Woe is Me.

Have I ever told you that Ryan works a ton of hours sometimes? He does. Not always, mind you. Normally he works a little more than your average computer nerd, but every now and again, it's off the charts. He goes in early and stays late. He works weekends. He forgets to eat. He doesn't shave more than twice a week, and I have to chase him out the door and demand that he wear a belt to work and check that his shoes are of the same pair. And when it's like that, even when he's not physically at work, he often does research for work or goes to events that have to do with his work or thinks about work or signs on from home. I know some other wives of some other computer guys, and they tell the same story. It's just kind of the name of the game for these tech nerds. They're busy.
In the meantime, the family gets to play a different game, and it's not all good or all bad all the time. Sometimes it just is what it is. For the most part, you get used to it, and you roll with the punches. You have meals and games and Family Home Evenings and prayers and parent nights at school without Dad. When he's there, it's a treat. And sometimes it's bliss. You're all together and you cram in as much good, peaceful, quality time as you can before he passes out. Other times, it becomes a fight. The kids get excited. They all want to sit by Dad when he's there, and he's tired, so it's less fun for him than a family fight at the dinner table should be. And he feels badly that he isn't there more often, but you can tell he's going to break out into hives if the kids don't just sit still and eat and stop fighting.
And I'm just going to be honest today and tell you that, though in general I try to be patient and kind, I am often ready to throw in the towel when it gets like that. When do I get to be so preoccupied with something else that I don't have to be present in the home? And, don't start in with the hate mail just yet, folks. I know his job is not just "something else" he's preoccupied with. Don't get me wrong; I do understand that. And I will tell you honestly that when I am at my breaking point, I don't even have to tell him. I just have the look when he gets home from work, and I have a box of mac and cheese sitting on the counter. He kisses me goodbye, puts on his big boy panties, asks no questions, and I go. I may return with groceries, new shoes, a cleaner car, or just a fresh perspective and the mental energy to get through the next day.
When I do get home, I scrape overcooked noodles out of the macaroni pot and off the table, and I ask how things went. He usually tells me that Alex was too tired to eat and that Kylie yelled at him because he didn't tuck her in the right way. I say thank you and I'm sorry. I cry a little and tell him that I just needed some space and a minute to think. I admit to him that I feel badly that I'm not always the best mom in the world and wonder to myself why I don't always enjoy the kids all the time the way I think I should.
He just shrugs, tells me not to worry about it, and goes back to the work he's been thinking about while I've been talking to him. I go kiss the kids goodnight, and then I wander around the house and realize that I didn't really "need" the space (or the shoes). I know I could have gotten through just fine, but I did need to feel like my husband is aware of my needs even though he's too busy to ask me what they might be. And then I feel selfish, but not in a way that I'm not okay with.
It's usually about a week or two after my breaking point that things wind down and I can reclaim my husband. And it's usually a week after that that he feels like being reclaimed. And that week may be the hardest of all. He sleeps in or plays catch up on a list of deferred priorities left over from the month or two he was so busy at work. The kids and I kind of dance around in his space waiting for him to give us the all clear signal.
When the signal comes, we go out and blow a wad all together. There will be movies, toys, bike gear, a trip to Target, another to TJMaxx, and buyer's remorse for dessert. But it's too late to take back the shoes, so we come home, tuck the kids in "the right way," and when the house it finally quiet for the first time in weeks, we climb into bed at the same time. It feels foreign, but nice, until, in place of sweet nothings, I whisper a phrase containing the word, "budget."
Suddenly the pager goes off, and a new crisis is born. . . Just in time.