Saturday morning.
I’m making breakfast. Great Big Sea is blaring from the stereo in the kitchen and Liam and I are dancing like fools. Kate laughs at us from her perch at the table.
The phone rings I rush laughing to the stereo and to the handset to answer.
I barely get the hello past my lips when my friend gushes
“Please tell me you’ve heard from Rick today.”
The smile fades from my face in an icy shiver.
“What’s happened?”
She has no details – just that her friend has been told he’s driving the padre. That means the dead is from here. I put my head down to keep the room from spinning out of control.
“Please God don’t let it be Rick” is the chant that flies around my brain. How would I tell my babies?
I spend the next hour jumping every time a car drives down the street. Then Rick is online.
I can’t describe the relief at seeing him pop online brings.
He can only stay online for a short time. He’s exhausted. Running on only 2 hours sleep and has to be back to work in a few more hours. He loves me and misses me and wants me to be brave. It’s not him or his guys and they haven’t been told any names yet.
Despite the brevity of our conversation I’m grateful. Like a huge weight is lifted off of me. It’s not Rick – thank God.
How horrible is that?
Some poor woman lost her husband today. And I’m taking comfort in the fact it’s not mine. I close my eyes and offer a prayer for the fallen.
Picking up Dani and Holden a few hours later I discover that it’s their neighbour that’s been lost. The sadness in the neighbourhood is palpable, baking off the houses like heat in July.
The kids are glad to be leaving the emotional turmoil behind for the night. I can see in their eyes that they’re scared and sad. Dani’s normally clear blue eyes are haunted and pained – something only her Dad can soothe.
As we turn to leave I see a car arrive next door. It’s her parents. And for a brief moment I see her face.
Her grief is etched on her countenance.
Her arms go around the couple that have just arrived and I see her shoulders tremble.
My nightmare. Played out in front of me.
My heart breaks for her and her children.
I want to help. I want to offer condolences. I want to take some of her pain. I don’t know how.
I don’t intrude. I don’t speak. I gather the kids into the car and drive away.
I try to be upbeat for the children. Keeping everything as normal as possible and letting them talk, if they want to, is priority.
As I slip between the sheets I close my eyes and see her face.
Hot tears slip between my lashes and run down my cheeks onto my pillow. More tears to go with the oceans cried for the soldiers lost and away.
God protect them.
Day 113
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wearing the Glad Rags
I got up the nerve to go.
It took a bit. The invitation came a couple of weeks ago and I debated whether or not I should. But I responded to the RSVP and here I am – putting on the glad rags and waiting for the sitter.
I normally get really excited when we go out without the kids. Then again – I’m usually not heading out alone.
Usually he’s all ready standing at the foot of the stairs as I finish up some last minute preparations and he’s yelling at me to hurry up. Funny the things you miss.
The party is semi-formal. I’ve already run through three pairs of nylons and I sigh as my fingers go through the fourth. Socks and boots it is.
Looking in the mirror I long to hear him tell me how I look. He always says the same thing – “it’ll look better on the floor when we get home” – I smile despite the fact no one has spoken.
I’m zipping my boots as the sitter arrives. The afternoon snow has turned to freezing rain – it could be a slow drive in.
I pick up my “date”. A friend of Rick’s who has agreed to accompany me so I don’t wind up sitting at a table full of strangers.
The parking lot is packed as we arrive. Walking and sliding over the slushy, icy snow is not fun. I’m a klutz at the best of times. And I pray I don’t fall on my butt.
The Legion is warm. I put my coat away and get checked in. We’re at table 18.
I scan the room. I recognize maybe one person every 15 or so. I’m glad I didn’t come alone. There’s nothing worse than a party full of strangers.
I gravitate towards Rick’s friends. It’s good to see them. Everyone has been so busy this fall that I’ve done little more than to speak with them on the phone. It’s good to tease and talk to friends. I wish Rick was here.
Meal over and speeches begin. There’s always that one drunk idiot who makes an ass out of himself. I think it could be worse. I could be that guy’s date.
The Battery Commander and the Padre head to our table – we’re the deployed wives after all. Rick usually doesn’t let me speak to anyone over the rank of Lieutenant. His Commanding Officer once asked me, after Rick spending weeks in the field, how I liked being an Artillery wife – and I told him. Ever since then he’s kept me and the senior officers separated.
