Time For Each Other

This journal documents our sex life through the week, from Saturday to Friday. It is written and posted with my wife's permission.

*** Saturday + Sunday

Wendy and I can't do much on the weekends, with three kids bopping about. They always seem to be under foot. We hug and kiss in the kitchen, and the kids make their "yuck" noises, as teens are want to do when viewing parental displays of affection. That's about it during the day, and night isn't much better. I get up at 6 AM with the dogs, and I'm lucky if I can stay awake for John Stewart at 11 PM. And even if I still have some energy left, my son doesn't go to bed until midnight or later. We can't entice him to go to bed any earlier, and we certainly can't force the issue. he's over 6 feet tall, and emotionally impaired. It's all about reducing conflict, as explained in The Explosive Child by Dr. Greene. This is one of those "basket C" things; we have to let it go. So Wendy and I are asleep long before he is, and the only sound leaching through the wall of our bedroom and into his room next door is an occasional snore.

*** Monday

6 AM, time to feed our dogs, Sunny, a yellow lab, and Oreo, a terrier-akita mix. Then I let them outside and bring them back in, while checking my email and daydreaming just a bit. Once the kids are in school, Wendy and I can have a rendezvous. I am imagining her lying on the bed. It's been a long time since I've touched her. I start by kissing her lips gently, then I caress her body. Just wishful thinking for now, but maybe in a few hours it will come true.

The computer interrupts my fantasy with several beeps. 6:30, time to roust the girls. Elizabeth jumps up and gets ready for school. John, the 6 foot teen-ager with more issues than a magazine, doesn't go to school until 9. It's a special program, tailored to his needs. Just three classes; that's all he can handle. And two of them are electives. But it's something! For two years we had to keep him home. Legally, we called it home schooling, but there was no schooling about it. We just managed him 24 by 7. How often, during those two years, did Wendy and I have sex? I don't know; it's all a blur. Maybe a quickie once every couple of weeks, if that. Well now they all go to school, and since I work from home, I actually get to touch my wife once in a while. Maybe today is the day. But I can't think about that right now. I have to get the girls off to school, and then John at 9:00. After that Wendy and I have three heavenly hours to ourselves.

I walk past John's room and enter Mary's, stepping over the clothes that are all over the floor. I call her name and tell her it's time to get up. She responds with stark silence. That's not a good sign. It happens once a week or so. If she can't say good morning, or at least utter a few vowels, then she has a migraine, caused by MSG, or red#40, or some other trigger that has not yet been identified. We made a mistake somewhere along the line, or she did. She's not going to make first hour, or second; she might not make it in at all today. The school has made many allowances for her, just as they have for John. It's amazing how much they do for our two children. So her high school will understand when we call and say she is sick in bed, though she still has to make up the work. It's not an easy path for her to travel, nor for us.

I check back at 8, and again at 9, and still silence. We get John off to school, and this was suppose to be our time together, but Mary is still in bed. She might sleep through the morning, but she might not; and she never knocks. Many times she has burst into our bedroom with a question that could hardly be called urgent. "Do you think I can go to Lindsey's tomorrow after school?" or some such interrogative. I can't really make passionate love to my wife with that hanging over my head. So Wendy and I sit in the office and get some work done, waiting for Mary to wake up and go to school. She does, eventually, around 12:30. John is scheduled to come home at 1:00, so this day is a write-off.

*** Tuesday

It's 10:00, and all three kids are in school. I'm tempted to tear Wendy's clothes off and make love to her right here on the office floor. But then it would be over in 10 minutes, and what's the point of that? Bad enough we do that late at night, hoping nobody bursts into the bedroom during this critical juncture. Better to take our time and really enjoy each other. We climb the stairs, pull the shades, and slowly begin to undress, when suddenly I hear the dogs from below. It's the alternating "bark, woof, bark, woof, bark,woof" that they do in tandem when somebody approaches our house. If it's Jehovah's witnesses again, we're simply not home! They'll go away, and we can pick up where we left off. Wendy lifts the shade a fraction of an inch and peeks out the bedroom window, only to find her parents ambling up the walk. Now why are they here?! I put my shirt back on as Wendy dons her blouse. We go downstairs and greet them, thankful that they didn't show up 20 minutes later. What would they have stumbled upon then? Both of us in the shower? Well they never call; they just show up. That's the way it is.

"We were in the area, and we thought we'd drop by."

I find it difficult to chide them for arriving unannounced. It would only serve to confuse and derail our social harmony. Their thoughts would go something like this.

