Maj and Kallan and some friends are playing upstairs, and I sit down to write a post.
I sit quietly at my desk and think about how to start.
Mark pushes himself back from his desk with a sudden irritated movement, “What is that noise?”
I am not really paying attention, and there are many noises in our house, so I say, “No idea, babe.”
Mark is silent for a few minutes, but then he turns in his chair to face me, “You are driving me crazy. What are you doing and when will you be done?”
I have no idea what he is talking about, “I am just sitting here . . . what is wrong with you?”
He stares at me for a few seconds, “THAT! That noise! What are you doing?”
Oh.
I hold up the frozen Otter Pop I have not yet opened and I squeeze it, “This? This is what is bothering you?”
“Yes. Could you stop that?”
“But this is how I eat them . . . every time. I have to warm and smash them before I open them, so that all of the connective ice tissue is broken down. I always do this!” I give another section of the Otter Pop a good hard squeeze and then I rub my hands hard up and down my thighs.
“And that! What are you doing?”
“OK, so the Otter Pops are freezing cold and squeezing them makes my hands hurt because of my allergy to cold and so I have to take warming breaks during the process of frozen-treat smashing to keep my hands from swelling.”
Mark just stares at me.
I give the Otter Pop a final squeeze and then rip off the wrapper’s top and take a slurpy bite that is not really a bite because the flavored ice is the perfect slushy consistency, “See? Yummy.”
Mark stares at me.
“Ummm, babe? This is how I always eat them. How are you only now bothered?”
“I don’t know, but at the moment, you are like nails on a chalkboard.”
“I know you did not just say that I am like nails on a chalkboard.”
“The noise. Just stop making the noise.”
“Geez. Tense much?”
Mark turns back to his computer and I try to eat my treat quietly. I know that I am not completely succeeding, because his shoulders tense every time I make a crinkling or slurping noise. I think about leaving the room, but as soon as I am done eating, I want to write a post. I can’t really work upstairs because the girls and their friends are running rampant. Mark will just have to deal.
This plan does not go so well.
He pushes his chair back again, all annoyed, “What are they doing up there?”
“The girls? They are dancing. I told them they could play music and dance.”
“I can’t think. All I can hear is the pounding of their feet above my head. How many of them are there?”
I giggle, “Just four. Ignore them, babe. They’re fine.”
I turn back to my typing assuming that Mark will ignore the noise . . . as I am ignoring the noise . . . as we always ignore the noise.
Oops.
Mark stomps past me and up the stairs, “Go outside!”
Uh oh.
I hear the hurried quiet of three girls, and the stubborn noise of one.
Kallan says, “No.”
Uh oh.
Mark is all pissed now, and he says, “Read a book, then. Be quiet!”
Kallan is sassy as can be, “Read books, Daddy? Really? You want the four of us to sit on the couch and all read books?”
“Go outside then! And stop talking like that!”
Kallan switches gears and is now all reasonable, “We don’t want to go outside. It’s hot outside.”
“THAT’S IT! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! EITHER GO OUTSIDE OR SEND YOUR FRIENDS HOME. GOT IT?”
I am not sure I have words to describe the silence that follows.
Mark never yells.
Through the silence I hear the shoving of four pairs of feet into four pairs of flip-flops.
The opening and closing of the sliding glass door into the back yard.
Mark stomps down the stairs.
He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I just can’t think with all that noise upstairs. I am trying to get some work done and I cannot even think.”
“I get it, babe.”
He turns to me with a sheepish face, “It is also possible I have had a tiny bit too much coffee today.”
“Silly man.”
“I just need a few hours of quiet.”
“I can do that.”
I head upstairs and out into the back yard. Four somber faces greet me. I explain that I forgot that Mark has to make some conference calls . . . my fault for saying they could dance and sing when he needed quiet.
My fault.
They nod their heads . . . that makes sense.
Quietly, we gather supplies and towels and bathing suits.
We head over to the lake for a few hours.
I realize as I sit at the lake and watch the girls and their friends swim that Mark has not had any time to himself since before he took the girls on vacation.
Oops.
My fault.
