BUCKING THE SYSTEM: LOVE SHINES THROUGH DESPITE GETTING OFF TO A BAD START

Sometimes I forget why I love my husband.

I realized this for the umpteenth time Thursday as we rose at the crack of dawn to take our children for a four-day vacation with my sister. Clarissa's only requirement was that we meet her at the Tennessee state line, roughly the midpoint between our homes.

I jumped at the opportunity, because like most any working/loving mom who's spent the entire summer working and shuttling the kids from event to baby sitter and back again, I was willing to cross hell barefoot for a short reprieve.

The whole day started bad. What possessed Patrick to put the Kenny Rogers' Greatest Hits CD in our clock radio/compact disc player I'll never know. But what I do know is hearing Kenny sing "Ruby" at 5 a.m. is not my idea of a nice awakening.

My 'tude didn't get any better when Patrick continued to lay in the bed 20 minutes after I'd finished dressing and got the boys out of bed. Nor was it helped by his decision to allow Jerry and PJ to have the chicken we'd eaten for dinner the previous evening for breakfast.

Apparently, they weren't in the mood for toaster pastries or the two brands of cereal we had on hand.

When I walked outside and almost tripped on a loose piece of flooring I knew my husband didn't know how to fix, any remnants of a positive outlook I might have had were just plain gone.

By the time we got to the gas station, Patrick and I weren't even speaking.

As he pointed the car in the general direction of Nashville, I put on my sunglasses (never mind the downpour) and pretended to sleep. All thoughts of a romantic weekend at home, playing the "I-love-you-because" game over a crab dinner, had disappeared like steam over a cold pot.

But even though I sometimes forget why I love Patrick, he knows all about my pretrip madness and can usually pull me out of my attitudes fairly quickly. He let me brood for about 30 minutes, then ended the whole affair by using my kids against me.

"Are you going to ignore me the whole trip or can we just enjoy this?" he asked.

"I'm not ignoring you. I'm trying to sleep," I lied.

"Jerry, PJ, tell your mommy to stop being mean to your daddy," Patrick said, with a wink and a smile to the kids.

"Mommy, stop being mean to my daddy."

"Tell her to say she's sorry."

"Mommy, say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling the hint of a smile coming on as I saw the kids looking at me expectantly, Jerry with his extremely snaggle-toothed grin and PJ with those bright eyes.

"Daddy, it's OK, cause Mommy said she's sorry," Jerry announced. "I think she just woke up on the bad side of the bed."

And with that, the hint of a smile became a grin, and I mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to my husband as the kids danced in their seat to whatever song was playing on the radio.

And I happily remembered why I love my husband.

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.