After he's been here for two weeks (and any mom on Earth will agree) he's made his mark on the place. There is a hot wheel car on the floor by the TV, a lone sock under the coffee table, a couple crayons on the dining room table. The stool is still next to the toilet, and his toys are in the bathtub. and there are at least 2 cups, half filled with strawberry lemonade sitting in various places. When he leaves... I have a hard time cleaning up. I feel like I'm removing all traces of him from our house, our lives - and I hate that! So, I don't. Yeah ok, I'll find and wash the cups, maybe (and I mean maybe!) pick up the sock. The rest... not so much. I like seeing a hot wheels car around, and I'll put his bath toys all together but I leave them in the bathroom, by the tub. I refuse to clean his room until the day before he comes back, because I can go in there when no one else is home and just sit on his bed and it feels like he's still here.
There are a few good things (I feel like a bad mom saying this) about him not being here for two weeks at a time. Chris and I can schedule things and stay out late, get up when we want, and not get dressed just to go get some water. We save money on food, and can eat tator tots and cookies for dinner if we choose. I have more time during the day for things like cleaning, blogging, and reading, and I don't have to take him to work with me.
But it's too quiet. And boring. And lame. I spend half the time depressed, the other half cranky and anxious.I miss him, Chris missed him and the cats ... well the cats actually enjoy it when he's gone for the most part since they don't have to hide up high or run for their lives when Da Boy decides he needs to carry them by their heads. However, I've caught them both sneaking into his room and they will lay on his bed to sleep (which they never ever do when he's here)
Ahhh, when he's here. Just typing it makes me smile. When he's here, life is good. Don't get me wrong, he's still four, and a boy, and my psycho kid, but he makes my heart happy when he comes home. He drives me crazy, and gives me headaches and makes me grind my teeth with cuss words I don't dare utter. But I get kisses, and he plays with my hair, and tells me I'm buuful. I get to be a "dinesorus" and a pirate, and we color and dance and sing. He helps me clean and cook and make lemonade. He tries my patience and pushes the limits, and cries when I don't read him enough bedtime stories. And just about the time we get into the groove and things start getting settled and into a routine... it's time to go back. *sigh*
Being a 50/50 mom sucks... but (like Chris says) "At least I'm blessed enough to have such an awesome kid for fifty percent of my life"