"Is there a problem? We don't see you all winter while we're in Florida, and we really want to see you during the summer. But if you don't want us to come over..." (Picture a really sad face here.)

Jesus Christ, we're almost 50 and our parents can still give us guilt trips! But if I'm brutally honest, if I try to explain that Wendy and I haven't had sex in a week, and would they please leave ... well, their 80. They wouldn't understand. When they say they're "getting some action", it means they don't have to take their fiber today. So I don't say a word, and Wendy is circumspect as well. We talk about Papa's health, and the declining economy, and the weather; and by the time we get them out the door it is after noon. In the words of the Moody Blues, "Another day's useless energy spent."

*** Wednesday

John's aid can't help him today; she has to stay home with a sick child. According to his IEP, John can only attend one class without his aid, auto mechanics; and we have to take him to school, and then bring him home. (His aid usually performs this taxi service for us, definitely above and beyond the call.) So we get him into school around 11, and we might have an hour to ourselves if we're lucky. But the phone rings, and Wendy talks to her sister in-law for 40 minutes. I'm sitting, waiting, twiddling, trying to keep things tucked away inside my pants as I listen to half the conversation.

"They raised the rent again? ... Have you looked around for another apartment? ... How are your nursing classes going?"

She hangs up, and 20 minutes later John walks in the door. Another morning slips away.

*** Thursday Morning

John gets a late start, but he's finally in school. We have an hour, maybe two. As Wendy slides her hands up under my shirt, a text message comes rolling into her cell phone. It's from Elizabeth.

"Pls bring project, dining room table, due today. Thx."

Wendy rushes the project to school, then picks up some prescriptions that we were suppose to get yesterday. Two more errands and the morning is spent. Maybe we can sneak something in tonight. we're going through some serious withdrawal here.

*** Thursday Evening

Around 8:30 PM I have all the kids in different rooms, watching tv, surfing the Net, and playing video games respectively. This is a good situation. Their average age is 16, but once in a while they'll fight like cats and dogs. Especially John and Elizabeth. His disorder includes impulsivity, a low frustration threshold, and a lack of self control. Combine this with his physical stature, and it's a volatile situation. They need to be monitored, at least from a distance. I can't just close my bedroom door and turn a deaf ear. But sometimes, if they're all in different rooms and content, Wendy and I can have a little time together while listening for footsteps coming up the stairs, or the now familiar cry of "John, stop that!" Any of these signals will cause us to abort the mission rather abruptly. I tell John I'm going up to check on Mom, to see what she's watching on tv, and oddly enough I think he understands. He is much more aware of us and our needs than his sisters, who are rather self-absorbed, and oblivious to the world around them. I'm sure John won't bother us. But he and Elizabeth could still get into a squabble. That could happen any time, even if they've been getting along famously for several hours, so I have to keep one ear open for trouble.

I climb the stairs and find that Wendy has just come out of the shower. She's lying in bed with just a towel, and a sheet at the ready in case a kid pops in unexpectedly. Seeing me in the doorway, she removes her towel and calls me over. I smell her hair and taste her clean skin. I'd like to start at the top and kiss her all over. I gently kiss her breasts, one at a time, and we are both aching for each other, when suddenly I hear a call from downstairs.

"Dad."

It's not urgent, not a family emergency, but not something I can ignore either. Wendy pulls the sheet up to her neck as I open the bedroom door. I call down to Elizabeth, asking her what she wants, and she replies, "Can you help me with my chemistry homework? We're doing grams to moles, and looking for the limiting reagent. It's double displacement, and I just can't get this one to balance." Ok, I use to know how to do that some 30 years ago. I go downstairs and spend a half hour balancing chemical reactions, and another half hour explaining the mysteries of logs and exponentials. Finally I send her off to bed, but Mary and John are still roaming about the house. I don't think we're going to do much tonight.

I go back up stairs and assume my traditional position next to my wife, as the tv washes over us. She is propped up on pillows, actually paying attention to what is on the screen. I lie flat on my back, listening to the CSI marathon. We've seen it all before, but amongst 64 channels, this is the best thing on. Horatio Cane inserts dramatic pauses in his speaking style, just like James T. Kirk. It's a little over the top, but I think it adds flavor to the show. I like it. Wendy gently pets my hair with her right hand as I reach under her robe and stroke her breasts. This is what we do almost every night. I can feel 18 years of love and marriage in her touch. We never get tired of caressing each other, and sometimes that's enough. So loving, so peaceful; we don't really have to have sex tonight.

