And that's where I snapped.
"I can't do this. I need a break. I'm sick. I can't be in charge of everything when I think there is a pony in the kitchen and can't you empty the damn dishwasher? And for the record, I do not have bad genes. They come from your family!"
I said a lot more than that but it was all nasty, mean and not necessarily true. There was no pony in our kitchen. My husband backed out of the corner I put him in and the next day surprised me by saying, "I've worked it out and we're going away for a week. No kids, no nothing, just you and me."
And for a brief moment I was happy, I had an out. I knew there was an end in sight. And then I asked him, "When are we going?" Knowing that one week out of four were pretty good odds but still...
And as it turns out, we're going down to Sanibel. For one solid week, we'll have no kids, no nothing, just the two of us. And one tag along bag full of tampons, pads and pain killers.
I'm going to be shark bait, chum.
Wait. You don't think that was his plan all along, do you?