I grin and decide to get my picture taken with the Major and the Padre. Just for Rick.
The BC asks how our family is coping. I tell him that the MFRC is great – but 4AD needs to get on the ball and support the women more.
As if in echo to my sentiments to the BC, several of Rick’s friends ask me how I’m doing and tell me if I need anything to just call them. My smile is genuine but strained. I’m glad I came – but it’s time to go.
Being around Rick’s unit makes me feel both closer to him and further away. If I don’t leave now I’ll cry. A few stops to say good-bye to a few folks and I’ve collected my jacket and am headed for the door.
Just before I open it I remember something. Jim Reid is here – he’s with Rick in Afghanistan and is home on his HLTA. I search the room for him and make a beeline in his direction.
“Jim!” I yell over the music. He looks in my direction. I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Make sure my husband gets that.” And with a smile and a Merry Christmas to the folks at Jim’s table I leave the party.
As I walk to the car I realize I’m humming. Maybe the party was just what I needed.
Day 109
It took a bit. The invitation came a couple of weeks ago and I debated whether or not I should. But I responded to the RSVP and here I am – putting on the glad rags and waiting for the sitter.
I normally get really excited when we go out without the kids. Then again – I’m usually not heading out alone.
Usually he’s all ready standing at the foot of the stairs as I finish up some last minute preparations and he’s yelling at me to hurry up. Funny the things you miss.
The party is semi-formal. I’ve already run through three pairs of nylons and I sigh as my fingers go through the fourth. Socks and boots it is.
Looking in the mirror I long to hear him tell me how I look. He always says the same thing – “it’ll look better on the floor when we get home” – I smile despite the fact no one has spoken.
I’m zipping my boots as the sitter arrives. The afternoon snow has turned to freezing rain – it could be a slow drive in.
I pick up my “date”. A friend of Rick’s who has agreed to accompany me so I don’t wind up sitting at a table full of strangers.
The parking lot is packed as we arrive. Walking and sliding over the slushy, icy snow is not fun. I’m a klutz at the best of times. And I pray I don’t fall on my butt.
The Legion is warm. I put my coat away and get checked in. We’re at table 18.
I scan the room. I recognize maybe one person every 15 or so. I’m glad I didn’t come alone. There’s nothing worse than a party full of strangers.
I gravitate towards Rick’s friends. It’s good to see them. Everyone has been so busy this fall that I’ve done little more than to speak with them on the phone. It’s good to tease and talk to friends. I wish Rick was here.
Meal over and speeches begin. There’s always that one drunk idiot who makes an ass out of himself. I think it could be worse. I could be that guy’s date.
The Battery Commander and the Padre head to our table – we’re the deployed wives after all. Rick usually doesn’t let me speak to anyone over the rank of Lieutenant. His Commanding Officer once asked me, after Rick spending weeks in the field, how I liked being an Artillery wife – and I told him. Ever since then he’s kept me and the senior officers separated.
I grin and decide to get my picture taken with the Major and the Padre. Just for Rick.
The BC asks how our family is coping. I tell him that the MFRC is great – but 4AD needs to get on the ball and support the women more.
As if in echo to my sentiments to the BC, several of Rick’s friends ask me how I’m doing and tell me if I need anything to just call them. My smile is genuine but strained. I’m glad I came – but it’s time to go.
Being around Rick’s unit makes me feel both closer to him and further away. If I don’t leave now I’ll cry. A few stops to say good-bye to a few folks and I’ve collected my jacket and am headed for the door.
Just before I open it I remember something. Jim Reid is here – he’s with Rick in Afghanistan and is home on his HLTA. I search the room for him and make a beeline in his direction.
“Jim!” I yell over the music. He looks in my direction. I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Make sure my husband gets that.” And with a smile and a Merry Christmas to the folks at Jim’s table I leave the party.
As I walk to the car I realize I’m humming. Maybe the party was just what I needed.
Day 109
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Deep Breaths and Little Steps
Christmas spirit is creeping in.
Little by little I am feeling more myself. More solid instead of an apparition peeking through the keyholes at the celebrations around me.
