My local friends witness my frenetic lifestyle firsthand, specifically, that my husband’s consulting job takes him out of state for three weeks each month.  With the exception of weekends when he’s home, I have become adept at managing our homestead — and the people in it —  in his absence.

Given the fact my youngest is eleven and can (kinda sorta) wipe his own behind, this is not an absurdly impossible feat.  At least most of the time.

Nine parent teacher conferences in one night?  No sweat.

Sports practices every evening?  Got it.

Haircuts, homework, doctors, dentists and an occasional nightly meal?  Supermom, present.

I’ll even see you volunteering as a CCD teacher and raise you lunch money to boot. No problem.

So it was with mild amusement (and perhaps teeny hidden contempt) that I would listen to my darling spouse talk over the phone lines about all his free time.  With nobody to worry about but himself for 4-5 days, he was eating healthier, running more, keeping his recent weight-loss off.  All good.  Excellent, actually.

That’s great sweetie, I’d coo, before washing down the last of my Pop tart (dinner) with some Pinot (dessert).

Grrrrrrr……

Now, let’s be real here.  I have rolled my eyes at this unbalanced lifestyle before — even (shockingly) written about it -– but I really do keep the matter light.  As difficult as my days and night seem at times, I know his life out of a suitcase isn’t always fine wines and turn down service.  (Rather, it better not be.  Enter psycho wife if that ever surfaced…)

He works extremely hard and spends countless hours waiting in airports, missing important family occasions and playing catch-up on the days he’s finally home.  It’s not easy, I will admit.

So imagine my surprise when my Traveling Wilbury arrived home one weekend and declared that our queen-size mattress was unacceptable and most intolerable and immediately had to be replaced with a king.  Apparently after months of sleeping in hotels, he had stumbled onto the Holy Grail of wellness:  in addition to healing his aching back, ailing knee and other middle-aged irritations, a bigger mattress would surely help him sleep better because well, he sleeps just great while away.

Diva Dad had spoken.  I believe my Facebook status for that day read, “Sorry about Christmas, kids.  Take all complaints to the big guy…”

Despite the fact we are not fancy people (point made by the bulky 19-inch television relic that’s still kicking in our bedroom), I shrugged and said sure.  The practical side of me could list a slew of reasons why it made sense and the frugal side of me had a slew of coupons to rely on when it came time to pick out bedding.

So after nearly a quarter of a century inhaling each other’s less-than amorous sleep aromas … we have upgraded to an additional sixteen inches of slumbered bliss.

My husband & I will celebrate our 22^ndwedding anniversary in a few months.  Sometimes we do things really, really badly.

Like the happy-hour-induced-hole in the sheetrock in my college apartment?  Probably not our finest moment.

Or the humiliating $500 pyramid scheme bandwagon we jumped into in 1992?  Seriously….. what dummies.

Even the two interstate moves in ten months (four kids in tow) for an oops career move?  (Hindsight, that actually turned out pretty damn good in the long run but truth:  who does that???)

But every once in a while we get something right.

The king-sized mattress is one of these times.  Raising children in an environment where the Family Bed has been frowned upon?   Definitely another one.

The best part:  I’m only sharing it a portion of the time.

 

Follow Eyerollingmom on Facebook …. and Twitter!!!