So usually about now when The Marine is gone (we are six weeks into it) I start to lose it. It's inevitable, and for those of you unfamiliar with the cycle of insanity that happens when Marines leave their families, it's normal, I promise.
Six kids, a job, a house, and the supernatural pile of laundry oozing out of the laundry room is enough to make anyone lose there mind. The dogs all need their nails clipped and their bodies washed, the house stinks and I need a new refrigerator. It's dying.
Today was just the day.
After several incidents with several children I decided it was all The Marine's fault. So I put on his Christmas PJ's and drove his truck. It didn't feel vindictive enough, so I called him. A lot. From inside his truck.
I even held the phone out the window near the engine as we idled outside Taco Bell. If he had been here I'm sure I would have never been driven to driving in his night clothes.
Certainly not in his truck in anyway...
He told me to go home immediately and park the truck.
I laughed maniacally and screamed NEVER!!! Then, hung up and gunned the engine. I meant to gun the engine and then hang up but I got confused between my cell phone and the gas pedal.
One fiesta chicken bowl and a Dr. Pepper later, as well as the crushed dreams of several children, and an attempt to pry into the "personal life" of my oldest child, I'm feeling much better.
Don't worry, the children weren't too crushed and really the only dream I crushed was when Recruit 6 bounced into my room wanting to know if I had any "weapons" he could use. I said NO. He eyed my roll of brown wrapping paper left over from Christmas and grabbed it. I said put it back and he tried to negotiate with me while twirling it in a crazy num-chuck fashion around his body. I won, he was crushed.
If there is snow or ice in this town tomorrow and "they" all stay home with me, I promise you, I'm staying in the Jammie's, firing up the diesel and turning the seat warmers on.
I'll be sure to call.
1 comment:
You go girl!!!
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