Who are you and what happened to the man I married?

Well, we all knew it wouldn’t last long. The “Love Fest 2010” I spoke about in my last post would, inevitably, come to an end at some point. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. Don’t get me wrong, we all need moments of affirmation of our love and dedication to our family. You know, what I call the Hallmark moments – those things that are described in a Hallmark card that we, as parents or spouses, ALMOST feel until the next time one of our blessings totally piss us off. If you ask me, I think Hallmark has missed the mark. Could you just imagine a line of cards designed and written by disgruntled parents, primarily mothers? I would soooo buy stock. But I digress…

So, one morning I have to take middle son Simon to the doctor for complications related to his fractured finger. For those of you who haven’t been following the saga, he fractured his right ring finger and later had to go back in to have the swelling under the nail drained. Well fast forward to the present. It looks totally funky and it hurts to the touch. I say it’s infected and the males in my household say it’s fine. I say we need to see the doctor, they say I need to move out of the way so they can see the video. Good thing the world isn’t coming to an end. Unless my children believe in Mario as a higher power, I really think there is no hope for them.

As I was driving to the orthopedist, I was thinking about all of the recent medical interventions that have been needed. Youngest Alexander cut his head and needed the cut to be super-glued, a.k.a. Dermabonded. Middle child Simon fractured his finger and had ensuing complications. I told oldest child Christopher that he would spending the remainder of the summer enveloped in bubble-wrap and placed in the very center of the room away from all potential threats and pointy corners. I simply can’t take another accident and can’t afford another flippin’ hospital co-pay. During this mother-imposed injury hiatus, Christopher had to go to the doctor for his well-child checkup. For Christopher, my hypersensitive child, this sends him into orbit and he becomes fixated on the “what ifs” of the examine – “What if I have to get shots?” “What if I have to do a blood test?” or, on a positive note in his mind, “What if I get to pee in a cup?!?!”

My gripe here isn’t with the children. I know they are active and need the medical attention that the Western world affords. And thank you very much for the inoculations that keep them safe - smallpox sounds like it really sucks! My irritant here is my dear husband. Why is it that I am the one who has to leave work, repeatedly, to attend to the day in and day out needs of our children? Why can’t my darling husband take a regularly scheduled look at Simon’s finger, realize that the bizarre colors might hint at infection, and decide that he is compelled to take his child to the doctor as soon as the doc’s schedule allows? This material oversight extends to all the items dropped in my house that are ignored until such time as I become the main character from the movie, “The Exorcist.” You know the one I’m referring to – the screaming, head-turning 180-degree, split-pea-soup spewing, entity. Regardless of our religious affiliation, perhaps we do need a priest…

So the other afternoon, I take all three kids plus Christopher’s friend, Alex, to the pool. Upon arriving home, Simon’s friend, Drake and his dad appear on the doorstep to invite everyone over. Pretty soon, everyone decides to stay at our house for the weekly Friday-night pizza making dinner. The older kids are in the living room, the middle kids are in the office, and the youngest has become the Tazmanian devil who I can’t contain in any room. As the evening progresses, the older kids go out for ice cream and later crash at our house for a sleep-over. The two youngest crawl in bed with me because we are exhausted and the three older children (Christopher, his friend, and husband Shelby) plop down in the living room to watch the X-Games. After serving them popcorn and making up the futon with fresh sheets and pillow, I go to bed.

Thankfully, Shelby stayed up with the guys until they fell asleep and then got up and went to the store for bagels and other assorted breakfast items. On a side note, the only reason he got bagels was because youngest child Alex keep mumbling about wanting to eat something that sounded an awful lot like bagels. My poor husband didn’t realize that all the fresh bagels in Meyerland are purchased on Friday afternoon for Saturday morning and had a devil of a time trying to find some. After arriving home with his stash of mini-bagels and cream cheese, it turned out that Alex wanted sprinkles for breakfast – you know, the brightly colored bits of frosting that go on ice cream or cupcakes. How we mixed up “bagels” and “sprinkles” I have no idea but anyway…

This morning, Shelby dug up and replanted a small tree that I had been asking him to do. Okay, so I had been asking for at least four weeks but, hey, it finally got done. He also helped to fold the socks on the last load of laundry – I washed and folded five other loads previously. I’ve never read “Men are from Mars Women are from Venus” but I’m pretty sure the author might let the readers in on a few secrets about the differences between men and women. Namely the fact that we don’t see the same things and, clearly, don’t have the same priorities.

I’ve developed the 3-foot theory in my house. Mind you, I’m not a scientist and I don’t play one on television but this seems to ring true with all the females with whom I’ve compared notes. Males can not physically see anything outside of a three foot diameter from their eyeballs – the range changes exponentially with age. So is it really their fault if they can consistently step over the same pair of socks for weeks at a time?

Regardless of how irritated I get with him, Shelby steps up at the most amazingly appropriate times – the sleep-over, Boy Scout and Cub Scout campouts (especially the campouts), and morning breakfast runs. He is leaving in the morning for a week long business trip and I know he will be missed. Not only by the kids but by me as well. Don’t worry, I’ll begin to miss him just in time for him to return home for my next post!