment of any routine. I didn't know it was possible to actually see disgust on the face of a German Shorthaired Pointer, but it totally is.

     So while I sat there like a maniac trying to decide if that old Ann Taylor blackberry spritz still smells fruity or like something that backed up from a septic tank, the dog was miffed. I finally just threw him two shower mesh pouf sponges to keep him entertained for a while. I continued on my quest to organize the bathroom cabinets with the focus of one of those orangutans picking bugs off one of its peers. After ripping the shower poufs until it looked like a Victorian dress had been attacked by a serial killer, the dog finally put himself to bed, and I passed out not long after.

     So in retrospect, I suppose my husbands absence didn't go as south this time as it has in the past. Of course he might give you a different answer. There is still lots of laundry, and the floor isn't mopped. But there are two new pillows, lots of craft projects, and if you ever happen to crawl under the cabinet of my kitchen sink, you might actually be a bit impressed.

     But back to that one "project" that had my husband so amused. I will give him an A+ for his attempt at subtlety. He suggested that perhaps rather than put it in such a prominent place, it might look really good in one of the boys' rooms. But all I heard in my head was, "Where is the nearest dumpster?"

     Needless to say, the "project" might go on the mantle...with candles. Every great work of art needs good lighting.