I think most wives have anxiety when they know they're going to be alone for an extended period of time. We miss having a warm body in bed with us, and the intimacy that comes with it. We miss having back-up when the fights with the kids ensue. We miss having the help, as tiny as it often is, of a partner when it comes to keeping the house in some semblance of sanity. What I miss the most? Knowing when life turns upside down, my husband is there to make it right again. When he leaves, a guaranteed situation that I would never, ever handle, is sure to arise. That's just the way fate works in my life.
I shall name you the four worst (two happened this year!):
My husband was in recruiting at this time and had a 'thing' he had to go to. I don't remember now exactly what, probably training. It's always training. About three hours after he left, I heard something scuttling in the wood stove vent. I ignored it. We'd get the occasional bird that would fly in, but they always managed to get out.
Three days later, the poor creature was still in there, fighting to get out. At this point, I was starting to feel really bad for it. I figured if it's still stuck in there, it must be a squirrel, and it was probably getting pretty hungry and thirsty. I began contemplating ways to get food and/or water into the wood stove, without releasing whatever was now stuck. My husband could handle that part when he came home.
So I'm sitting at my computer, when all of the sudden something flits across the room. I freeze and think That did not seriously just happen. For a moment I consider ignoring what is now apparently a bird in my house. But you can't really dismiss something like that, can you? I get up, tiptoe across the living room into the dining room, and then stare and the very pretty bird sitting on the windowsill. I call my husband. No answer. Call again, and again, and again. Every one equals failure. That didn't stop me from leaving hysterical messages on his phone though. I bet you know who I called next, don't you? Yep. I called my mom.
With a butterfly net in my hand, and my mom on the phone for moral support, I chase a little finch around my house. I catch him, release him, and tell my mom I love her.
Did I mention I was seven months pregnant when all this happened? Yeah.
We had a pet die. Mom's don't do dead things. We just don't! At least, this mom doesn't. Well, didn't have a choice here. Fortunately this critter was small, so I just dumped the poor soul on the burn pile, said my goodbyes and walked away, leaving the empty aquarium on the porch with a shudder. Ew.
Something died under the house. Again, mom's don't do dead things, and we most certainly do NOT go crawling under the house to retrieve them. So, for three days, my poor sons and I had to smell the dead thing. My husband came home, did his manly job and pulled a huge Opposum out. Nasty!
I go to take my nightly shower (I'm a two showers a day person) and when I walk into the bathroom I'm nearly knocked over by this wretched stench. I mean, it's bad. Breathing through my mouth, I start looking around the bathroom. In the corner of my shower are these little brown things. I step in carefully, look closer and then I groan. Those little brown things are in a pile of white goo. I'm not sure if most people would know what they were actually staring at, but since we've kept the owner of such waste, I knew instantly that I was staring at snake crap. A lot of snake crap. Not some little garter snake, but something at least four feet in length. Fricken fantastic! It's midnight people, and I'm all alone and there's a snake in my house!!! I text my husband. He may not reply, he may not be able to do anything, but darn it, he has to know! So I rinse the shower and then go to bed, praying it's not venomous, and attempt to get a little sleep.
The next day my son and I venture to the store to get what I need to hopefully remove the snake stench from my bathroom. Since scrubbing the shower requires 100% of my attention, I wait until my two-year-old goes to sleep for the night to do it. Now, granted, this is probably were I made my mistake, since snakes are nocturnal creatures. I eased the bathroom door open, peeked in, and sure enough, coiled up in what he now considers his corner, is the snake. And he's exactly as big as I thought he would be. Around four foot in length, and pissed as can be, the brown rat snake coils and hisses at me. I go to get my phone, hoping to snap a picture before it can escape to show my husband. But, by the time I get back in, it's slithered along the wall, out of light, and back into the hole it came from under the sink, leaving behind a nauseous odor. Oh yeah, that darn snake just musked my bathroom. As if the poop smell from the day before wasn't enough.
Running out of the room on a mission to get a can of spray foam, I call my husband and tell him the snake is not venomous and I'm making sure it doesn't come back. He laughs at me! Lovely moral support I'm getting here. Then he tells me he was watching a movie, he'll call me back. I am utterly and completely alone in handling the snake situation. Thirty seconds later I get a text: I love you. Needless to say, it goes unanswered.
Back in the bathroom, the snake is cautiously poking it's head out of the hole. I raise a brow. Oh no, Mr. Snake, you are not coming back into this bathroom! Shaking, and hoping that as I'm spraying the snake doesn't decide to strike, I stick the tube into the hole and begin spraying in foam. Lots and lots of foam. When I'm satisfied nothing is going to get back through that wall, I go around the house and fill other holes I know about. When I'm done, I return and check under the sink. I'm not a hundred percent sure the plug's going to work, but my bathroom reeks, so I clean.
By morning, the scent still lingered, but I'm happy to report, there was NO snake in my shower.
What's been the worst thing you've had to deal with when your husband left town?