it happened again yesterday.

i left the children in my husband’s care in the middle of the afternoon, feeling grateful for the flexible nature of his job, as i made my way to my cousin’s high school graduation. if i’m totally honest, i must admit that i was also celebrating that he would get to experience what i affectionately call, “monday night madness.” this is the term i have given to the weekly fight i have with my children as i wake them from their afternoon naps, clothe them, load them into the car for music class (which they love), try to keep them from mistaking the instruments for  cuisine (the bird) and bludgeons (the monkey), extract them from post-class playground time, and arrive home to cook dinner during the “witching hour,” while we wait for daddy to return. 

though i was excited to pass these responsibilities to my husband this week, i was more thrilled with the notion that he might get to see how difficult my job is at times. i dreamed up a scenario in which i would come home to my children, who would be swarming around the couch containing their exhausted daddy. my husband would pull a rag from his shirt pocket, wipe his sweaty brow, shake his head, and say, “mary allison, i simply don’t know how you do this every week!” i would respond humbly, of course, like those citizens on television who have just saved another person’s life. “i guess i’m just in the right place at the right time,” i would say.

this, of course, was not the scene i found when i arrived at home. the laundry was finished, dinner was in the oven, the kitchen was spotless, the kids were clothed and happy, and the transition from naptime to music class had reportedly gone smoothly. my husband made me a cocktail, and i drank it, along with a sea of jealous self-doubt. how does he make my job seem so easy? clearly, he is a superhero, and i am a whiner.

don’t get me wrong. i realize that any problem where the system breakdown includes a spotless kitchen, clean clothes, and a warm supper, is a good problem to have. i also realize that my poor husband, who does such things in order to make me happy, cannot win! 

lesson learned: i cannot depend on someone else’s failures to make me feel like a success. this rule applies especially to my beloved husband, who really does make most struggles seem like a piece of cake.

[side note: music for aardvarks is a favorite activity for my children, so much so that it is worth interrupting the children’s sleep! without it, “monday night madness” would turn to “monday night pandemonium,” a level orange alert that must be avoided whenever possible.]