I’ve started to shop. I haven’t decorated yet. But I’m at least thinking about it – a monumental improvement from the way I was feeling a week ago.
And then a friend pops onto MSN.
“Go read the news.”
“Which news?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I sigh and open a new browser. I wait as the CBC fills the screen and feel myself blanch at what I see.
Throwing a bucket of ice water over me would have produced the same effect. I shiver.
Canadian soldiers. Three more Canadian soldiers. I want to be sick.
My friend pops on again and says – “It isn’t Rick – you’d know already.”
Tears are in my eyes. I can’t stop myself from thinking of the families. Just a few weeks before the holidays and they’ve lost their loved ones.
I can feel their pain. And it burns.
Rick has managed to send a short note via Facebook. He’s told me he likes indoor cats best. Code for the fact he hasn’t been outside the wire. I’d like to hear his voice but communication has been cut for obvious reasons.
“I’ll Be Home For Christmas” starts playing on the radio. I break down.
Deep breaths. Little steps. More tears.
I re-read the article and feel a thin anger. They haven’t led with the deaths. They’ve played up the fact that these deaths make it 101 killed. They’ve reduced them to numbers.
They’re so much more than numbers. They’re heroes. They all are. Willing to put their lives on the line. Willing to live in the harshest environments possible. Willing to die because their government and their country asks them to.
They’re not numbers. They’re husbands, and fathers and sons and brothers and they should be remembered that way.
Peace on earth is a beautiful concept. But it isn’t something that’s going to be brought about with a bunch of comments on the CBC website. I think people should remember that.
Be grateful for the sacrifice that these men and these families have made in the name of Peace. Honour them. Remember them. They are not numbers. They are our brothers.
Day 104
Little by little I am feeling more myself. More solid instead of an apparition peeking through the keyholes at the celebrations around me.
I’ve started to shop. I haven’t decorated yet. But I’m at least thinking about it – a monumental improvement from the way I was feeling a week ago.
And then a friend pops onto MSN.
“Go read the news.”
“Which news?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I sigh and open a new browser. I wait as the CBC fills the screen and feel myself blanch at what I see.
Throwing a bucket of ice water over me would have produced the same effect. I shiver.
Canadian soldiers. Three more Canadian soldiers. I want to be sick.
My friend pops on again and says – “It isn’t Rick – you’d know already.”
Tears are in my eyes. I can’t stop myself from thinking of the families. Just a few weeks before the holidays and they’ve lost their loved ones.
I can feel their pain. And it burns.
Rick has managed to send a short note via Facebook. He’s told me he likes indoor cats best. Code for the fact he hasn’t been outside the wire. I’d like to hear his voice but communication has been cut for obvious reasons.
“I’ll Be Home For Christmas” starts playing on the radio. I break down.
Deep breaths. Little steps. More tears.
I re-read the article and feel a thin anger. They haven’t led with the deaths. They’ve played up the fact that these deaths make it 101 killed. They’ve reduced them to numbers.
They’re so much more than numbers. They’re heroes. They all are. Willing to put their lives on the line. Willing to live in the harshest environments possible. Willing to die because their government and their country asks them to.
They’re not numbers. They’re husbands, and fathers and sons and brothers and they should be remembered that way.
Peace on earth is a beautiful concept. But it isn’t something that’s going to be brought about with a bunch of comments on the CBC website. I think people should remember that.
Be grateful for the sacrifice that these men and these families have made in the name of Peace. Honour them. Remember them. They are not numbers. They are our brothers.
Day 104
Friday, November 28, 2008
Stealing time....
This week has been hard.
I’ve felt like a helium balloon. Slowly deflating from its festive best into a sad shape hovering near the floor.
I’m going through the motions. Sort of “phoning it in”. Getting up. Getting the kids off to school and then I blink and I’m getting them off the bus. Nothing accomplished in between.
I didn’t think the week after would be so lonely.
I thought I’d have a few days of weepiness followed by the whole “get back on your horse” type of thing. And I’m trying. I really am. But I’m still on the ground.
I’ve got some fantastic friends who call and check on me. I don’t think they realize how much I draw on their strength.
