The Wife I Want To Be is at war with the Wife I Am.

It’s a raging and never-ending battle, with each side making gains and taking losses almost continuously.  “To arms!  To arms!,” I yell.  (FYI, I’m not sure which Me is yelling that.  It gets a little confusing coordinating all the skirmishes when the enemy is myself.)

Recently, my dad invited Greg to accompany him on an awesome canoe trip down Utah’s Green River.

I understand it’s a true, roughin’-it, float-the-river adventure complete with gourmet food and soft bedding.  And, wise men that they are, they both came straight to me to see what I thought about Single Mommin’ It for 9 days to make Greg’s trip possible.

Ah, crap! I thought glumly.

“Of course!” I said cheerfully.  I am, after all, graciousness personified.  (Ha!)

I mean, really.  Do I want to be the kind of wife who stands in the way of Greg’s opportunities?  (Yes?) No!  Of course I don’t.  That would be selfish and small of me.

Now, to be fair, Greg has had the kids many-a-weekend while I’ve wandered away for work or for respite with my girlfriends, and he rarely asks for the same favor in return.  Once upon a time, when I was a newer and nicer wife, I scheduled guys’ weekends away for Greg and his friends.  But then I found myself a touch overwhelmed with all the family scheduling, so I broke the bad news.  “Listen up!” I said.  “I ain’t plannin’ my time away and yours.  If Guy Time is important to you, you’ve gotta plan it yourself, pal.”

Except I didn’t say ain’t.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever said ain’t.  And, as far as I can tell, I ain’t ever gonna say ain’t.  So I’m not sure why I’m channeling an imaginary gunslinger.  I suppose Utah and thoughts of the Wild, Wild West are getting the best of me.  Hang in there, cowboys!  This here post’ll meander somewhere eventually.

Anyway, the point is, I really didn’t have a good enough reason to keep Greg away from this:

Which ought to explain why I’m at home now with my 5 kiddos, sucking it up, putting on my big girl chaps, and bringing the Mom-Only smackdown.  And, by smackdown, I mean absentmindedly saying, “Yes, yes; you can have another Otter Pop” over and over again.  ‘Cause that’s discipline at its finest!

We’re on Day 3 now of Greg’s Grand Adventure, and it’s going just fine.

But I’ll tell ya: this whole trip extravaganza resulted in one unexpected benefit that has been so overwhelmingly enjoyable that it might just make the Otter-Pop-sugar-high sacrifices completely worthwhile.

And that benefit is

The Dread.

Surprisingly, though, not my dread.  Oh, no.  Not my dread of forgetting a kid at school or neglecting a dance rehearsal.  Not my dread of sleeping through the alarm or overlooking a preschool snack.

I’m talking about the Dread that, even as I type, is shadowing my loving father and my dear husband.  Slinking after them on the water.  An ever-present itch at the back of their necks.

One of the little-known benefits of blogging is the abject terror thrust upon friends and family who never know when something will become blog fodder.  So, more than any other comment before my men left on their journey, I heard this… “How bad is it going to be, Beth?  How thoroughly will you roast us while we’re gone?”

The Dread.

Bwahahahaha! (I steeple my fingers while looking malevolently out from beneath my eyebrows.)

I truthfully had no plans to roast them.  Nor, to be honest, do I ever know what will burst forth onto blog paper.

But I’d just HATE to disappoint them.  Imagine… all that Dread for absolutely nothing.  It seems like a patent waste of terror, and I’m not sure it’s an easily renewed resource.  I mean, what if there’s a limited supply of the stuff?  And what if I squander theirs needlessly?  That would be sad.  So very, very sad.

Unfortunately, even though we’re a third of the way through the trip, I’m still at a loss for how to skewer them.

The Wife I Want To Be is at war with the Wife I Am.

Come on, Wife I Am!  Get your rear in GEAR!  Marshal your forces!  You’ve got a battle to win.  Ride, Lady, ride!