Today, my husband enjoyed his Obligatory Annual Debilitating Hangover Day. He went out with a slew of his college buddies last night to celebrate the end of Fantasy Football (a phenomenon I still don’t understand and don’t even attempt to). Apparently, when you’re a guy, nights out with your college friends, no matter how old you are, consist of fantasizing about more than football. They consist of living The Dream in which you are once again a svelte 20-year-old with loads of metabolism and the alcohol tolerance of someone who drinks every single night of their collegiate life, except Monday, which is traditionally a Holy Day of Liver Rest and Renewal. I currently understand nothing of this, because even though I too drank my face off in college, when I get together with my college friends, who are all Moms, we are too busy envisioning being totally fucking miserable taking care of our needy children the next day to get totally out of control the night before. (That’s not to say we don’t consistently follow a prescription of several glasses of wine followed by ibuprofen on a daily basis to take the Mommy Edge off. We’re not saints).
All that being said, in my husband’s defense, and in his normal state of being, he is a total DO-ER. He is your average stay-at-home-mom-and-housewife’s wet dream. He makes the bed, he vacuums, he cooks dinner, he washes dishes, he does laundry, he constantly straightens and organizes, he has no qualms about taking care of the kids on his own, he fixes things, and he builds things. He’s extremely handy and helpful, yet for a person like me who grew up in Survival Mode (translation: do what you absolutely HAVE to do today, but not an iota more), he is fairly exhausting to live with. It’s like being forced onto a treadmill stuck in the Marathon Training Zone, when all you really want to do is burn off the wine you drank last night! So on a day like today, when my husband is at zero energy, I breathe a long, luxurious sigh of relief, and I do the absolute minimum. I let everyone stay in their pajamas till noon (including me). No one showers or bathes (including me). I do exactly ONE load of laundry, although there is much, much, much more to do. I host a play-date consisting of my three sons and a seven-year-old GIRL, who brings some semblance of calm and sanity to my animals, er, I mean sons, therefore bestowing on me a more hands-off parenting afternoon. I make a baked ziti for dinner, which involves boiling noodles, pouring some sauce over them, and then topping them off with the only cheese I have in my fridge – cheddar – which is easy, weird, but totally edible.
It has been a very nice and thoroughly relaxing day, but let me end by saying that I am grateful for my overly-motivated, energetic, industrious husband. Though he can be a royal pain in my ass when he complains about my Survivalist Methods, I am not sure where I would end up without him. He is the Yin to my Yang, the North to my South, the Sweet to my Sour, the Yea to my Nay, and the Fast Forward to my Rewind. I thank God for him all the time, but I am ESPECIALLY appreciative on his Obligatory Annual Debilitating Hangover Day.