Rick calls every day. I’m grateful for that. His voice is my link to myself at this point.
I need something to give me a shake. If my mother were here she’d smack me and tell me to get on with it she’d incite me to anger and that would be better than this numbing feeling. But she’s not. So I remain the same.
I’m watching everyone get ready for the holidays. Hearing about their trees, their presents, their decorations. Seeing their lights. Their preparations are all but complete. Mine haven’t been thought about.
A favourite teacher of mine used to say, “procrastination is the thief of time.” Well I’m the willing accomplice this week. Let the time go. Let the holidays pass and let me crawl under the covers until spring.
Day 98
I’ve felt like a helium balloon. Slowly deflating from its festive best into a sad shape hovering near the floor.
I’m going through the motions. Sort of “phoning it in”. Getting up. Getting the kids off to school and then I blink and I’m getting them off the bus. Nothing accomplished in between.
I didn’t think the week after would be so lonely.
I thought I’d have a few days of weepiness followed by the whole “get back on your horse” type of thing. And I’m trying. I really am. But I’m still on the ground.
I’ve got some fantastic friends who call and check on me. I don’t think they realize how much I draw on their strength.
Rick calls every day. I’m grateful for that. His voice is my link to myself at this point.
I need something to give me a shake. If my mother were here she’d smack me and tell me to get on with it she’d incite me to anger and that would be better than this numbing feeling. But she’s not. So I remain the same.
I’m watching everyone get ready for the holidays. Hearing about their trees, their presents, their decorations. Seeing their lights. Their preparations are all but complete. Mine haven’t been thought about.
A favourite teacher of mine used to say, “procrastination is the thief of time.” Well I’m the willing accomplice this week. Let the time go. Let the holidays pass and let me crawl under the covers until spring.
Day 98
Friday, November 21, 2008
Goodbye again.
Twenty days.
For twenty days I haven’t been alone. I’ve had my husband here to laugh with, talk with, argue with, love.
Nineteen nights I’ve not laid here alone. Nineteen nights I’ve not been awakened to a little boy screaming in terror. I’ve not had to cuddle into pillows to fall asleep. And I’ve not been the one to listen, even in my sleep, for noises outside the normal house sounds. I’ve slept.
Sixty meals I’ve not had to be a jack-in-the-box jumping up to get something. Dinner conversations were about something other than how many more bites before Liam could be done. Daytime meals were not eaten alone. I could look across the table and see his face.
Four hundred and eighty hours I’ve not had to be the “strong” one. Not had to be the only one responsible for everything in the house. Not had to keep an eye on Kate 24/7 and have been able to shower alone.
Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred minutes that I’ve not had to worry that something bad was going to happen to him. Not had to be on guard against that knock at the door.
But now it’s done.
Where did the time go?
Those twenty days flew by. I blinked and they were done.
I only picked him up at the airport the other day. I shouldn’t be dropping him off already.
We’ve spent a lot of time together, both as a couple and as a family. Storing memories like a squirrel stores food for the winter. I keep thinking of things we should have done.
I’ve had a dozen little breakdowns today. Little sobbing fits that he comforts me through. I’m trying hard to keep the kids from seeing them. I don’t want to make it worse. But it feels like my chest is being crushed and my stomach is in knots.
There are no other soldiers here this time. The other passengers appear to be mostly businesspeople. The tension is less. The sadness more contained in our little corner.
There is no luggage to check. He’s only got his carry on. The “official” airport business takes less than five minutes. He’s going to have to get new tickets at Heathrow for the second leg of his journey it seems the Air Canada/British Airways partnership isn’t that cosy.
Our good-bye is quicker than we’d like. Kate is upset and we want to avoid a meltdown. We watch him through the security glass for a few minutes and then decide to leave. I can’t breathe.
The drive home is in darkness and I offer a little prayer of thanksgiving. I’m crying hard by the time I hit the last set of lights on the way home. The darkness hides my face from the children. By the time we get home I’m more or less back under control.
Walking into the house after the airport is like walking into an empty shell. The home that was vibrantly alive for the last twenty days has somehow changed. Even the dogs sense it.
Liam has held it together all day. But by bedtime he’s emotionally wrung out and I hear him crying in his room. I sigh. Please God; don’t let the night terrors start again.
