First, let me start by saying how glad I am that I don’t have a hubby who plays golf all weekend. I know there are plenty of women out there whose hubbies are gone all weekend, every weekend, doing their own thing. I could never be one of those women, and god help me, if I tried, you’d find me checked into a lunatic asylum slobbering all over myself.
See, my hubby’s one of those guys who are actually involved with their kids. And he’s, gasp, really good with them. Well, most of the time anyway–if he was some kind of freak of a super-hero dad, then I wouldn’t have anything to write about. But no, Ken’s the kind of guy that kids migrate to. They see me coming, on the other hand, and they run like hell. I don’t blame them–who wants to hang out with Bad Cop when Good Cop’s sitting just a few feet away, willing to give you anything your heart desires?
As my 4-year-old son Nico said the other day, “Adults always say yes.”
Well, maybe I’ve been giving in a little too much to the kids lately (Nico’s perfected the “how many sweets can I have today” argument), but hell, I’m holding the line when it comes to my poor ‘ole hubby. Or at least using his request for weekend free time to get something of my own out of the deal. Isn’t that terrible? But don’t we all do it?
I’m sorry, but after being with my amazing-but-crazymaking kiddos for any long stretch of time, I need a break, too. So when he asks to go hiking with his buddy, I’ve gotta think fast. “Sure thing,” I say. “But only if I can hit my dance class on Thursday night.” It’s our own quaint little version of Married Microeconomics.
Imagine if someone had warned you about all of this before you had kids. You would’ve thought they were a lunatic, right? Grown adults asking for permission to do their own thing? What a riot! And yet here I am, asking my old man if I can cut out for a cocktail. At age 40. Sheesh.