Late Night with Socks and Undies

While sitting here late at night waiting for the clothes drier to buzz, I just had a massive realization. I have realized the main difference between my husband and I. My husband has an ability that I covet.

Every evening at about eight or nine o'clock, my husband turns off. He has his little ritual. He goes upstairs to take a bath and shave. Yes, he actually has to pre-shave in the evening in order to get a clean shave in the morning. He's a manly man like that.

(After a week of leave I practically begged him to shave tonight. He was starting to look like one of the local rednecks. I was getting scared.)

But I digress.

Once he's had his manly shave and manly bath, he is out of service for the rest of the night. Unless it involves sex or sleep, he just isn't interested in anything anymore. All of the things that were on his mind all day are gone. All of the tasks he had to complete are either done or not, but they are far from his mind. To him, night is time to sleep. All of his problems will be there to be worried about in the morning.

But me? My mind is just coming alive at night. I've spent my day dealing with chaos and a thousand little daily emergencies. It isn't until things are dark and quiet that I can even begin to worry about the big things.

All of my unfinished tasks sit there mocking me. All of his unfinished tasks sit there mocking me too. Nighttime is time for me to worry about what kind of mother I am, what kind of school we can afford, what kind of example I set, what kind of friend I am, and what kind of wife sits brooding over every mess her husband has made.

I hate nighttime me.

I'd give anything to be like my husband. God knows, I've tried.

But then again, if I wasn't up past midnight waiting for the laundry, the kids would be wearing dirty clothes to school. Maybe there is some value to having one of us be constantly on call.

Or I could just do the laundry earlier in the day. Yeah. That would work too.