For twenty days I haven’t been alone. I’ve had my husband here to laugh with, talk with, argue with, love.
Nineteen nights I’ve not laid here alone. Nineteen nights I’ve not been awakened to a little boy screaming in terror. I’ve not had to cuddle into pillows to fall asleep. And I’ve not been the one to listen, even in my sleep, for noises outside the normal house sounds. I’ve slept.
Sixty meals I’ve not had to be a jack-in-the-box jumping up to get something. Dinner conversations were about something other than how many more bites before Liam could be done. Daytime meals were not eaten alone. I could look across the table and see his face.
Four hundred and eighty hours I’ve not had to be the “strong” one. Not had to be the only one responsible for everything in the house. Not had to keep an eye on Kate 24/7 and have been able to shower alone.
Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred minutes that I’ve not had to worry that something bad was going to happen to him. Not had to be on guard against that knock at the door.
But now it’s done.
Where did the time go?
Those twenty days flew by. I blinked and they were done.
I only picked him up at the airport the other day. I shouldn’t be dropping him off already.
We’ve spent a lot of time together, both as a couple and as a family. Storing memories like a squirrel stores food for the winter. I keep thinking of things we should have done.
I’ve had a dozen little breakdowns today. Little sobbing fits that he comforts me through. I’m trying hard to keep the kids from seeing them. I don’t want to make it worse. But it feels like my chest is being crushed and my stomach is in knots.
There are no other soldiers here this time. The other passengers appear to be mostly businesspeople. The tension is less. The sadness more contained in our little corner.
There is no luggage to check. He’s only got his carry on. The “official” airport business takes less than five minutes. He’s going to have to get new tickets at Heathrow for the second leg of his journey it seems the Air Canada/British Airways partnership isn’t that cosy.
Our good-bye is quicker than we’d like. Kate is upset and we want to avoid a meltdown. We watch him through the security glass for a few minutes and then decide to leave. I can’t breathe.
The drive home is in darkness and I offer a little prayer of thanksgiving. I’m crying hard by the time I hit the last set of lights on the way home. The darkness hides my face from the children. By the time we get home I’m more or less back under control.
Walking into the house after the airport is like walking into an empty shell. The home that was vibrantly alive for the last twenty days has somehow changed. Even the dogs sense it.
Liam has held it together all day. But by bedtime he’s emotionally wrung out and I hear him crying in his room. I sigh. Please God; don’t let the night terrors start again.
Day 90.
Monday, November 10, 2008
What's better than a hotel suite?
So we’re at the hotel.
I’m sleeping. Let me repeat that part – I am sleeping. For those of you who are following my blog you’ll understand what a monumental thing that is.
I’m awakened by the absence of the weight that lay across me all night and the sudden difference in temperature. Rick has gotten out of bed.
A one-eyed scan of the room reveals that it’s still night. The alarm clock says 0430 and since the times went back at midnight it’s really 0330. I expect him to come back to bed. I expected wrong…
Instead my husband is turning on the lights and packing his bag. When he’s done with his he starts on mine. I pretend to still be asleep for the first 10 minutes of his rummaging but I’m a curious person by nature and I can’t resist asking him what the heck he’s doing at such a godforsaken hour of the morning.
“I’m going to see the kids,” is the response I receive.
“Umm, Honey, it’s 3:30 in the morning. The kids won’t be up for a few more hours.”
We argue about the time change for a few minutes and he sullenly flops onto the couch and turns on the TV.
I manage to nap. But by 0530 he’s back to rummaging in my stuff and banging around loud enough to wake Rip Van Winkle himself.
“Get up. I need to see my kids.” All the patience is gone out of his voice.
And with that our romantic night is officially over.
I manage to drag my feet getting ready. Manage to get another bath in the Jacuzzi tub. And convince him to stop at Timmies for a morning coffee. But by 0700 we’re pulling into our own driveway.
He can hardly contain himself.
Bags are left in the car and he doesn’t even wait for me to get the video camera adjusted. He’s up the stone steps like a shot.
The lights are on in the kitchen, so hopefully the kids are up.
