My husband Doo is really annoying me right now. He’s planning his third (or maybe fourth; I’ve lost track) ski trip in as many weeks while completing ignoring my panicked pleas to cease and desist. Do men simply not get how tough it is to be left alone, nay abandoned, with kids during the winter months? Does he not understand that for every night he is gone I’ll morph into a strung-out single mom battling homework and volleyball practice and most likely an illness or two? Why does Doo put me through this Every. Single. JANUARY.
And of course, I can never remember to just let him play out his fantasies. Instead, I release my inner Cracken with all the reasons he simply must not go: “We can’t afford it.” “Who will put Maddie on the bus?” “Presidents Day is a ridiculous time to ski; crowds and ticket prices skyrocket.” “But you already have two trips planned!” “Waa, waa, waa!”
As you might imagine, my litany of negations never goes over well. In fact, it generally has the opposite effect, making Doo more determined than ever to have his way. Case in point, he’s currently adding March dates to his snow sabbatical. “Quit raining on my parade!” he growls.
He may have a point. My bitter old ninny routine does dash a few hopes. But Doo is so myopic when it comes to scheduling fun that I feel compelled to provide clarity. He doesn’t consider childcare, carpool logistics, kenneling, money, really anything that goes in to preparing for his jetting off to Breckinridge and leaving me at home. And even though I’m confident he’ll eventually face the facts- that a couple of weekends is more than enough to placate his Rocky Mountain yearning- I’d just like to have him validate my concerns before stomping off to sulk in the corner. Or better yet, approach the conversation with “I know I’ve been working a lot, but I’d really like to spend some time with [insert male friend]” and “I understand it will be a pain for you managing everything while I’m gone, but skiing is my passion.”
Unfortunately, so is boating and hunting. He goes through the same neurosis at the beginning of each summer and fall as a new season beckons: “Two months in the Bahamas!” “Eight weekends hunting!” “I love being independently wealthy with no kids!”Alas, it’s usually not until after I’m all lathered up that he returns to this world. I need to remember that I married Doo because he’s a dreamer and because he challenges me to step outside my perfectly practical cube of a box. I just wish it didn’t happen every January.