Faking fate

This is how it goes. Husband gets invited to conference. Tells wife. Wife is unhappy but hides it well. Husband explains how incredibly important this conference is to his career and he won't enjoy a minute of it- especially the part of being away from the loving embrace of his family. Wife feels guilty for feeling angry about this. Husband tells wife - over his shoulder as he exits the room - that he'll only be gone three days and will be staying at an exclusive resort on a Tucson golf course, complete with spa and Kobe beef dinners. Wife throws glass at his disappearing back.

I'm sure there are some wives who are happy to see the back of their husbands. I don't happen to be one of them. Not only because I love my husband - which I do - but mainly because that means that I have one less pair of hands to help run this ship that we call home. And I'm not talking about a captain swanning around on the foredeck - I'm talking about some navvie to help me swab the latrines.

Stuart leaves tomorrow for a two day trip to deal with a family emergency in Indiana, returns for two days and then departs again for the aforementioned Westward Look Resort Tucson. This means that - except for the days in which I get help from Alison - I will be 24/7 with the little hoodlums - sorry, dears. This would be difficult under normal circumstances, but since when do things run normally when they really need to? First off, Matti takes sick. The weekend is off to a great start with an early Saturday morning dash to the doctor. Earache? Molars coming in? No, he has hand, foot and mouth disease. Dash home. Adminster tylenol, cold soda, and Dora the Explorer. Ben starts to feel feverish. More tylenol and popsicles. Stuart, stressed out, has headed off to the office to tidy up loose ends before his trip. I move from sick child to cranky child, attempting to tidy the house and fold laundry at the same time. Fun! Then I check my email. Crazy lady from across the street has decided to go ballistic on me. Accusations fly. Epithets scream at me from computer desktop. One of the nicer things she says is that I should get a life. I pause and look around at the ruins of my living room, and feel a distinct ache begin to pound from one of my back teeth - maybe I shouldn't have cancelled that dentist's appointment after all.

Doesn't she realize that I have a life - and, quite frankly, on day's like this she's welcome to it?

This always seems to happen to us. Stuart leaves on a trip, and suddenly ants infest the house, the van breaks down and the water heater explodes. Plagues and locusts are no doubt on the horizon. The only thing we can do is try and hoodwink destiny. Fake out the Fates. Have Stuart plan the trip, book the tickets, but secretly plan to go on the following weekend. That way, when food poisoning turns our living room into the pea soup scene from the Exorcist, Stuart can return from his unneccesary trip to the airport - never having intended to get on a plane anyway.

And be ready to swab out those latrines.