How Man spent his summer

Weekday: Work, work, work. But, as Crazy Lady says, Who cares about that? I get paid, I get to pee in peace, and I get to leave it behind at the end of the day. So she doesn't want to hear about it. So I'm assuming you people don't want to, either.

6:30 p.m. (On a "good?" day): Turn off ignition and try to roll into driveway quietly. Open windows and listen for screaming.

All is quiet. Do not allow myself to be deceived by the apparent lack of trouble this might convey to the uninitiated. Sneak quietly to back windows to peek inside for additional clues.

Notice open bottle of wine on kitchen counter.

That is good. She'll be calm.

Or, maybe it's bad. Maybe she "needed" the wine.

Damn. Now I think I am a little bit scared. Is it too late to run away? And where is everyone? Did she kill them for real this time?

Stupid Dog sees me and starts barking.

I take a deep breath and open the door. I try very, very hard to remember to lock it behind me to prevent the Big Ax Murderers the Crazy Lady thinks apparently lurk in our neighborhood from getting inside and killing the family. But I forget. Because I am a man and I can always hope, right?

Dog growls at me. I quick make sure the Crazy Lady isn't looking and give him a kick. Crazy Lady's head whips around and her eyes narrow. But she's not sure, so she doesn't say anything. But she looks very, very suspicious.

I quick try to think of diversionary tactics.

Do I ask about her day, or will that just kick off the "IT STUNK! When do I get a vacation? When is it MY turn? When is someone going to do MY laundry and make MY dinner and drive ME to camp?" lecture?

I definitely shouldn't ask about dinner, I know that much. That will only kick off the "What do you think I am, your personal chef? Why do you just assume there will be a dinner? I wish someone would make MY dinner every night" lecture. Or, its very sarcastic cousin lecture: "I don't know, what did you shop for/make/buy? Huh? Huh?"

So I'm thinking, I'm thinking....

Damn.... What do I say, what do I say... Oh-oh-oh! I know! I know! I know!

"You look nice." I try to sound chipper, even.

Crazy Lady's eyes narrow even more.

Crazy Lady makes a sound I can only describe as something like a cross between a growl and a snarl. I think she's hanging out with that dog too much.

But OK, OK... I see the error of my ways, now that I have a good look at her. Khaki shorts, a T-shirt, flip-flops and a ponytail - it was too obvious a lie. Oh, and look! That tell-tale zit on the chin that it has taken me 14 years of marriage and four years of dating to figure out means DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! SCARY DAYS AHEAD! WALK ON EGGSHELLS!

I am saved by the children bounding down the stairs, though.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" they yell.

Out of the corner of my eyes I see the Crazy Lady imitating them and rolling her eyes. Then I catch her actually saying something that looks a little on the snide side to Dog. That part confuses me a little. Does she think he actually understands her? Has she gone around the bend for real this time? I will think about this later. Or, more likely, forget. But it troubles me a little. Maybe. I don't remember. What was this sentence about?

Now the kids are yammering about something. Everything. Too much. There is so much talking, my head hurts. I look at the clock. It has only been 30 seconds. Crazy Lady's eyes meet mine over their heads and she looks triumphant. See? her eyes say. AND IT'S ALL DAY LONG. Just like that. But with Eye Rolling and Attitude. And tantrums. And laundry. And sunscreening. And constant demands.

I shake my head to clear it and try to focus. OH, my Lord it's hard. They just don't stop, do they? And now they are hitting each other. How is that possible? I don't understand. Two seconds ago, it was fine, and now... why are they hitting each other? Crazy Lady slugs back her glass of wine and marches over, pulls them apart and plunks one into his seat at the table and tells the other to pour the milks for dinner.

Oh, good. So there is dinner, that means. Phew. I was hungry. And I will say this for the Crazy Lady. She is a good cook. You're just not allowed to ask about it, apparently. Eat it and shut up, is the way it works around here. The kids do, and bolt away, off to play something they invented with their Ugly Dolls.

OK, OK. I am figuring this day out, here. This apparently was a good day. It's hard to tell sometimes. Sometimes it's not. There are the days when she is waiting at the door with a glazed look and crazy hair and the dog's leash and poop bags right in her hands, ready to go. Sometimes she even actually forgets the dog, she's so eager to leave. Those days are easy to figure out.

And the good mood days are easy to figure out, too.

But it's the days in the middle that you just never can tell. So far, this one, for example, seems to be going well. But then all of a sudden, she turns to me and declares: "I am in a really. Bad. Mood."

I look around, surprised. What happened? Did something just happen to change things? I don't see anything. I look back at her. She is waiting for me to catch up, here.

"Ye-e-e-e-es?" I draw it out slowly, wondering if it's something I did. Did I leave the towels on the floor? My undies? (I mean, boxers, or whatever I call them, I don't exactly know.)

"This morning..." she starts.

Shit. It was me. What did I do, what did I do? I try to remember what I might have done. It was the undies/boxers probably.

"I was talking on the phone... " she continues.

Oh, phew! It wasn't me! I was in meetings all morning. No phone calls.

She names the friend with whom she was speaking, and continues: ... "and SHE said, she MISSED her kid who was at camp. And that it was eating into their time together this summer. It's just DAY CAMP, for crying out loud! And I am thinking I cannot even relate to this. So then I started feeling like a bad mom because frankly, I WISH my kids were at camp. The all-day, all-night kind. Because I need a break. I am kind of done with this parenting thing. When are they going to be grown up already? I am so tired. They were not kidding that this is a damn marathon. And I think I messed it up and sprinted, dammit. I don't know if I have another 10 years in me. I just. Don't. Know. I am so, so, so tired."

There is more, but too many sentences together starts to confuse me. But I have learned over the years that I should nod. Just nod. Vary the rates of speed to break things up a bit, but keep on nodding.

And then I say, "School starts in just a few weeks."

Before she has a chance to process the fact that this will only be all new kinds of trouble, but trouble nevertheless, I quick hand her the knitting bag.

And some more wine.

And go put the kids to bed.

And hope that it will be over with tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, thank God I get to go back to work.

I wonder if I can stay late?

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The folks over at humor-blogs are probably much better moms.