As if in confirmation, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and I quickly pull my hand out from under her robe. She continues to pet my hair, as that is fairly innocuous. The door bursts open and Mary asks if we've seen her cell phone. We say that we haven't, and she slips away, leaving the door wide open. Seeing the open door, John pops in and tells us all about the latest models from GM that he has found on the Internet. Which ones have 5 star crash test ratings, and which ones have great acceleration, and the like. Finally he departs, and he actually remembers to close the door. Cool! I slip my hand across the bed and continue to pet my lovely wife.

Another CSI rerun rolls past as we gently touch each other. But ... what's that smell? Good God, he's cooking again! We did feed them dinner; honest. No matter, John is hungry, and 10 PM is the perfect time to cook. I go downstairs just long enough to make sure he isn't starting a fire (it's happened before), then I return to my waiting wife. The kitchen will be a complete disaster, with dirty dishes covering every horizontal surface, but we'll deal with that tomorrow morning. It's much too late for confrontations tonight.

*** Thursday Night

It is 11:00, and by some miracle I am still awake. To top it off, the three kids are all in bed and asleep. Wow! Wendy seems to realize the same thing at the same time. I roll over and take her in my arms. We are lost in a long, passionate kiss when she pulls away, as if she had just remembered something.

"Did you hear what John did in school today?"

I hadn't heard. We'd been so busy all day she forgot to relay the news.

"His teacher called, and it seems he's just roaming the halls during class. When confronted, he says he doesn't have to follow the rules. He's very defiant, and they're not sure how to handle it. What do you think?"

Needless to say, the passion is gone. Have you ever seen Parenthood, with Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen? They're in bed one night, really in the mood, and suddenly she starts talking about their son Kevin, and in a flash the romance evaporates into thin air. Honestly, we've relived that scene time and time again. Whoever wrote the screenplay must have been in our shoes. You just couldn't make this stuff up. And then it gets even funnier. Remember, in the movie, she finally stops talking about Kevin and his disorders, and she is ready to make love to her husband once again, but now he takes up the thread. "What do you mean they think Kevin has special needs. He's not a bad kid you know!" I must admit, once in a while I too have taken it to the next level. Wendy tries to rekindle the fire, but I am still trying to figure out exactly what happened in school, and how we should respond.

"Roaming the halls?" I ask. "Where is his aid through all this? She's suppose to be with him all the time, isn't she?"

Wendy explains the obvious; John's long legs can easily outdistance his aid, and he simply ditches her from time to time. We talk about our troubled teens for another 20 minutes, effectively driving a steak through the heart of our passions. There's really nothing left to do but go to sleep.

*** Friday

It's our last chance before the weekend, and we actually get all three kids off to school. Nobody is pulling in the driveway, and the phone is silent. Elizabeth doesn't need me to rush her homework to school, and John isn't acting out. Today is our day. But we still have to deal with the dogs. They are sprawled out across the bed, and Oreo has her head on my pillow. It's cute, I mean, take-a-picture cute, but, "Get off my bed!" We spend ten minutes coaxing them out of their comfort zone, and they express their discontent by pacing around the room. We try to ignore them, hoping they will settle down, but no such luck. Sunny takes three more laps around the room, then she stops and stares at me, her chin resting on the edge of the bed. Hey, if I'd wanted an audience I would have set up a web cam!

I turn my back on the dogs and start petting my lovely wife, and the moaning begins. No, not that kind of moaning - it's Sunny!

"Roo, roo, rou, err, err."

I can't concentrate with that going on. It takes another fifteen minutes to get them settled in their doggy beds. In the past we've tried kicking them out of the room and closing the door; they just whine and moan at the door until we finally let them back in. That's why we bought the doggy beds, which they will tolerate under duress. Sunny gives a combination sigh and hurrumph, some kind of canine "last word" as she twirls around three times and flops in her bed. Oreo settles into her bed with fewer protestations. With luck the dogs will leave us alone for an hour.

Our time together is wonderful, simply wonderful. We express the love we have for each other, the love we have shared for 18 years.

*** Future

Some day our kids will be out of the house and on their own. John will improve, as he has done for the past couple of years. He'll find his own way. Ditto for Mary and Elizabeth. wendy and I will have the house to ourselves, and we can love each other any time we want. Until then we must settle for an encounter once a week, with much petting and caressing in between.