The Man Cave is minus the main man, this week. Hubby is on a business trip. His absence is huge, and it’s not just because my feet get unbearably cold at night (there’s not one woman who hasn’t placed freezing cold feet on her husband’s warm calves at night whether he’s a willing foot-warmer or not).

I know single parents who amazingly handle everything. Hubby and I, though, have found that this “team” thing works the best for us. It’s like when super-hero’s work together to battle evil: “You take the dirty diaper, I’ll wash the kid in the tub!” Or as they got older, “I’m taking one to the doctor’s to get stitches, you pick the other one up from basketball practice.”

Hubby, “WHICH one is getting STITCHES?”

Me, “The one who inherited my big feet and lack of grace.”

“Oh- right…”

But today, Dad was on the other side of the country when I got a series of frantic text messages from my oldest. “Mom. You bought the wrong bread, turkey and cheese.”

Before I could answer:

“MOM. I couldn’t eat lunch because it tasted DIFFERENT.”

Me, “Yes, you could have eaten lunch, even if it tasted different. If you don’t like it, buy your lunch today.”

“I can’t buy lunch. I don’t have any money.”

“What happened to the emergency money your dad and I gave you?”

“I spent it over the weekend. Can’t you just go buy more turkey, cheese, and bread and make me a sandwich and bring it to school? Me, (starting to lose patience)

Son, “It’s your day OFF, RIGHT?”

Me, “We’ll talk about it when you GET HOME.” Of course, this is universal parent-speak for I don’t know WHAT I’m going to say but it’s best for everyone if I just ZIP IT for now.

I grabbed my purse, walked to the store, bought the proper sandwich fixings (he had detailed them in another text) and picked up food for dinner.

Then I found another text, “I’m sorry Mom. I don’t know what got into me.”

I know.

My sons usually go shopping with Dad on the weekend. They spend time together. They buy sandwich fixings. Now it’s all wrong. Wrong sandwich. No dad.

A sheepish-looking teenager comes home. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“Why don’t you make yourself a sandwich? I just went to the store.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken pot pie.”

“I LOVE your chicken pot pie!”

I know. “I know some things,” I say. “And I miss Dad, too.”

A smile spreads across my son’s face.

I can’t wait for my super hero to come home. And it’s not just because my feet get unbearably cold.

This has been an actual conversation in the Man Cave. What’s the Man Cave? Read this.