Animal House 

I couldn’t blog yesterday because it was one of the more annoying days of my life, at least in recent history. Plus, I knew if I did write, it would be a scathing, hate-filled rant that would scare most of my dear readers.

Now that I am older and more mature than I was yesterday, and have some well-earned perspective, I will fill you in on some tidbits of yesterday’s debacle. In an effort not to go off the rails, I will do this in bullet-point formation.

  • The Monday after chemo is when I ‘move home’ from my mom’s house, where I recover for most of the week.
  • This is always a tricky day because I feel so ready to resume my normal life and also horrifyingly ill-equipped to handle my normal life.
  • I am so excited to see my huz, kids and dogs.
  • I am also not excited to see my huz, kids and dogs. Remember, I’m an exhausted cancer patient. My threshold for merely existing is low.
  • Upon entering my humble abode, it looks like we have been robbed. The living room is an explosion of nonsensical items strewn about the floor. It is also silent. Never a good sign.
  • As I walk through the living room, I am startled to almost the point of a heart attack by my toddler who is standing alone in a diaper in the pantry playing with dog food. No grown ups in sight.
  • WTF
  • In lumbers the huz, who appears to have just woken up (it’s 11am). He seems happy as a clam.
  • Kitchen: crime scene #1. Milk out on the counter, berries on the floor, Costco-sized box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch exploded near the deep fryer, which looks to have been well used while I was gone…
  • All I want to do is crawl into my bed when huz says, ‘we should probably change the sheets ’cause you know, everyone slept in there every night watching movies’ (read: crushed popcorn explosion they’ve all been sleeping on for days).
  • Crime scene #2: tv room. Root beer bottles, coffee cups, Gatorades, half-full diet cokes, crusty bowls with spoons in them containing the remainder of who knows what, at least 45 feet of Froot By The Foot wrappers on the floor, more popcorn bags on the couch and the kicker… Empty edamame pods- not in a bowl- but beside a bowl on a table. What was in that bowl, you might ask? Soy sauce. So much soy sauce on every surface of the room.
  • Fury.
  • Screaming/crying.
  • Shit got dark, you guys.

I am not mentally or physically recovered enough to actually speak to the huz about the long weekend’s activities, but I am quite positive it included an entire frat house with mild to moderate hazing, which included my children.

There are some real implications here about my feeling towards leaving the house again for my next chemo, but when I asked the kids how they thought daddy did while I was gone, I got a resounding ‘GREAT!!’ so I guess I need to start targeted therapy to get over my horror.

*As much as I want to hurtle the huz under the bus, and I still might, I know more than anyone how hard it is to be alone with 3 kids and 2 dogs for 5 days. Could he have perhaps used some different coping mechanisms? Yes. Yes, he could. But he is dealing with a shitty deal of the cards too so I am going to try extra hard not to attack him about this until the day we die.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Caroline DeGroot says:

    I adore you!!
    You are such a talented writer and your perspective is SO helpful for those of us that have a loved one facing cancer.
    Please have your blog published some day. It is such a real perspective for others.


  2. cherylcarse says:

    Give him a pass, he’s struggling too. But that shit had better be cleaned up by the time you get up from your nap in one of the kids’ beds.
    It’s probably wrong to laugh, but the toddler playing with the dog food was a teeny bit funny, doncha think? Too soon?


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