An Ordinary Mom's Musings

Your husband spends hours, days getting ready for his annual hunting trip. Researching the perfect location where he will get that prize buck. He spends so much 💲💲 every year on new gear and tags you want to cry. There went that new Kitchen Aid you wanted. But he assures you that it’s a good investment because he’ll bring meat home to feed the family all winter.

The big day comes. You kiss him goodbye in the wee hours of the morning (or is it still night??), praying he doesn’t get lost. Praying that he only shoots the wildlife and that no one shoots him.

You settle in for a few days alone with the kids. When he gets home, he’s going to owe you some time away. Because the moment his truck is out of the driveway, the kids seem to think they are in the Hunger Games and only one of you is making it out alive. You throw some cereal and pizza at the beasts hoping you can survive this parenting/Hunger Games gig alone.

He returns days later- cold, smelly, and empty-handed. No meat. No trophy rack. Disheartened. Asking you to help lug in all his smelly, wet gear.

You just want to run. The kids have worn you down, and out. The last thing you want to do is touch the slimy tent and air it out.

And then an idea strikes!

Why should the men have all the fun? Should you be the one stuck at home with the kids? Why don’t you go “Hunting?”

Your version of “hunting” is going to look a little bit different.

You figure out how much your husband spends each year on going hunting. Perfect! It’s just enough to cover a week in an all-inclusive resort. You and your girlfriends could have a week away with massages, time in a hot tub not interrupted by children. Meals that are not made by you but that are warm and hot when eaten. TV shows that don’t include Barney and Calliou. Sleep with no one kicking you in bed. The time you never get to just worry about you. Soon you are spending days planning the perfect hunt. You are waving goodbye knowing the Quarterquells are about to begin in your absense.

And maybe every few years, you’ll stop at the grocery store on the way home and buy some meat to last the winter. . .