His five-day-long business trip is bearing down on me like a freight train. I’ll be honest: I’m terrified. I’m not one of those amazing independent women who has it all together. I really really depend on Mr. Okayest. (Maybe I’m codependent. No, wait, nevermind. If I remember anything from my B.S. in Psychology, co-dependent does NOT mean what it sounds like it means.) I depended on him waaaaay before kids. I don’t do well without him. He is my rock, my anti-anxiety drug, and my dose of oxytocin.
How will I not crack?
How do single mothers do it, when they have no backup coming home at 5:30 PM every day?
I love my in-laws. I love them. They are swooping in like superheroes while their son is away.
How will my child-induced carpal tunnel/tendonitis wrist not break?
What will become of Twin B, who only ever relaxes for his Daddy? (Um, I can’t imagine where he got that trait.)
What will become of my oldest son, who is exactly like his non-biological father in every way except his appearance? He is a Daddy’s Boy, through and through, and he will have tantrums that will blow the roof off this house.
What will become of my naughty and very large dog, who is much naughtier when Alpha Male isn’t home?
How does anyone survive five days without seeing his handsome face?
I need to learn how to work video phone features on my new smartphone, like NOW.
Maybe I should throw a ladies’ night while he is away, after the kids are in bed. I can call it “Junk Food and an 80s Movie in my Funky Basement.” Would anyone come? Oh, dang it, I have never actually turned on that projector by myself. He needs to show me. Why have I never done it myself?
I love my in-laws. I love them.
What the heck is wrong with me? So-and-so’s husband is deployed, and she’s fine. She has pneumonia and four kids and she’s still fine. So-and-so’s husband…. Oh, stop doing this to yourself!
The children will not get bathed for five days. They won’t.
I hope none of the kids (or the dog) breaks a nail. I have never cut any of their nails. Mr. Okayest is responsible for 80 nails – 100 if you count the dog’s nails. (And 120 during pregnancy when I couldn’t reach mine. Oh, wait, I only couldn’t reach my TOEnails, so that would make it 110 that he had to cut.) Oh, don’t act so judgy, readers. I told you I’m just okayest.
He should mow the lawn before he leaves. I have never done that either.
Do I remember how to open the garage door if the power is out? Maybe he should show me the gas shut-off again too. Do we have gas? OHMYGOSH WHATIFTHEPOWERGOESOUT?
I am SO going to watch all those Netflix movies that he won’t watch with me. I’m thinking indie.
I wish I could drink.
Oh, thank goodness his stupid alarm won’t ring at 4:30 AM every single day.
At least I can eat boxed mac n’ cheese for dinner.
Spellcheck had a field day with this one.
Note to potential stalkers: I waited to post this until *after* he came back. Duh.