And We Lived After the Manner of Bachelors

For the past two days, my husband and son have been gone. They took a trip together to see my sister-in-law graduate from high school. I stayed behind on account of being a car for longer than .387 seconds makes me sicker than a dog. I kept my girl with me.
“Mom, are the boys gone yet?” She asked as her father loaded the luggage in the car.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Ugh! Bummer!”
My son was equally as thrilled to be leaving.
“Bye, Mom!” He called out from the front door, his Iron Man lunch box in hand (he’d filled it with underwear and pennies -necessities, you know).
“You’re not leaving for a few hours, son.”

And when they finally left, my daughter was in a tizzy. Three hours later, she asked when they were coming back. She missed them.
Well, I did too but I was sick and honestly -it was nice not having to feed an entire family or pick up after them.
I can honestly say that I haven’t cooked anything since they left. I’ve done a few microwave dishes (like Mom’s custard recipe and some instant oatmeal), but other than that… I’ve been lucky enough to not have to cook.
Or clean.
My daughter and I painted our nails and watched movies.
We went up to the convenience store and bought Little Debbie Brownies and Sprite (for me). We came home and snuggled and laughed and watched movies. We ate chips and shared a Subway sandwich. We took turns watching Curious George and chick flicks. When we felt like it, we got the mail.
“Mom, can I have some milk?”
“Sure, just bring me a cup,” I said.
“There’s no clean ones, Mom… wait! There’s the clink ones…” She produced a crystal goblet. They’re normally off-limits (since they were wedding gifts, and my son had shattered one and I shattered the other and that only left 2 and I need at least 2 for nights when I cook romantic dinners for 2), but the last two days I have taken on a “sure, fine, whatever” attitude.
So she brought me a clink glass and the milk. I filled the glass. She took a sip, set in the edge of a chair and it spilled everywhere. I sat up to pick the glass up and my hand landed in a pile of Sour Cream and Onion Chips.
Oh my…
In other news: my daughter swigged the last of the chocolate milk, I hadn’t bothered bathing either one of us, and the curtains stayed shut. No natural light was allowed in our party.

Yesterday afternoon, I looked around and saw around me an absolute pig pen. There was dirty cotton balls (used to remove polish), empty Sprite bottles (plural), brownie wrappers (plural), piles of clean unfolded laundry, piles of blankets we were using to snuggle… and EVEN THEN I was too indifferent to try very hard. I knew I should have, but it just felt so good to have the pressures of housekeeping OFF for one day (okay, almost TWO) that I basked fully in it. Then I got a blessed text from my husband.
“I’m pretty tired. I was going to come home tonight, but I think I’ll take off in the morning.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I text back, fully knowing that it would give me a grace period for getting the house clean.
Well after the high school graduation ceremonies last night (in the which my cousin graduated and we all clapped our brains out),
(yes that’s the entire graduating class -shortest graduation EVER)
we visited with my parents and then made our way home.
At 10:30 that night, I found my daughter at the kitchen sink.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I cleaned this sink out,” she said, “I’m going to do the dishes.”

Well, SOMEONE ought to be doing something -the house was a wreck. It reminded of the day I went to visit my boyfriend (now husband) during the summer we spent apart. He had to go to work, and I sat at his house and waited for him. All of his roommates had to work, and I hated just SITTING there so I thought I’d make a fresh batch of cookies.
But the kitchen was too dirty.
Their trash can was homemade, for crying out loud -fashioned from 2x4s. I washed the dishes, the oven, the counters and the table. I swept and I arranged things to look a little nicer, and then I thought I’d bake them some fresh chocolate chip cookies.
I opened the cupboard to find… no mixing bowl, no measuring cups OR spoons, and absolutely NO ingredients to make cookies. I went to the store and bought the tiny size of everything (you know the cute little bag of flour that weighs a whole pound maybe?) along with a mixing bowl and cups, went back to the bachelor pad (which housed a big screen TV but no hand mixer) and baked a big batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Just as the second batch came out, the first roommate came home. I still remember the sound of the screen door slamming and the sound of him breathing in deeply.
“It smells like a woman in here,” he said, and then proceeded to eat 10 cookies.

Well… my house is at that bachelor pad point. And it most definitely DOES NOT smell like a woman in here. My dutiful little daughter stayed up with me until after 11:30, rising the dishes and putting them in the drainer. It made the job go by so much faster to have someone to talk with.
“Thank you so much for helping without even being asked,” I said, “You’re a great girl.”

She’s getting better and better at stacking the dishes.
After we were done, she hopped off her chair and went into the living room to fold the clothes. (Warning: this image might be appalling to most viewers. Discretion is advised.)

“Honey,” I said, “Let’s go to bed and fold those in the morning.”
“Mom, I want to just make you happy,” she said.
“Oh, Lace. That’s not your job to make me happy. I AM happy already. Let’s go crawl in bed and I’ll tell you some stories.”
She ditched the clothes in a heartbeat.
Now the living room actually looks a million times worse than it is. I’ll have it cleaned up and shining in no time. The laundry will take a little longer, but with my little helper we’ll have it done quick.
And do I regret the after shock from my bachelor weekend with my 5 year old?

Not one little bit.


  1. Awesome.
    You’re story about the cookies at your hubby’s old bachelor pad: hilarious. Especially the last line. “It smells like a woman in here!” I about fell off my chair from laughing. Men!

Speak Your Mind