Although the only thing keeping me and my husband together at this point is this small little thing called the LAW, neither of us are actively participating in the marriage. He is, however, an active participant of other seemingly exciting extracurricular activities. This was demonstrated this morning when he cocked his head just so, that his neck was in clear view long enough for me to notice the unmistakable shape and color of a hickey. High school personified? Perhaps. Or maybe just blatant disregard to the notion that his wife (this whole legal system really does get in the way sometimes), though at times may not know what she is doing, certainly sees what he has been doing.

            This was the first weekend that Jason, my almost-former husband, had seen Lyv in almost 7 weeks. Confession: I welcomed the 2 day break with open arms, as I clutched my cherished bottle of Mango wine that had been sing-songing my name for so long I really thought I’d started to hear things. Jason insisted I meet him in the parking lot of Target on Friday, and I obliged. Sometimes it’s easier to meet in parking lots than it is to argue the reason why it looks bad to “hand-off” an 18 month old in said parking lot. So there we were, separated by one of the parking medians where the Target Corporations have planted such nice foliage, discussing future drop-off and pick-up destinations concerning what is now our only common interest: Lyv. As I handed her to Jason, she began to cry, but I am confident in his parenting skills. I knew if she became unbearable, he’d be driving her back to my house that night and I was okay with this. However, because I had agreed to this arrangement, I had to rush home and enjoy this bottle of wine.

            STAT.

            I literally shoved the wine inside a 10 pound bag of Publix ice and shut the freezer door with such gusto that I expected someone to applaud my acting skills. I even flipped my hair back for effect. No dice. But the wine was cold within 15 minutes and I was swimming in a sea of giggles within 30. Life was… wait- how long had it been since I’d been alone without at least one child? Apparently too long because it took a half-filled SOLO cup of my beloved wine for me to sustain a slip and fall injury in my very own parking lot while rushing to get into MAN’s car. Before I knew it, I was in full knee-to-ground action, except I wasn’t playing Guitar Hero.

            I looked like an asshole. I felt like I sprained my ankle. I knew I permanently damaged my ego. I needed more wine.

            Fast forward through a blissful weekend with MAN, where we had made no other plans than to just be together. We slept late, we sat at our coffee place for hours, I went for long runs while he stayed in and played video games. (It is not, in my opinion, healthy to have 2 runners in a relationship. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. He loves my philosophy…) We went out to dinner AND lunch the next day, without worrying about sippy cups, diaper bags, and strollers. And if food ended up on the floor, we knew it was one of us.

            It is now Sunday, and Jason dropped Lyv off this morning. It is today that I realize my husband’s extracurricular activities are not in any way parallel to mine. They do not involve making sure Abbi has 2 dozen square cut pieces of cornbread to take to school for her holiday party, which thanks to MAN, we were able to procure. They do not involve getting down on all fours- well, maybe in another context- scouring the contents under her bed looking for a past due library book. She’s only in kindergarten and I’ve already made her delinquent in the eyes of some librarian. God help me. I’m drinking your nectar so any assistance you could muster up would be of great appreciation. My activities involve sneaking a kiss here and there from MAN so that my daughters do not have questions that are beyond their years. I am trying to keep them privy to only what revolves around them in their world: bath time, that it’s not okay to write on walls unless it’s washable crayons, and that as of recent, it is no longer acceptable to eat 3 day old macaroni and cheese stuck to the carpet. Please just throw it away.

            Or hand it to me. Please.

            I digress. Upon Jason’s returning Lyv this morning, (and no, it was not at Target, but in fact at my house) his car apparently decided not to start. He asked me if I could go outside and jump him. I wanted to say something smart, because it’s in my nature to bark, “Speaking of jumps, what other acrobatics took place while that hickey was being left on your neck, my friend?”  Instead, I moved my car over to his and 2 minutes later, he was on his merry way.

            My point is this: I understand that in the heat of passion, anyone can get carried away. Finger nails, biting, sucking on someone’s neck for too long, whatever the case may be. But if you are going to drop your daughter off and not hide the fact that you are sleeping around to “fill the lonely void that has become your love life” (which is pretty much the response I got, verbatim) at least wear a turtleneck if you are going to ask your wife for a friggin’ favor. Especially regarding batteries, jumping, and revving of engines.

            Thanks so much!

P.S. In the future, when asked, fess up. The difference between a bruise and a love bite is apparent, even to a 14 year old. I should know.