Friday

My husband asked just this morning when I was going to blog something nasty about him again. Little did he know.....

Did you know my husband has every other Friday off?

Have I mentioned that?

Yeah, he, in theory, has every other Friday off. Since last May. In theory, it all seems like a great situation.

So when his employer offered this schedule to his employees, I was beyond thrilled. I could sleep late, I could bathe alone, I could tag team parent two extra days out of each month. The excitement was almost too much to handle.

So the first day-off Friday rolled around and I was a little suprised to find that things hadn't changed too much. Oh, sure, the husband was there, working at his computer, sipping his coffee in his pajamas while I showered with two little onlookers. I didn't get to sleep in that morning. But it was new! We'd work out the kinks. Surely the next Friday off I'd see a little free time.

The next Friday rolled around and I was still up at the butt crack of dawn and was still hopeful for some help, when the big boss called the husband and asked him to come down to work for a couple hours to help him straighten something out. Yeah, a couple of ten hours. This happens a lot. I am forever marvelling at the boss, who offered up Fridays off for his employees, yet schedules very important meetings on Fridays. I'm sure he's doing a bang-up job running the place.

But I digress.

So every Thursday eve of day-off Friday I get a little excited thinking maybe tomorrow's the day. Maybe tomorrow I'll get a nap. Maybe tomorrow I'll go to the supermarket. Alone. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally be able to remove the five-month old polish from my toes. My fingers are always crossed.

You know where this is going, right?

I have never slept late on a day-off Friday. I very rarely shower alone. And the tag-team parenting is more like, can-you-at-least-acknowledge-their-presence-and-maybe-allow-me-a-bathroom-break parenting.

Okay, maybe it's not that bad, but we've been doing this, what, fourteen months now, and the husband has yet to take all three kids at one time and give me a complete break. There's always an excuse, something he has to do right then or else the world will implode. Today he had to have his tires rotated and he couldn't take Elizabeth because, well, there's no room in the truck for Elizabeth. My mom laughs everytime I tell her Derick is having his tires (or mine) rotated because he does it at least once every two months and they have never, ever had their tires rotated in any of the cars they have owned. Is tire rotation that necessary?

So Elizabeth has started her terrible twos a tad early and has been screaming like a banshee most of the day. At this very moment she is pissed because she cannot fit my sandals over her shoes and is having a complete meltdown over it. Ten minutes ago, I apparently gave her the wrong drink. My husband, for obvious reasons, couldn't get out of here fast enough. To his credit, he took Adam with him, but he's the easiest of the bunch, so he doesn't get that much credit.

I know, I know, I should be thrilled to have only one child to care for right now (Jacob is still at the lake), but you know, I think the high-pitched wailing is getting to me, because I really feel the need to complain about it.

And it's too hot to go outside. That sucks too.

But I am happy to know that the truck tires will be safe for another two months.