I’m about 10 feet behind him, trying to provide some voiceover information for the camera as we burst into the house.
Kate is there. She stops like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide she looks at Rick. You can see the disbelief in her eyes. She takes a step towards him and then backs up.
He speaks to her. She moves forward again only to back up and dance. On the third attempt she manages to touch him. He’s real! You can see the words practically dance across her face and she squeals in delight. She grabs him by the arm, drags him into the living room, pushes him down on the couch and flops on top of him. Mandatory cuddle time apparently.
I call Liam up from the family room where he’s playing with his friends. We’re expecting a big reaction. I tell him to come with me there’s something in the living room I want him to see. He spies his dad.
We’ve been talking about how Liam will lose his mind when he sees his daddy. Thinking we’re going to get a big reaction out of him I’m all positioned with the video camera. My friend and her children are watching from the dining room when my son walks up to his father and says “Oh, hi Daddy.”
No tears, no drama. Just a hug for his dad and a “hi Daddy” – talk about anticlimactic.
Just before noon. Rick wants me to go get the older two kids. Their mom and I have worked out a story to get the kids out for the night on a Sunday. We’re supposed to be making cookies.
As I pick them up, they’re less than enthusiastic about staying the night. Holden has even given his mom a hard time about it.
As we approach our street I call the house to ask if anyone needs anything from the corner store. It’s our signal for Rick to get into place.
T-Lynn is on the camera inside the house. And I’m biting my lip trying to herd them both into the house while getting a front row seat for their reactions while trying my best not to giggle.
Holden spies his Dad peeking out around the refrigerator first. He’s gob smacked. Mouth open, eyes wide, grinning type of gob smacked.
Dani is greeting our Shih Tzu, Scrunchon, who is dancing at her feet. She hasn’t even looked into the kitchen yet.
“Dan”, I say, “what do you think about this?” and she looks in our direction. Her immediate reaction is tear-filled joy.
Rick encloses both kids in a bear hug and closes his eyes.
Now he’s home. Day 72
I’m sleeping. Let me repeat that part – I am sleeping. For those of you who are following my blog you’ll understand what a monumental thing that is.
I’m awakened by the absence of the weight that lay across me all night and the sudden difference in temperature. Rick has gotten out of bed.
A one-eyed scan of the room reveals that it’s still night. The alarm clock says 0430 and since the times went back at midnight it’s really 0330. I expect him to come back to bed. I expected wrong…
Instead my husband is turning on the lights and packing his bag. When he’s done with his he starts on mine. I pretend to still be asleep for the first 10 minutes of his rummaging but I’m a curious person by nature and I can’t resist asking him what the heck he’s doing at such a godforsaken hour of the morning.
“I’m going to see the kids,” is the response I receive.
“Umm, Honey, it’s 3:30 in the morning. The kids won’t be up for a few more hours.”
We argue about the time change for a few minutes and he sullenly flops onto the couch and turns on the TV.
I manage to nap. But by 0530 he’s back to rummaging in my stuff and banging around loud enough to wake Rip Van Winkle himself.
“Get up. I need to see my kids.” All the patience is gone out of his voice.
And with that our romantic night is officially over.
I manage to drag my feet getting ready. Manage to get another bath in the Jacuzzi tub. And convince him to stop at Timmies for a morning coffee. But by 0700 we’re pulling into our own driveway.
He can hardly contain himself.
Bags are left in the car and he doesn’t even wait for me to get the video camera adjusted. He’s up the stone steps like a shot.
The lights are on in the kitchen, so hopefully the kids are up.
I’m about 10 feet behind him, trying to provide some voiceover information for the camera as we burst into the house.
Kate is there. She stops like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide she looks at Rick. You can see the disbelief in her eyes. She takes a step towards him and then backs up.
He speaks to her. She moves forward again only to back up and dance. On the third attempt she manages to touch him. He’s real! You can see the words practically dance across her face and she squeals in delight. She grabs him by the arm, drags him into the living room, pushes him down on the couch and flops on top of him. Mandatory cuddle time apparently.
I call Liam up from the family room where he’s playing with his friends. We’re expecting a big reaction. I tell him to come with me there’s something in the living room I want him to see. He spies his dad.
