In recent years, I have noticed that I am more prone to suffering from cabin fever than I used to be. I become very moody and restless. I become depressed. I stay up all night talking to imaginary bartenders. I have yet to grab an axe and attempt to butcher my family, but Alex has been known to curl his finger and say "Redrum" in a very unsettling voice just when I'm feeling particularly "off."
Last night, at about two in the morning, I think I finally came to understand the cause of my "condition." Certainly being a struggling writer cooped up with his family in a house miles from civilization in the dead of winter may contribute to my unbalanced state, but that is not the real culprit. The fact is that as a "stay-at-home" dad, I have no life outside of this house. My beautiful spouse says, "So go into town and do something" whenever I complain about going stir crazy after a prolonged spell of not venturing out. That's nice of her to offer me a hall pass, but it doesn't really change the reality that I have no life outside of these four walls. I explain to her that she is out of the house interacting with adults upwards of 50 hours per week. I am lucky if I am away from our domicile five hours per week. Prisoners benefitting from weekend furloughs spend more time in the real world than me.
Don't get me wrong: I love being a full-time parent. I enjoy being able to spent so much time with my kids. However, I am beginning to think it is unhealthy to spend ALL of my time with my kids. Sure, we drop the boys off at Grandma's house once in a while so Mom & Dad can have a little reprieve, but that doesn't come close to giving me the feeling of having a life outside of the home. Wintertime just compounds the problem. We live a half hour from town (Ashland doesn't count) down a mile and a half of snow covered gravel roads. Our house is tucked into ten acres of woods, completely hidden from view of the outside world. Maybe it is best to keep a Naughton boy hidden from the outside world, but nevertheless--when it is cold outside, when my hiking trails are too snowy or muddy to traverse, when gas costs $3.00/gallon and my gas-guzzling truck's four-wheel-drive is making a hideous grinding, metallic sound when it's engaged--Travis starts getting a little twitchy.
The solution? Bethany thinks everything will be better next fall when all three kids are in school. I should be able to get out and do my own thing for at least three hours a day while Truman is in his half-day preschool. I think she may be right. But between now and then, I need to make more meaningful forays out into the world. I feel some road trips coming on. If you hear an unexpected knock on your door at some ungodly hour in the near future, don't shoot! And don't call the cops. (Unless I have Bill Herrin with me.)
2 comments:
You can knock on my door anytime and bring Bill with you. Just make sure both vans are in front of the house. This way I will be able to save you from my dog. He thinks a knock = "Sick Balls"
~Marty
I love to read your blog. You make me laugh every time. I just need to remember that every time I need a laugh.
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