A Normal American Family.

“What’s stronger — my resolve not to smile, or Mommy’s arm?

I think we all know who will win this battle.”

– Pepper Hobbs

Um, this has been a really rough week. I’m not sad to see it end. The boys are beating the hell out of each other and Pepper keeps jerking her hair out, meanwhile I am ready to jump out a window and Robbie is sick of getting manic-sounding texts from me throughout the day.

We have big things happening over here. Robbie will be out of the car business in exactly 12 days, 295 hours, yes I am counting, and I CANNOT WAIT.

I AM SO OVER IT.

I’m over the hours, the up and down money, the stress, the demands, the working on holidays and the overall aggravation it causes me, because as we all know, everything is always all about me. Yes, we are blessed that he had this job. Yes, I am grateful that I get to stay home with the kids. Yes, yes, yes. But anyone who knows me well knows the hell I’ve gone through since he got into the car business, and while I am very proud of my husband because he’s awesome at his job, I AM JUST SO GRATEFUL TO SEE HIM MOVE ON.

(And all the people said, Amen.)

He’s going to be home for dinner every night and off every weekend, and neither of us can comprehend it because in the 11+ years we’ve been together this has never, ever happened. This week, when he gets home at 9:30 p.m. we’ve been sitting and staring at each other, saying things like, “By now you would have been home for almost 4 hours.” And then we sit in silence trying to let that thought sink in.

I’m not going to know how to function in a household where my husband only works 40 hours a week and no weekends. How does that even work? How is the labor divided? I get giddy just thinking about the fact that I’ll no longer have to feed, bathe, and put to bed three squirmy kids by myself every single night. I CAN GO TO TARGET FOR MILK. I CAN GO ALONE.

Now it appears I have some form of Momitis, which feels just like Senioritis did when I was almost out of high school. The end of this Impossible Season is within sight, I can almost taste the beer we’ll be drinking on game days this Fall, and finally, finally we can try to be a normal American family … even though I have no idea what that means.

I’m pretty sure it involves shopping meat sales on Tuesdays and using a crock pot.