We’ve been talking about how Liam will lose his mind when he sees his daddy. Thinking we’re going to get a big reaction out of him I’m all positioned with the video camera. My friend and her children are watching from the dining room when my son walks up to his father and says “Oh, hi Daddy.”
No tears, no drama. Just a hug for his dad and a “hi Daddy” – talk about anticlimactic.
Just before noon. Rick wants me to go get the older two kids. Their mom and I have worked out a story to get the kids out for the night on a Sunday. We’re supposed to be making cookies.
As I pick them up, they’re less than enthusiastic about staying the night. Holden has even given his mom a hard time about it.
As we approach our street I call the house to ask if anyone needs anything from the corner store. It’s our signal for Rick to get into place.
T-Lynn is on the camera inside the house. And I’m biting my lip trying to herd them both into the house while getting a front row seat for their reactions while trying my best not to giggle.
Holden spies his Dad peeking out around the refrigerator first. He’s gob smacked. Mouth open, eyes wide, grinning type of gob smacked.
Dani is greeting our Shih Tzu, Scrunchon, who is dancing at her feet. She hasn’t even looked into the kitchen yet.
“Dan”, I say, “what do you think about this?” and she looks in our direction. Her immediate reaction is tear-filled joy.
Rick encloses both kids in a bear hug and closes his eyes.
Now he’s home. Day 72
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Being the Cheshire Cat...............
It’s Saturday.
Finally.
I’ve been keeping this secret for too long.
Rick will be home today.
He’s traded HLTAs with another member of the crew. We’ve made the decision to keep it under wraps and surprise the kids. For the last week I’ve been walking around like the Cheshire cat – I’m not sure I’m so good at keeping this secret.
His flight gets in at 2030. I look at the clock – sigh – just 11 more hours to go. I feel like I’m going to burst.
I had my hair done on Friday morning. I’ve been to Mulder’s – some gorgeous t-bone steaks are sitting in my refrigerator, special request from the sandbox.
We’ve rented a hotel room for tonight. My friend is coming over to stay with the kids. I’ve stripped and made the beds, packed my bags twice and have managed to get into the bath. Another quick glance at the clock reveals only 6 more hours to go.
This must be what the old lady felt like when she swallowed a bird. I’m still grinning.
I still have to pick up some wine, Red Bull – another request, and a fruit tray. T-Lynn and the kids will be here soon. I’m giggling…
T-Lynn sends me off with a “Have fun” and I grin even wider, if possible. “Oh, I plan on it” I hear myself reply with a laugh.
I don’t think the drive in has ever taken this long. Time is both rushing and standing still. It’s almost a surreal feeling – like being dropped down the rabbit hole.
My giddy feelings of euphoria must be contagious. I’ve got the lady at the front desk grinning for me as well. We’re on the fourth floor. Normally I hate the confines of an elevator – today it’s not even a blip on the radar.
Room 416. I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath. It’s real.
My hands are full as I try to juggle bottles of wine, my bag, my boots, a fruit tray and Lord knows what else as I attempt to open the door with the swipe card thing. It’s a miracle the whole lot didn’t wind up on the floor.
The door opens. The room is big. A mini-suite with a bar fridge, sitting area, fireplace, king sized bed, I giggle again. What the heck is wrong with me? – Am I twelve?
The bathroom is massive, with a Jacuzzi tub made for two. I’ve bought candles and I set them up around the edges.
Time to get ready.
Only an hour until his plane lands.
I take my time on my make-up. It isn’t something I wear everyday. I want to look extra special for him. I’ve lost weight since he left. Will he notice?
“Stop worrying,” my brain tells me. “The man loves you. And he’s been living in the middle of a wasteland with 10,000 other army guys – you at least look cuter than they do.”
I shake my head and zip up my boots. It’s a half hour until his plane lands. It’s only 15 minutes, more or less, from the hotel to the airport. I’m nervous.
As I walk through the lobby the front desk chick gives me a low whistle. I hope Rick concurs.
I drive too fast. I always do. It’s worse when I’m excited or nervous. I make it to the airport in 10 minutes. I can see his plane on approach.
