My Dearest Husband

My Dearest Husband,

I have a request I wish to make from you, but first I feel I should explain the situation here at home. After all, you spend many hours in your cozy little cubicle. You don’t see what it is like here. With her. In such a panic.

Let me explain.

It all really started, not with you, but with the Attack of the Wind Sock. It was Friday morning, and the children were outside to play. The weather really looked like it had cleared up, so I sent them out. They were climbing the walls. They needed to go out.

So I sent them. As I said.

And they played. They played quite well! That is, until the wind kicked up. Of course, I was doing chores. I didn’t really notice the wind. For a while, I think they enjoyed it. But then it got quite blustery. And then there were gusts. And our sweet children didn’t complain.

That is, until I heard A.’s high-pitched shrieking.

I ran to the door, convinced she must be terribly injured. Instead, I found her white as a sheet and shaking with fright. The wind sock had blown down and attacked her with the wind’s full force! It was wrapped around her neck like a scarf; I could see it’s red and yellow fluttering as I ran to the door.

She couldn’t get it off, no matter how she tried. And she was so very scared.

So I brought them inside. I comforted her. I thought that everything would be fine, that the Attack of the Wind Sock would quickly become a distant memory.

But you just had to drive in the lesson, didn’t you? You and that son of yours.

The wind was so powerful all weekend, and I kept little A. inside. But I wasn’t feeling well on Sunday morning, and so you took E. and A. to church alone. By yourself.

The morning had started off clear and calm, but during the service, the wind kicked up violently. It was as strong as ever, toppling trees and causing minor damage all over town. And you and E. just had to take a tour and survey the disaster before returning home.

With A.

Why, oh why, did you take her with you? I am sure she was silent through the entire drive. You probably forgot she was there. And even I didn’t think much of the situation when she ran inside and greeted me with a concerned, “Mommy, twee fall down! Twee fall down!”

I didn’t think much of it, that is, until playtime came around this week. A. didn’t want to go. She thought of every excuse for getting back into the house. She needed to go to the bathroom. Twice. She needed a drink. She was convinced she was hungry. When I finally got her boots on and insisted she needed fresh air, she stood right next to the door, holding the door knob, and screamed any time a breeze caused a single leaf to stir.

When I finally calmed her down enough to understand her words, I realized she was yelling, “Thewe is wind! Wind!”

She is terrified.

I have spent two days explaining that there is no wind, but only a gentle breeze, and aren’t breezes just lovely? No. According to A., breezes are not lovely. They remind her of the wind. The wind, she is convinced, that will return and blow down all the trees in our backyard. She also believes they might fall on her.

So my request is simple. Next time you and The Boy feel the testerone-induced urge to go and witness any death and destruction that is being caused by a storm, please first drop off any girl child who might be with you.

Just in case.

Love,
Your Wife