About a week before Mark came home, I was driving along and saw a yellow road sign that read: SHARE THE ROAD. The word SHARE seemed to leap off the sign at me. It hit me very suddenly that in a few days I would have to do just that -SHARE. Share everything with Mark. The bathroom, the toothpaste, the bed, the children...all of it, even the very vehicle I was driving. After all, we only have one car and he would want to drive it sometimes, too.
It was a jarring thought.
Now this seemed strange to me (so if you are befuddled just keep reading) because I truly longed for Mark to come home and "rescue" me from the trials and tribulations of single motherhood. I could gladly share a little housework, childrearing, and lawn mowing. However, when it came to a few other things, as I said, I was shaken. I had grown accustomed to my little routine.
Well, I kept driving and out the thought out of my mind for another week. We had a joyous reunion when Mark came home. But within a couple of days, I stood in the bathroom having a flashback to that yellow sign. My typically neat, tidy-for-a-whole-week bathroom could not survive the onslaught of hurricane Mark. Within hours of being cleaned it seemed that water spots stained the mirror, towels and dirty clothing littered the floor, and toothpaste shamelessly smeared the sink. I will not mention the toilet.
SHARE
What did it all mean? I sighed and thought about the ten piles of laundry hepaed up from his now-empty sea bags. I would hav eto wash those suckers and then clear out some extra drawer space for his clothes. And all that other "stuff" he brought back...gobs and gobs of gear, books, and a few Iraqi souvenires. Our garage was overflowing. But it was getting late.
I guessed that fish sticks were out for dinner because Mark hates that kind of thing. I would have to cook "real" food. I was pooped just thinking about it all. I could hear squealing and laughing coming from the living room where Mark and the boys were having a wrestling/tickle-fest.
SHARE
A decision had to be made.
I could stomp around bitterly for a few days, bemoaning my dirty, cluttered house. I could feel sorry for myself and be a fool.
Or I could smile at the messes and thank God that Mark is here to make them. I could lay everything down right now. My pride, my independence, my self...and embrace the real gift of being Mark's helper, the gift of having him home.
It wasn't a tough choice.:>
