May 9 2013
Last week Martin needed some alone time.
I know this because he said, “I need some alone time.”
Actually he said, “I need some alone time; I’m going for a walk.”
“Okay,” I replied, refrained from adding, “…fine by me because you’ve been a total grouch lately.”
I didn’t say that last part.
Well I sort of said it… with my eyes.
Anyway, back to walking and alone time. There’s no such thing as “alone time.” At best, if you shed the kids, you’re still stuck with a maniacal dog. Maisie runs circles around anyone attempting a walk. And while she’s running, she’s barking incessantly. Every so often, she swoops behind to bite your ankles.
That’s as alone as it gets.
But last week Martin couldn’t even manage that. He laced up his shoes and set out before dinner, but a chatty neighbor cornered him for an hour.
Later, he made a second attempt. This time the kids trailed him.
It was sunset when he struck out again, in a positively thunderous mood.
My cell rang 15 minutes later.
“I give up!” Martin yelled into the phone.
“What is your problem?” I hollered back. “I have the kids! You’re on your own!”
Martin made it through the woods and nearly reached the ridge when he felt another presence. He glanced back and spotted the straggler, skulking silently behind.
While on the phone, I asked him to snap a photo.
And I listened to him rave out for a few minutes.
“Okay, okay,” I finally interrupted. “I know you’re crabby and you want to be alone. I get it. But you’re really gonna be alone if you lose Mel. So you better get back here. And bring that damn cat with you!”