Mom is gone

MY CAVE, MY VIEW
by Gary Torres

My too kind and loving wife had to leave town to attend a seminar for a few days.  So she sorta left me in charge.  Well, mostly I was in charge.  She looks back and forth at Daniel and me to decide which of us to leave as the designated adult.  She looks at Turbo. For a minute, I think she actually thinks that may her best choice. 

As she gave her last minute instructions, I noticed that when she was saying anything really important that HAD to be done, she looked at me and Daniel, trying to establish eye contact. 

Every time she talked about things we couldn’t do, like play with matches or firearms, she used some cognitive manipulationengaging technique from school.  She has no idea how good I was at resisting all the learning techniques teachers used on me.  I once counted 9322 holes in the ceiling tiles just so I wouldn’t have to pay attention to my teacher.  I was always thinking, “Why is this woman at the front of the class talking?”; She sure made it hard to visit with my friends.

Thump on my head.  “Hellooo, Honey did you hear me?”  I respond without looking up, “Huh? Ya. Ya I got it.”  I think to myself, that she is way over reacting.  How tough can being the mom be?

When she left, we (me, Daniel, Turbo and the cat) all gathered at the steps of the house waving goodbye, “Call when you get there.” 

As she drove out of sight, my first thought was to call the Relief Society to see if they would bring in meals.  I thought of calling her sisters; but they are onto my tricks.  Last time I called her sister; Aunt Kris gave me a dollar and told me to go to Taco Bell.  That’s B.S.!

I am anxious to see her go, because I was eager to relax and settle in to take a good long nap on my big stuffed chair and flip through all 2000 satellite TV channels before settling in and watching another basketball game.

As soon as she was out of sight, we (me, Daniel, Turbo and the cat) all rushed into the house, grabbed all the junk food, and went into the good living room to watch TV. 

A full 24 hours later and my only thought was “Now I know why tigers eat their young!  Who is this kid and why does he keep calling me Dad?” 

And, “What do I look like?  Your ATM machine, cook, wash guy, servant, nanny and maid all rolled into one?” 

And “Get your own dang glass of milk.”  Boy, this motherhood thing is a lot of work.  I wonder whose idea it was to have kids.

By 40 hours into the experiment, I had gone to the store 17 times and I was starting to say adultlike things.  The words spewing out of my mouth are as bewildering to me as they are to Daniel.  “Is it asking too much for you to put the lid down after you’ve finished?” 

I look in the mirror slightly aghast and check my tongue, “Did I just say that?” 

Not five minutes later, I yell, “Wait a minute Mister.  I just cleaned the kitchen; you’ll have to wait ‘til supper time.”  I splash some cold water on my face and think to myself, “I have got to snap out of this.”  

The final straw was when I blurted, “Has anyone seen my wallet and keys?”  I am completely beside myself.  For dinner, we eat some green stuff out of the fridge.  I put it in the microwave and zap it, just in case.   I don’t know what it was, but it tasted okay with ranch dressing.

Things aren’t working out very well.  Daniel no longer listens when I tell him to do something.  I threaten, “Wait till your mother gets home.”  There seems to be more kids than when we started.  Two extra kids have been here for days. They get in my fridge and ask for money and sit in my chair just like mine do.  I don’t want to chase them away, just in case they are ours.  I think I would have remembered them.

My too kind and loving wife is coming home today.  We clean the house spotless.  I make Daniel shower and brush his teeth.  I throw Turbo outside and hurry and feed the cat. 

Since the house smells just a little fruity, we open the windows and doors to let things air out just a bit.  When Mom walks in, everything is perfect.  She looks glad to be home, looks at me and asks, “How’d it go?”  She is counting kids to make sure I haven’t lost one.  I respond with a confident, “Piece of cake!  Had a great time.  So glad you’re home.”