My hardworking husband is out of town in Austin, TX, where it has actually been cooler than here.
I get to be mom and dad for a few days, which means no luxury of a mental break. My husband is good about taking care of the kids when he gets home from work. After dinner, I go upstairs for a short break, while my sweet husband clears the remaining dishes into the dishwasher and rough-houses with the kids. On the nights that are bath nights, he is the one who handles them.
The past few nights I haven't had my mental health breaks after dinner. I don't think I've suffered too adversely, but you'd have to ask the children.
Last night, I tackled the baths. The other chores that are usually my husband's, I took care of, which were garbage and recyclables (hubby did most of the garbage and recyclables before leaving).
I was even brave enough to take the kids to the garden center last night. Things went well. My son, the extreme extrovert, was pushing his sister in a stroller while I pushed the shopping cart (this part was what made me apprehensive). Everyone we passed had to be told the story about "his baby" and "her boo boo." I think he told one sales lady the story twice, in great detail, in his kind-of-hard-to-understand kid voice. Ironically, there was a lady there from Texas with a great big Texas accent. She was very kind to listen to the treatise on how my son's "baby" hurt herself (see my earlier post with pics on my daughter's "little" accident). I don't know if my kids annoyed people, as they tended to get in the way sometimes, but they were pretty cute. You'd have to be a slug to not smile when my son begins his frequent orations about whatever is on his mind.
At bed time, I read them a story and said prayers, which my husband usually does. Got them into bed and only had to deal with my son getting up once to go to the bathroom. He uses that as an excuse to get out of bed even though he went to the bathroom just minutes earlier before getting put in bed.
Things seem to be going well.
Bad thing is, I woke up to find my scapular had broken and I don't have another. Aside from feeling odd because I'm not wearing a scapular, I hope it isn't the beginning of a rough day. Not that I'm superstitious. I think it's similar to losing your watch or your glasses (I don't wear either, so hope the analogy fits). Maybe it is more analogous to a cop being involved in a dangerous situation and they don't have their bulletproof vest.
Husband is gone. Scapular is broken. It just feels strange.
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