Day one:

My husband is gone. He has left me and the kids. I must learn to support myself, and my children on my own. How could he do this to me? To our family? He must not care at all…


His flight left at 6am, which means he left our home before the first round of attempted “wake up’s” which usually start around 4am.


Ok, so he didn’t “leave us”… he went on business trip; same thing though. Over the last few months I have stopped waking up for the night shift work. Late one night I was up for the fourth time, and I had a mini-meltdown (not mini,  but huge-meltdown). I cried, the kids cried, and I told my husband that I was done. I haven’t slept in five years. Children have been growing inside of me for five years. They have been feeding from my body, and relying on me for everything and I was done; at least for the night shift. Since my tantrum, Sean has been great about getting up with the girls. He makes sure they’ve all had their first “wake ups” and gone back to bed before he leaves for the gym in the morning.

Which brings me to my seat at the front of the struggle bus. The last two months have set me up for total failure. Now when the girls see my face, regardless of what time it is, it means it’s time to get up.


4am: Millie wakes up hysterical-for no reason at all. She’s gotten pretty vocal these days so I asked her a dozen or so questions to figure out what was wrong. I am convinced after this interrogation that she is a tiny terrorist, who’s only goal is to spread fear throughout the house.

She has succeeded. Evie is awake, questioning everything about the world as only a four-year-old can.

4:15am Livie- wide awake. Climbing up the walls like a spider monkey trying to commit suicide. The day has officially begun. My youngest Livie does not play the same games as my older two. Evie and Millie, now 4 and 2, will watch a movie and eat a snack while I rest (pass back out) on the couch. Not Livie, oh no, not a chance. If I blink too long she is IN the bathroom sink. IN the sink.


4:20 I think about all of the mean things I could text my husband for leaving me to deal with this all alone. It dawns on me that he probably hasn’t even arrived at the airport yet, so I save the mean texts in my notes and wait to send them until later.

By 5am fear has spread through the house and to my very core. I’ve been alone for exactly one hour and I’ve cried three times. I have warmed my coffee three times (hence the crying) and taken two sips… Not even gulps, but sips. We had a bag of white powdered donuts in the house which I carefully opened and tossed into the living room. Like hungry lion’s attacking a fresh steak they pounced, ripping the bag open and devouring the donuts. I sneak away to try and take one last solo pee for the week. I pulled down my pants, sat down, closed my eyes and sighed. I opened my eyes and they were all there. Right there, in front of my face.

Those three beautiful faces, my children. They look less like terrorists now, and more like drug lords with some leftover coke powder on their faces. Oh my cute little drug lords.

First text, 5:15am: I know you’re out there living the dream, drinking and mingling with other adults, just wanted to see if you even thought about me and the kids at home… you know they are you’re responsibility… this is your fault.. you and your sperm have a responsibility!….

Response: Hey, just heading through security… have a good day love you all.

Fuck you dude, don’t be sweet. I know you have a bloody mary already.

5:22am I’ve heard my name 37 times in the last five minutes.

5:32am I ask myself how hard it would be to sell these kids and start over again when Sean returns from his trip. I’m young, it wouldn’t be that bad?

5:42am I load the kids into the car, in their pjs, no shoes no socks. We go to Dunkin Donuts where I order two large coffees and a dozen donut holes. From the driver’s seat I throw donut holes at the drug lords and drink my coffee in peace. My Dunkin gives me a surge of adrenaline and since I’m almost certain that my kids aren’t really drug lords and they didn’t really slip me anything, I feel a false sense of confidence from my dear friend coffee.

Coffee, the only one who really gets me. He is loyal, and always there. He provides for me and my family unlike my husband who leaves us on a whim to go to “work” every day.

We go home and the day seems to have turned around. We start playing, I get dressed and put some make up on top of yesterday’s make up. I look at Evie and tell her how great of a week we are going to have. The day is going great.

7am. How the fuck is it only 7??

10am: I just received contact from the outside world… my yoga class for today has been cancelled. The whole world is conspiring against me.


For the drug lords: Song of the day Eric Clapton Cocaine

2 Replies to “Psychological Warfare: Day One”

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