My husband had to go on a business trip a few weeks ago. My sole goal was to just trying to keep everyone alive until he got home. Bathing became optional. Naturally, the minute the car cleared the driveway, the kids started devising ways to kill themselves. First, Big jumped off the fireplace hearth and bashed his head on the corner. One big bloody gash and a goose egg on the temple. Then Little jumped off the same hearth and bit her tongue. All was fine until she noticed the blood. “I’m bleeding, I’m bleeeeeeeeeeeediiiing!!!!” Awful Mommy was primarily annoyed that now I had to rethink my dinner plan to accommodate a sore tongue. Little managed to impale the soft spot under her chin on the corner of an open desk drawer, they both fell off the stool while brushing their teeth, and something else happened that gave Little a huge bruise on her cheek. By the time Jim got home, they looked like they had been in a tiny cage match.
Whenever he has to go on a trip, I notice all the little jobs that we have unconsciously divided up. There are things I don’t even know how to do. I had to ask Jim how to operate the coffee maker when he called one morning. And I had to carry the laundry downstairs to the basement. I don’t like to be carrying stuff. The light bulbs burned out in the bathroom.
On the other hand, I didn’t have to deal with those What Should We Have For Dinner conversations when he was gone. Several nights after I got the kids in bed, I had microwave bacon and cookies. Is that wrong? If I were single, I’d probably eat cereal every night.