Six thirty in the morning, the baby is up, and daddy wakes up with him.  Baby wants milk...daddy, such a good daddy, goes to get milk for the baby and there are maybe 5 drops of milk left in the carton.  Why didn't I just get up?  So of course that sets of a chain of events that could have been avoided if I just hadn't run out of milk.  Good wives don't run out of milk!  I'm sure of it.  So what does it say about me when we are out of the milk I bought on Saturday by Monday morning, often...quite often? This may seem trivial to you, but it is just a heavy, heavy load for me.  It feels like I'm always out of milk and that has to mean something!  It just has to.

I am the modern "older" mom...if you can call thirty five older.  My son is three years old.  My husband of five years is also thirty five.  I have a full time job outside the home, and it feels like a full time job in the home.   I run a small business.  My small business.  Like everything else in life, being your own boss has its benefits, like making my own schedule - although not really these days, and its shortfalls, like always having to be there.  Conflicting I know, but that is my life.  We live a comfortable middle class life, whatever that means.  Until a few months ago my husband was a stay at home dad, which was a roller coaster.  He has since returned to the workforce, and I am left figuring out which one of my family members will care for Sebastian any given day of the week, or taking him with me to what turns into a circus, but really my office.  I cook, clean, care, wipe whatever needs wiping...the counter top, the bathroom, the child, and work all day long.  Now that I think about it, it's a wonder we ever have milk at all. 

I married a hot-blooded Puerto Rican, and I am a warm-blooded Salvadorean.  My husband, we will call him Ricardo, is a mathematician who has found no pleasure in academic life.  He was a teacher, hated that, a stock broker, and hated that, a stay at home dad, and that didn't go too well..."I'm just not wired that way" he says.  And now he has found his calling...he is a home improvement specialist, I think that is the fancy name for it.  He loves working laying down tile, and fixing other people's houses.  Perhaps now that the calling has been found our "work in progress" house will get done.  He comes home dirtier and happier than he has ever been, and that makes me happy.  He has a temper that lights up with just a little match, or a very hot day even.  Through much help, and much practice with me he has gotten much better at mastering the art of taking deep breaths.  We, together have improved dramatically.  Long gone are the days when he would trick me out of the house and lock the door behind me...that really happened.  We laugh about it now.  Our arguments are much milder now, but every once in a while he misses Mr. Hyde and lets him out to play.  More than anything else I know Ricardo loves me and so we have committed to navigate together the path that is before us.  

So, my latest question is why do I constantly run out of milk?  What does it mean?  It absolutely must hide a much much deeper meaning.  I believe it comes from a place inside of me where there is a deficit of some kind.  I am fairly smart, sharp on most days and driven...so why in the world can't I keep milk in my fridge?  Now, I'm not saying all women run out of milk, but those of us who do are mostly repeat offenders.  I can't just settle.  I can't just accept that this is me and that I will never measure up to the impossible standards of always providing milk for my family.?

Ricardo likes to eat ice cream with milk mixed together.  He is very particular about the whole thing.  He has to have it in his special mug...a glass mug with indented square shapes and a large handle.  He pours a little milk, then adds ice cream, then adds more milk.  He stirs it up until it gets mostly melted.  Then he eats it, drinks it really with a spoon.  The nights when he has this treat it has to be two servings.  This is how particular he is about most things in his life.  He eats his fries before his sandwich or burger too...don't know anyone else who does that.  He hangs his clothes two fingers apart from the next garment.  His hangers all match.  His cars are absolutely immaculate.  I am not allowed to leave anything in the cars overnight for goodness sake.  He is at least five minutes early to every appointment.  When he travels on 5 day trips he takes 10 pair of underwear and socks.  He likes to tuck his shirts in every pair of bottoms he owns...even sweat pants.  Notice I said he likes to.  I don't let him.  A few weeks ago he dressed Sebastian, our son, and they both walked out with their shirts tucked in. It was cute but not for a public appearance.  He is an avid reader and researcher, our friends call him "Rick-o-pedia" because he as so much knowledge about things most of us never even think about.  He has an opinion on most political issues of the day, and he will share freely.??Me on the other hand, well I'm a little different, actually quite different.  I see no problem with leaving my shoes wherever I take them off, or my pants, or my scrunchies.  I have a smallish pile of clothes in the closet that should all be on hangers.  It's a neat pile.  I have a huge purse, and we all know what that means.  I carry everything in it and can never find anything.  I have a messy office too so there is no favoritism.  I try...I really do, to arrive to all of my appointments on time, and I do most of the time, but I am rushing out of the house and putting my shoes on in the car.  I invest very little time on political issues.  I care about many things, but don't care to debate anyone over anything. ?

So two very different people made a little boy.  Sebastian is three and is now very clear on what he likes and does not like.  He loves me and he tells me so everyday.  It's amazing!  That is not to say that he is like me.  When he gets home he takes off his shoes and puts them in the closet.  He takes off his clothes and puts them in the hamper.  He picks up his toys and puts them in their place.  If he spills he stops what he is doing to clean it up.  He does not mix his cereal with his milk.  All of this would be great, if it weren't for the fact that now I'm being watched by two.  When I come home, or even when we have company he makes sure that everyone takes off their shoes before they step on the carpet.  If I help him clean up his toys he makes sure I don't sneak any cars into the train bag.  "Mommy that doesn't go there".  He's three!!  One great thing he got from his dad is that he is very friendly.  He wants to know everyone's names, and then he will repeat their names and say "Hi..." and repeat the name.  It's really quite impressive. Not just because he is my son.??

So here I am, in a house with at 35 year old type A, and a mini type A'ish.  These are the wrong people to run out of milk with.  Sometimes I think my mind is just so preoccupied with making sure I'm not going to get in trouble for so many...so many things, that I don't even realize I served Sebastian milk in the morning and left two ounces in the carton.  That excuse does not really work though.  Inevitably, Ricardo will be the one trying to make his "three simple steps" ice cream and SURPRISE!

??In desperate need to find a solution I have come up with "three simple steps" of my own.  One, buy a carton of milk every single day after work, no matter what.  Only thing is that I would have to find a place to hide it, because I WILL get in trouble for having too much milk.  Two, if I go to serve Sebastian milk and notice that there is only enough for one serving plus two ounces, give Sebastian the two ounces, he's easier to convince that it will be so much fun to go to the store.  Only problem is that I for sure will not notice that I am only leaving two ounces for the ice cream fix.  Three, if the inevitable has happened and the dreaded two ounces sit before me I can mix some other available liquid like half and half, as if I won't get caught for that one. 

I think the bottom line is that there is just no solution in sight for me.  My "three simple steps" are all doomed to failure.  So all that is left is to beg for clemency and leniency...after all I am a repeat offender