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“I hate you,” Oliver mumbles in his sister’s direction, ripping his iPad from Hazel’s peanut-butter-covered hands. He holds it up to me. “Why is she always touching my stuff?”
I gotta hand it to Oliver. Being the only boy child can’t be easy for him. Although, Noah’s just as much a child so at least he has that going for him. And I forgot about Sevi. Whoops. Sorry, kid. Is it normal to forget how many kids you have? Do parents do that?
“Not sure, buddy,” I say to Oliver while I eye Sevi in the background. He’s currently sitting on the floor sticking Coco Puffs in his nostrils. Hopefully, I can pinch his nose later and they’ll just crumble. I don’t know why he’s obsessed with sticking things in his nose, but it could be worse. “Probably because she loves you.”
I smile tenderly and lift my cup that says “I grow babies. What’s your superpower?” to my lips. I look over at my oldest kids, but I don’t say anything to stop them from arguing with one another. They’re not looking for an answer I’d give them. They’re looking for me to agree with them, and I can’t do that either. It’ll start a war and I don’t like to start wars before eight in the morning. Coffee first. Then a war.
You know what they say about being a stay-at-home mom? No really, I’m curious what you think it’s like if you’re not one and get the freedom to drop them off at someone else’s house with a smile and leave them there all day. Don’t go blowing me up on social media about how heartless I am not to bask in the love of my children who, by the way, tell me they hate me every day and frequently give me the “I wish I had a different mother” tantrum for simply not cutting the crust off their sandwiches. Ungrateful assholes.
Listen, I love every single minute of my time with my kids and am so blessed (ugh, I want to punch myself in the face for saying that) that I can stay home with them and get to experience all their moments. I have been there for the first steps, first words, and all the projectile vomit moments for all my children. I know all the quotes too. The saying that I don’t have a nine-to-five job, my job starts when I open my eyes to, if I’m lucky, when I close them. And I love that; I really do because there’s so much of what happens during the day that Noah doesn’t get to see, and I’m sad for him, and also, thankful that I get them.
But somedays, I sit in the kitchen drinking my coffee and wonder why I’m not in a mental asylum. Then I take a look at the madness around me and think maybe I am. Maybe this is it.
Oliver tugs on my hand. “Mom, I thought Dad was taking me to school?”
It hits me then. My shoulders sink. “Damn it,” I mumble, realizing Noah forgot to take Oliver with him. I know what you’re thinking, how could he have forgotten? If you’re a parent, a tired one, you realize how completely possible that one is. But let’s not judge. It’s not like he left him at a bar or something.
I call Noah while I change Finley’s diaper and attempt to get Hazel wearing clothes. If you hadn’t noticed, she’s been in her My Little Pony underwear since she came downstairs this morning.
Noah doesn’t answer his phone. No surprise there. He rarely answers his phone, and I seldom leave a message.
“Why do I have to wear clothes?” Hazel asks, eating Goldfish crackers from the Costco-size box that’s as big as her torso. “Sevi never has clothes on.”
“Because running around naked past three isn’t an option unless you’re a stripper.” I don’t focus on the fact that Hazel’s choosing to eat crackers as opposed to the pancakes I made from scratch this morning that she didn’t touch. I’m much more concerned with the fact that she’s getting cracker crumbs all over the wood floors and in about two minutes—when my mom-brain kicks in and I forget they’re there—I’m going to step on them. Have you ever stepped on cracker crumbs? Might as well be glass when you’re barefoot. Of course, logic would say just clean them up right away and you won’t forget. Well, not unlike war, logic has no place in my world before 8:00 a.m.
Hazel crams a handful of the crackers in her mouth, talking at the same time. While I’m not entirely sure what she says next, it sounds similar to, “What’s a stripper?”
I should not be having this conversation with my five-year-old but sometimes it’s best to be truthful. “Someone who takes their clothes off for a living.”
“I like that. I wanna be a stripper.”
I smile at her and set my cell phone on the changing table next to the diaper wipes. “Way to have goals, sweetie. Now put some clothes on or you’re going to be late for school.”
A dramatic sigh follows. “Fine.” And then she disappears across the hall into her bedroom.
I’m finishing up changing Finley when my phone rings. Glaring at the screen, I slide my finger across the screen and hold it up to my ear. “You forgot your son,” I tell him without even saying hello first.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll take him but can you take him to basketball tonight? Hazel has ballet at the same time and they’re across town from one another.”
“Yeah.” Silence fills the line for a moment before he says, “I miss the days when you called to tell me that you were naked and waiting for me in bed.”
It’s like our conversation the other night never happened, and in part, it makes me angry because he’s constantly avoiding everything for the sake of not having an argument. “Have I ever called you to say that?” I laugh, pushing my anger aside and pick Fin up from the changing table. She tries to take the phone but gives up when I hand her the package of wipes. She can’t open them, but she sure tries.
“No, but a guy can dream, can’t he?” Noah chuckles and the sound sparks a smile.
“I suppose.” And then I think about what he said and imagine myself doing just that. I miss those days too. When everything was new and exciting. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex every day. I’d love to have him come home every night andFifty Shades of Greymy ass up against the wall, but that’s just not reality when you have kids. Not only is wall sex incredibly awkward and impossible for the woman to get off, but we also don’t have time for that with a baby in the house. You leave them alone for even a minute and they’re next door eating out of your neighbor’s dog bowl with no clothes on. True story, unfortunately.
“Can Fin please sleep in her own bed tonight?” Noah practically begs. “My balls are gonna be black soon, babe. And I fucking miss you.”
“I know.” I sigh, pushing out a heavy breath and remembering how good this morning felt having him close. “I miss you too, but you’re the one that freaked out over a spider this morning. And I should also point out, you know you can take care ofthatyourself.”
“What’s the point of being married if I have to take care of it?” I don’t miss the fact that since that heated argument we had, us separating hasn’t been mentioned. It’s like a big white elephant sitting on our hearts, both of us looking the other way. Isn’t that how life-altering news works though? You avoid it until reality comes crashing down? Right now, we’re still in the avoiding stages and trying to figure out where we go from here.
By the way, Noah’s being completely serious. He’ll take care of it if he absolutely has to, but given the option, sex is pretty much his answer for all of life’s problems.
“Oh, stop. It hasn’t beenthatlong,” I finally say. “And this morning counts. Kind of.”