Monday, February 04, 2008

Super Weekend


When we got married, Craig and I had a deal (not a prenup, exactly, as much as an ironclad understanding): He would watch no more than two sports events each year on television, if I would make those two events memorable.
Usually that means stuffed mushroom caps and a twelve-pack of Samuel Adams Special Lager. (He never drinks more than two; the others are there for decoration, I think.) This is followed by scintillating conversation, such as:

He: Who's your pick this year, honey?

Me: Well ... This is football, right? What color are their uniforms?

He: Patriots are black-and-white. Giants are red-and-white.

Me: Giants, then. Nicer uniforms.

He: (Humoring snort ... followed several hours later by) Wow! Nice call! Good thing I didn't have anything riding on that one.

Me: Have the last mushroom.


Yes, it was a super weekend. But not for the reasons you'd think -- it had nothing to do with a pigskin on the fifty yard line. Saturday morning I woke up, took one look at the house (which was suffering from the previous snow day, in which it seemed that the entire neighborhood was intent on tracking every last snowflake across my linoleum floor), and promptly got a headache.

Kids were banished to their respective rooms to create order out of chaos, while I stampeded through the downstairs, energetically putting things back in place and mopping up the floor. Craig, who had been at his computer all morning, kept typing. I sighed. Loudly.

"Isn't tonight that dinner-dance at the church, honey?"

"Yes. Which means we have a babysitter coming, and we need to get this mess picked up." (Note to self: Why is it that I won't let the babysitter see the same mess we live in most other days?)

Then, a miracle: The sound of the vacuum cleaner running. Not wanting to jinx it, I kept working in the kitchen. Next thing I know sound of vacuum is moving up the stairs ... and DH is coming back down, collecting trash. On his way out the door, he stops and brushes the top of my head with his lips.

"Wow! To what do I owe this?"

"Well ... I figure I have a choice: Keep working on my computer, and spend the evening getting you in a good mood again, or pitch in now so we can BOTH enjoy the night out."

Have I mentioned I married the most wonderful guy in the world?

The fact of the matter is that I've been on edge this past week. It's kind of a vicious cycle: I get stressed out, kids pick up on it, they get anxious and can't/won't sleep, they wake me up, I lose sleep and get even crabbier, they get even more anxious ... you get the picture. (Craig isn't sleeping well, either -- work related.)

So, after church on Sunday, another miracle: both children are invited to their respective friends' houses for a play date. With a shout of glee, they put on their snow gear and head for the hills. The door slams shut behind them, echoing in the empty house.

Craig and I look at each other, run for the bedroom ... and put on our jammies. I pop another migraine pill and put on my sleep mask (my favorite Christmas gift). He gets his sleep machine going. An hour or so later I regain consciousness, feeling like a million bucks. Craig is cuddled up next to me, some light classical on the set. And I feel ... happy.

Now, at this point you might have your hand poised over the mouse, ready to click at the first sign of TMI. But here's the thing: It wasn't about sex. (At least not at that moment.) It was about connecting with my husband. I'd missed him, and was having a difficult time articulating exactly what I needed.

Smart man that he is, Craig understood something was wrong, and did everything he could think of to fix the situation (hence the vacuuming and dancing and letting me sleep in Saturday morning). But at the end of the day, what I really needed ... was to be near him. Just him and me, alone. Cuddled up, and not having to worry about anyone else coming to crash the party.

I effects of that mini-vacation stayed with me the rest of the day. I forgot the mushrooms this year, but Craig didn't care because I figured out how to make Cinnabuns. The great mood stayed with me as I played Disney BINGO and read with the kids so Craig could watch SuperBowl in peace. The good mood didn't evaporate even this morning, when Sarah refused to get out of bed and Christopher was running around like a gerbil on crack, trying to find his homework.

'Cause this was SuperWeekend, and I feel good.

5 comments:

SherryTex said...

Beautiful story. Good piece.

Every Saturday, I go through my momentary insanity when I want everyone else to clean rather than to stop myself, it is a ruthless form of self pity and martyrdom. Fortunately, my husband also recognizes the warning signs and has figured out how to calm the sighing beast that creeps out every weekend to try and ruin it.

Thanks for sharing.

elena maria vidal said...

Beautiful story. Thank God for good friends who offer to host play dates.

Sandy C. said...

Oh what a great story! Ah, playdates. I'm so looking forward to those... okay, Cinnabons...WAY better than mushrooms ;)

KristineFranklin said...

I'm glad you had a Superweekend, despite the headache. We did too. No football whatsoever.

*~JESSIE~* said...

I'm glad you had a good weekend!