It’s hard sometimes to share what I want to share on here, what I feel I can share on here without being worried I will worry someone else or say something that I should have just kept to myself, but I can’t let other peoples’ thoughts prevent me from my own. This is why I have this blog. To get it out.
These days, I am Miss Independent. A long, long, long time ago, I was Miss Independent, long before Kelly Clarkston was even born probably – the song or the idea hadn’t even existed. But here I am Miss Independent with three children, with days and days and days of summer ahead, trying to figure out ways to fill them.
A long time ago, when I was Miss Independent, Mr. Manic was a cop. He was working shift work and I had been accustomed to being by myself for months at a time. And this was right before we were getting married, and in order to communicate (there were no cell phones back then), we would leave a notebook filled with messages on our kitchen counter to tell one another what we were doing that day, or how much we missed each other, or that we loved one another.
I would make dinners only for myself, and lived off buttered and parmesan noodles. I paid the bills. I did the laundry for the two of us. I went out with girlfriends, because he was not around. He was working.
He’s been gone a lot lately. Not in the Jon Gosselin way, NO! Don’t think THAT! Lots of travel, lots of it, and it’s an adjustment to be alone with the kids. I leave the house a mess, am a living, breathing Felix and Oscar – whichever one is the messy one, that’s me. And the day I know he is returning, I swirl through the house and make it all homemakerish and clean and nice. Because he has worked hard and deserves a clean home.
I am thankful he found work so soon after being let go from his other job, and really, this is a dream job come true for him. He is absolutely loving it. But selfish me is not loving not having him here. I guess I don’t want to learn to be Miss Independent again. I liked being Miss Dependent. He said the other night that this is good – it can bring me out of my comfort zone a little bit. What’s wrong with being dependent upon someone? Isn’t that part of what a marriage is? But then there’s the part that says, Me First. I have to do what makes me happy first. What makes me happy? My kids, my writing, my books, my work. My husband. But he’s not here. He’s out working, which includes a lot of travel, and it’s not that I’m jealous of what he’s doing. I’m jealous of what he’s not doing. He’s not here for basketball or softball, for pool time and tuck ins, for the normal stuff we are all so accustomed to him being here for. And I know I’ll get used to it. Because what other choice do I have? To pout and be bitchy the times he is home? No. I have to suck it up and become Miss Independent.
And there are some pros. I don’t have to cook ever if I didn’t want to, not that I did much of that when he was home every night. I can totally let the house go. I can let the kids stay up till whenever they pass out from sleep deprivation. We can all snuggle up in my bed. I can pull into the garage as asinine as I want and not have to share the extra space. I have my office all to myself … there are some good things.
But having him here and having him stressed about a job that he was more stressed than he ever let on, well, that wouldn’t be a good situation any longer. That situation is no more, and it’s a new situation, and we’re just adjusting, getting used to it. It’s like when you bring home that new baby, whether it’s the first or the second, or even the third. It takes some time to get used to the new format of life, and I guess that’s what I’m doing.
And it’s OK. I’ll be OK. The kids are great. Mr. Manic has never been happier, I think.
Today, when I told Diva I was a little sad and that I missed Daddy and I didn’t like him being away so much, she said something that struck me and I’ll hold this in my heart and think of how selfish I’ve been.
She said, “At least he comes home, and he’s not in Iraq.”
She’s absolutely right. How lucky are we.