Instinct and Oblivion

My husband and I successfully share one set of instincts. Now, they're pretty powerful and keen instincts, providing supersonic hearing, a wicked sixth sense, and an ability to be able to handle three children talking at you at once ("She's in my spot!", "He took my cup!", "Why do I have to do the litter box?!").


However, like all super powers, this amazing instinct does have a kryptonite. It cannot be shared. 


For instance, most of the time I am carrying the instinct. I am top of eight little lives, a house, a husband, dozens of little critters, and once in a while, me. In the midst of a particular moment of chaos; early evening, cooking dinner on the stove, helping with at least four kids' homework, disciplining kids who had less than glamorous notes from their teachers, my son complaining of a bug bite, my daughter covered in sand from outside, the baby on the counter playing with pots and pans in the sink, and my husband is carrying on a conversation with me like we were at Sunday brunch in the park. 


This uncanny ability to be able to tune out the chaos is extraordinary. Sometimes I am jealous of this condition of oblivion, but then, every once in a while there's a shift, a change, and the Instinct swaps with the Oblivion. Jay is suddenly on the ball, hears everything, cleans messes, changes diapers, plans dinners, seeks out too-quiet kids, whacks the slackers, and knows what's going on. I, on the other hand, no longer equipped with the Instinct, temporarily inherit Oblivion. Oh, it's nice here. Pleaseant. And I don't have to give much of a hoot because Jason's got it. Whew. Yeah, I take advantage of this! And so does he. He plays, snuggles, and bonds a lot during these times. Very productive on some of the things he may have been slacking or procrastinating on.


We make a great team, Jay and I. Eleven years together and instead of growing apart, we grew around and entwined with each other.


I hope that each one of my children find the same kind of love in their lives. XOXO