Walk A Mile, Sweetie, Walk A Mile.

Every once in a great while, all of my stress, anger, frustration, fatigue and supreme irritation pays off. The simplest of things - an apology/concession - makes my farking day.

Yesterday, Rob stayed home with the kids and I attended a three-hour-long focus group. It paid $150 in gift cards to Safeway so it was worth him missing work PLUS it got me away from house and kids for an afternoon. It was the most welcome break in the world!!! I talked with other adults, I got to use polysyllabic words, and I put on makeup for the first time in six months. No joke. Last time I work makeup was for a Christmas party in December. And I got my commute to Pleasanton; it's only 20 minutes but it was loud music, windows down and in spite of my worries I had a good time singing at the top of my lungs to "Two Princes" by the Spin Doctors.

Flashback to the '90s anyone? We may be the most boring generation but we had AWESOME music!

So Rob got to experience a day in my shoes. Hell, he had a measly afternoon. I was gone from noon until a few minutes after five. He had the whole crew too; it was Beth, Robby & Boy. Heh. I never really thought about the ramifications of leaving him alone with three rugrats all day. I just figured he'd be fine because more often than not, I'm fine.

I was wrong.

I walked in the door to see our newspaper strewn about the living room, Beth exuberantly wadding it up and throwing it into the air because it made Robby laugh, Boy running back and forth between the living room and bedroom, a kitchen full of dirty dishes, the TV blaring, and tales of chaos and woe. He was WHIPPED. He was GRUMPY. He was DONE.

Heh heh.

I quietly listened to him tell me about how Beth had gallantly comandeered snack time in the kitchen, how he had to change a poopy diaper (God forbid), how Robby didn't stop crying the ENTIRE TIME I WAS GONE, how his head was just swimming from all the noise and activity. I did my very best to keep a sympathetic smile on my face while I held his hand and composed myself to feel a bit sorry for him.

I tried, I really did!

But at the end of the night, when he's whining for the 15th time about how tired he is (something I do frequently only to get poo-pooed away and hushed because I can't complain - all I do is sit at home all day and I don't do hard physical labor) and moping around while he picks up the living room, I do feel the tiniest bit of sympathy. I had three and a half years to work into taking care of three kids. He abruptly got tossed into the lion pit. I have a system in place and I know how to deal with them.

Then he says it. He puts the "good" in "good night." He says to me, as he's picking up a pile of dirty dishes, "Hun, I want to apologize. I'm sorry I ever made fun of you for being tired. I'll never do that again."

*sigh*

Sometimes you really do have to walk a mile in someone else's shoes to appreciate what they go through.