Fight the good fight

Apologies again, dear readers, for the crappy, short posts and the long space between them, but as all three offspring are back under our newly acquired roof, things have been more than a little hectic. I have been using up most of my energy at parks, pools and play spaces, followed by evenings drinking wine or putting myself into a peanut butter-induced coma and falling into bed at nine thirty. Just think, only 24 more days until school starts and my lame excuses stop!

Adding to the writing drought, is the fact that Hubby has a new position at work, which while awesome, requires even more hours, so I have seen him for a grand total of six and a half hours this week. Seriously, I did the math. And what has been our reaction to this lack of time? Is it long, heartfelt discussions over dinner, followed by talking on the porch swing? No, it's been hastily gobbling down our dinner, after wrestling the kids into bed, giving each other the Cliff's Notes versions of our days before we go about our evening chores of walking the dog and cleaning up the kitchen, then we prepare for the next day, loading the coffee maker, filling milk cups and folding laundry. If we can find twenty minutes after we're done to sit on the couch together to mock the contestants on The Next Food Network Star and cuddle, it's a stellar evening.

I'd like to say we are totally mature about dealing with our work and child-related exhaustion, and most days we are. But there are more than a few days that frustrated angry words fly about the bedroom, usually concerning someone's dirty underwear on the floor instead of in the hamper or, OK, my inability to mail the check to the mason despite being reminded three times. And instead of sending each other emails about how much we miss each other, our electronic missives primarily consist of "When the hell are you leaving?" and "I'm doing the best I can!"

Do I feel guilty about the fact that, perhaps, we are not being our best selves with each other all the time? Sure, a little. But there always comes a day, every five or so, when we both stop and take a good long look at each other as if to say, "Hey you." And it is that look and the subsequent long, heartfelt discussions that prove what I already know, that we are still Us. I capitalize this word because I really see H and I as an entity. As I have said before, my love for H is equal to that I have for my children, and the work we both put in providing and caring for them will never change that.

We have to remind each other that these are the hard years, the down and dirty, never enough sleep, never-get-to-complete-a-sentence-without-being-interrupted years and while it can feel like a job to stay up and wait to have dinner with H when he has been stuck in a late meeting and I'd rather stick my face in a jar of peanut butter and collapse into bed not even bothering to wash my face (glad I got that Retin-A prescription), I do it. Because these are also the years we have to fight. We have to fight the fight for Us against the tsunami of our children. If we can just hold on, even by our fingernails, and make it through to the other side (what that side is I'm not sure since I know while the physical work of cleaning up crap and feeding will decrease, the real work of taking crap from teenagers will begin) there will more be time for Us again.

A lot of people we know have been irreparably changed, and not for the better, by having kids, and while some folks might say the same of us, watching us argue over who changes the baby's crappy diaper during a Saturday barbecue (I don't do shit on weekends), I really don't think so. I read in women's magazines again and again about couples who, when their kids leave, look at each other and wonder who that person is on the other side of the breakfast table. Not H and I. If I have to sweat blood, I will fight to be sure that sixteen years and one month from now when Little Man is off to college, we will pull back in the driveway, walk in the front door, look at each other and jump up and down squealing, "FINALLY!"*

* After a long, tearful car ride, I am not heartless