Mom on the Run: Family's early return leads to scramble to get everything ready

The text message beeps in at 4:09 p.m., just as I slide into my car and lower the windows to blow out the day’s heat. “On the ground,” my husband alerts me.

What?! I yank the minivan into drive and take off. This is not the way this is supposed to be! This time yesterday, I was still planning for a midnight airport arrival. Or maybe 10 p.m., with a midnight homecoming. Something like that. That’s been my understanding for months.

And that’s what I planned on, meaning tonight, after work, was going to be my big cleaning night, my last carry-out dinner after three weeks of solitude, my last night of TV-free silence and a trashy novel. Sure, I had cleaning to do, I purposely put that off until the end (why bother if nobody’s home?), but that would take me an hour or two, tops, and then it would be all about me. For the last time.

But 4:09 p.m.! Is he kidding? Shoot, at lunchtime he had texted that he and our son would be home about 7:30 p.m., plenty of time for cleaning and post-dinner. From Chicago he texted that he would be landing about 5:30 p.m. And now it’s 4:09! I’m not sure if he never read his itinerary, or if he had assumed it was in West coast time, but either way, this is eight hours early and I am not ready!

My cell phone beeps again. “Bbq chicken sands for dinner?” Great. Dinner. I have nothing thawed, and none of the ingredients for this menu. I flip the turn signal and move to the right-hand lane, the better to turn off to the grocery store.

I run through my list as I zip down the store’s aisles, thinking about dinner and everything I have to do at the same time. Vacuum. I absolutely have to vacuum. Oh, corn on the cob! How many should I get? I text my daughter, who earlier said she wouldn’t be home for dinner: “Boys home for dinner. Are you coming?” I’m still inspecting ears when she texts me back: “Yes with Nate.” Four of us, plus the boyfriend, three of whom are big eaters, so … eight ears of corn. Into the cart.

Wipe out the downstairs bathroom. The squash looks good, I’ll get one big one to grill with the corn and the chicken, plus fresh green beans, my husband’s favorite. Towels, did I put towels in the kids’ bathroom? I choose a big package of chicken breasts, snag a bottle of barbecue sauce, and wheel over to the bakery for rolls. Shoot, I had meant to dust, and I certainly want to clean off the kitchen table. Oh! And that trip to the pet store for lizard food? Not anymore!

I fly out of the grocery store with my two bulging bags. At home I straighten the piles on the kitchen table and trim the chicken. I run upstairs and check on towels, then snap green beans. I clean the toilet and wipe out the sink in the downstairs bathroom, and slice and spice the squash. I’m still in frenzy mode at 6:30 p.m., with the vacuuming and dusting as-yet undone and the kitchen table still covered with junk mail, when, “We’re home!” my husband and son, weary hungry travelers, come in the door.

At 8:30 p.m. it’s all over: dinner, catch-up, travel tales. I look around my house, a complete disaster zone. Suitcases, camera bags, carry-ons are dumped in the living room, all unzipped and leaking gear. There’s a massive mountain of dirty laundry in the family room. The kitchen table’s layers of paper have been completely covered by travel guides, souvenirs, ticket stubs. The dog-hair-covered steps are lined with little bottles and tubes, toiletries to go back upstairs.

I shrug and grin: guess I didn’t need to vacuum after all!

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at lianne wilkens@hotmail.com, or follow her on Twitter@MessengerMOTR.