Family Shenanigans: While the cat’s away…

photo by Stock.xchng

No, we didn’t get rid of our cat. Yesterday afternoon, I made the boldest move a mother can make. I left my husband alone with our children for the weekend.

:shriek, gasp:

As I drove away, I became uncharacteristically sentimental. Normally, by the time I’ve reached the end of our subdivision, I’m so focused on the task at hand that my family is all but forgotten. But I usually just have a few small hours in which I get to be alone.

Yesterday, however, as odometer numbers increased, I kept hearing my son bawling the night before. He was sleep-talking, something he does when he’s anxious about something. He was upset that I was leaving. It wasn’t about being left alone with Daddy, but about missing me. I mean, how does that not break a Mama’s heart? “I just love you so much, Mommy.” Excuse me, I need a tissue.

I kept wondering what was going to happen when my daughter woke up for the 30th time to yell, “Mommy, help! I carry beans!” up the stairwell. What’s that? Oh, translation: Mommy help, I have scary dreams. Granted, about 9/10 times she hasn’t “carried beans” but for some reason, she’s in a phase where she’s needing lots of reassurance. Some might call it spoiling, bad sleep training, etc. But I feel I can sense the difference between faking and just needing to know Mommy still loves me. So I go.

Daddy does not. Daddy snores right those shrieks and howls. I doubt he’d be aware of two, three-foot, footy-pajama clad girls standing at his bedside shouting, “Daddy! Wake Up!”

We’ll see.

I remember, in days long past, my husband confessing that when I’m gone, his brain is more aware of those cries and he responds. But he also threatens to turn off the monitors while I’m away, too. So I have to remember he loves to get my ire up, and trust he’ll make the right choice (to respond to our children). And, if he doesn’t, there’s still a very good chance that they’ll all be alive when I get home on Sunday afternoon.

It wasn’t until I had the distraction of Chicago rush hour traffic, that those thoughts finally settled into the remote crinkled cracks of my brain so that I could enjoy my drive. Why they chose to settle so I could enjoy fender-to-bumper traffic? I don’t know.

Finally, the congestion broke free and I sailed along to my final destination. If my heart had legs, it would have been jumping up and down in glee when I pulled up to the hotel. Goody, goody, gumdrops! A room for me! A room for me!

Don’t worry, I maintained my composure, it is a business trip after all.

When I opened the door to my room, my whole body relaxed. It wasn’t the poshest of rooms I’ve ever stayed at, but it was mine (and clean! thank heavens).

All my good intentions of reading and critiquing and doing productive things came to a screeching halt when I saw the pristinely clean bath tub.

We’re talking: no stains, no hairs, no rust, no anything- just clean, gleaming white, and fixtures (also clean). I’m a little picky when it comes to where I sit my exposed kiester down. Sorry for any visuals, friends. I’d pay for your therapy, but I don’t think I could afford it.

So, after filling the tub as full as I could, I got in.

Ahhhh…. It’d been so long since I had a bath to myself, in quiet. I laid my head back. No one would be barging in to tell me about an imaginary pet bird whose name is the same as my son’s only spelled backwards. No one would be coming in to count and declare I have six breasts. They never count: one, two. It’s always: onetwofreefourfive six! Six boo-boo’s.

I was relishing the silence when a familiar sound graced? No, wrong word choice. BARRELED down the hall. Children, small children, screaming and chasing each other.

Just like home, I murmured as I let my head slip below the water’s surface.

Thankfully, the bolted door ensured that they wouldn’t be coming in my room. So, I resurfaced and relaxed. I’d intended to read, but apparently God and I needed to chat, so we did.

By the time I cozied up under the thick covers and laid my head upon the downy pillows, I was pretty much lost to sleep. I surrendered fairly easily and a sound, blank rest followed.

So, while I’m a little curious as to what happened last night, I've decided the old cliche is true this time- when the cats away, it’s better to let sleeping mice lie.



editorial note: I know that's a picture of a rat, not a mouse. But it was a good picture of a rat, and I'm assuming they play when cats are away, too.