The butterflies in my stomach have turned into giant birds. My heart is pounding. They’ve changed the parking area since he left and I circle the place twice before I figure out where I have to be.
I walk in just in time to see the Jazz plane land and taxi up to the terminal. My face hurts from grinning.
I can see the passengers disembark. They’re entering the terminal and finding their loved ones. No sign of my man.
Five minutes. Ten. Then there he is!
He’s dark. He looks tired. He looks like the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. My heart leaps. I lose sight of him for a minute behind two businessmen who seem to be having an argument. I fight the urge to clothesline them and instead step around them.
He’s standing in front of me. He’s smiling. He’s blurry. Tears have jumped into my eyes. And he reaches for me. I’m in his arms. I breathe in the scent of him. I can hear his heart.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Day 71
Finally.
I’ve been keeping this secret for too long.
Rick will be home today.
He’s traded HLTAs with another member of the crew. We’ve made the decision to keep it under wraps and surprise the kids. For the last week I’ve been walking around like the Cheshire cat – I’m not sure I’m so good at keeping this secret.
His flight gets in at 2030. I look at the clock – sigh – just 11 more hours to go. I feel like I’m going to burst.
I had my hair done on Friday morning. I’ve been to Mulder’s – some gorgeous t-bone steaks are sitting in my refrigerator, special request from the sandbox.
We’ve rented a hotel room for tonight. My friend is coming over to stay with the kids. I’ve stripped and made the beds, packed my bags twice and have managed to get into the bath. Another quick glance at the clock reveals only 6 more hours to go.
This must be what the old lady felt like when she swallowed a bird. I’m still grinning.
I still have to pick up some wine, Red Bull – another request, and a fruit tray. T-Lynn and the kids will be here soon. I’m giggling…
T-Lynn sends me off with a “Have fun” and I grin even wider, if possible. “Oh, I plan on it” I hear myself reply with a laugh.
I don’t think the drive in has ever taken this long. Time is both rushing and standing still. It’s almost a surreal feeling – like being dropped down the rabbit hole.
My giddy feelings of euphoria must be contagious. I’ve got the lady at the front desk grinning for me as well. We’re on the fourth floor. Normally I hate the confines of an elevator – today it’s not even a blip on the radar.
Room 416. I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath. It’s real.
My hands are full as I try to juggle bottles of wine, my bag, my boots, a fruit tray and Lord knows what else as I attempt to open the door with the swipe card thing. It’s a miracle the whole lot didn’t wind up on the floor.
The door opens. The room is big. A mini-suite with a bar fridge, sitting area, fireplace, king sized bed, I giggle again. What the heck is wrong with me? – Am I twelve?
The bathroom is massive, with a Jacuzzi tub made for two. I’ve bought candles and I set them up around the edges.
Time to get ready.
Only an hour until his plane lands.
I take my time on my make-up. It isn’t something I wear everyday. I want to look extra special for him. I’ve lost weight since he left. Will he notice?
“Stop worrying,” my brain tells me. “The man loves you. And he’s been living in the middle of a wasteland with 10,000 other army guys – you at least look cuter than they do.”
I shake my head and zip up my boots. It’s a half hour until his plane lands. It’s only 15 minutes, more or less, from the hotel to the airport. I’m nervous.
As I walk through the lobby the front desk chick gives me a low whistle. I hope Rick concurs.
I drive too fast. I always do. It’s worse when I’m excited or nervous. I make it to the airport in 10 minutes. I can see his plane on approach.
The butterflies in my stomach have turned into giant birds. My heart is pounding. They’ve changed the parking area since he left and I circle the place twice before I figure out where I have to be.
I walk in just in time to see the Jazz plane land and taxi up to the terminal. My face hurts from grinning.
I can see the passengers disembark. They’re entering the terminal and finding their loved ones. No sign of my man.
Five minutes. Ten. Then there he is!
He’s dark. He looks tired. He looks like the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. My heart leaps. I lose sight of him for a minute behind two businessmen who seem to be having an argument. I fight the urge to clothesline them and instead step around them.
He’s standing in front of me. He’s smiling. He’s blurry. Tears have jumped into my eyes. And he reaches for me. I’m in his arms. I breathe in the scent of him. I can hear his heart.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Day 71
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
