Let me vent for a second.

I want to be the wife that says, "you're amazing honey" after he's walked in the door from another 14 hour day, for the 14th-thousand day in a row.
I want to praise him and rub his feet and thank him for working so hard for our family.
But I can't.
I can't because I'm mad.

He's not paid by the hour...
Or doubling his salary during these hectic weeks.

He's not walking in the door and praising me for my hard work either.

I log into FB and see one husband praising his wife's dinner and another thanking his for taking care of their sick children.
Not mine.
My house has been ill for weeks.
Who gets up with the kids... me.
I make dinner every night.
Who's been home to eat it... not him.
How can he praise something he didn't eat?

Who are we kidding...
My love language is words of affirmation, and it's Lance's weakest attribute.

So that's how it goes...
No one's pushing the other on.
No one's arguing either.

He's telling me how busy and hectic he is and I am telling him how tired and ran down I am.
We are passing like thieves in the night.
Both tired.  Both spent.
Four minutes of interaction each day....
It's hello/ goodnight.
Repeat.

I am bitter.
He strolls in when the kids are run down and I'm exhausted and Beckham has drawn on another electronic with a sharpie and I've hurt Maddox's feelings, and cooked dinner, and cleaned up dinner, and fed the dog, and prepared for the next day...
while talking to 50 parents about their children.
And I am being so ugly to him.

He's absent.
And we are used to a very hands-on daddy.
He's apologetic...
But it doesn't bring him home.

It's not the days that get to me.
We do those without him every day.  We know that routine.
We expect to go those hours without him.

It's the nights.
It's the cuddles.
It's the help.

He misses them.
And they miss him more.

Maddox talks about him and asks to call or text him constantly.  He draws him pictures and leaves him little surprises for when he gets home.
Beckham wants nothing to do with him at night, like he's holding a grudge.

I guess I should be happy that Lance is such a helpful husband and loving daddy that his absence is so deeply noticed.
But instead, I curse his name with every page shrieking in my ear-- while the mashed potatoes turn to potato soup-- and Beck is crying out over a lashing to his back from a glow-necklace at the hands of his brother-- and four bites of my entire roast gets eaten.

And curse him again as I yell, "WHAT?!?!" to Maddox as he walks up to me talking for the 5th time in a row while I am trying to do my job and make money for our family just to hear him say, "I love you momma.  That's all I wanted to say."
And then I cry and then he cries...
and then I apologize and he says, "don't worry.  It's me. Not you."

But it's not him!
It me.
It's Lance.
It's life.

I need our routine back.
I need my daddy-daycare for my call.
I need a dang break.

I don't work well in chaos.
And apparently much more dependent than I realized.

I just needed to vent for a second.
Tomorrow I'll post crock and freeze and I'll be much more chipper with my words...
Tonight I just want to be mad.

And that's okay.