A Bagful of Skittles

It was during my Stay @ Home Mom Days (or S@hM days, the 'h' is silent) that the dare came about.

BW and JB were both active toddlers and as the days grew longer and the temperature rose that the challenge of being home all day with little to no adult interaction bean to wear upon my soul. Working through a serious case of Post-Partum Depression didn't help either, but it was the lack of stimulating conversation that haunted me most.

Charles had recently finished his Masters degree and now with the extra time that he normally spent working on his thesis was complete, he used the extra time to pursue the hobbies and interests that he had put on hold while his few free hours off of work and Dad duty was spent programming and finishing his educational and professional goals.

It was during one especially challenging week that culminated into the perfect storm of frustration.

Charles' father and grandfather were scheduled to arrive in a day or two for a couple of weeks and my days were spent trying to prepare the house for guests, keep up with the daily chores while also meeting the needs of the topplers.

The week that his father was to arrive coincided with several invitations from various camping, hiking and cycling buddies, and without realizing the confluence of events ~ he'd said yes to all of them, and I'd agreed that he should go and have fun.

The week had been a peaceful one, which should have been a hint at the ensuing storm... The day before grand and great grand fathers were to arrive, Charles's was invited to hike a 14er. We had been tempting fate, and by accepting the invitation to clime a mountain, Mother Nature must have felt as though she was being mocked.

The morning he left, the house was filled with nervous energy. Bickering, battles of wills involving both children, a sick dog and a literal glass of spilled milk filled the day, and not nearly enough work was completed.

It was the spilled milk that did me in. Flailing toddler arms in the midst of a temper tantrum resulted in a half a gallon of milk flying as though in slow motion in the air, across the dining room and pouring the entirety of it's contents into the carpet.

Charles was late in coming home and the clock was ticking for the relatives arrival and the milk in the carpet was beginning to sour.

I've personally never seen a 'wet hen' but I'm certain that Charles does, as that was what met him when he finally came home.

Once I'd expressed my frustration and had a chance to take a break from the little ones, we quickly readied for our guests and retired for the evening.

After the kids had been put to bed for the 29th time that night, we were sharing stories about our days. I took a moment to apologize for having been so emotional. I mentioned that it was so challenging to be with kids for so many hours in the day without the opportunity to take even a few minutes for myself. (Even the bathroom provided no relief - they sat on the other side of the door, beating it with their little hands, calling for me through the door-jam.)

Charles replied in a very un-Charles like manner.

"Well, if you did have an afternoon to yourself, what exactly would you do? It's no like you have any hobbies or anything."

The truth of his words took the breath out of my lungs and it was several days before I was able to think about what had been said without the sting of his words causing tears to spring forth.

In the time since then, I've taken up many different hobbies, returned to school, begun working full time and volunteering at the local hospital and with daughter's persistence, started a Girl Scout Brownies troop and developed several different social groups.

At the same time, BW and JB have found their own hobbies, and we have had a few weeks where we've not been able to sit down for dinner as a family for an entire week.

Not once has Charles' complained about how busy I've become, though I doubt that he would ask what I'd do if given a few free hours.