Double Digits.

As of 7:30 (ish) pm last evening, D & I have been married for 10 years.  (dumbass argued with me about the time of our nuptials - like HE remembers)

TEN. YEARS.

It hardly seems possible.  This officially makes us Old Married People (OMP).  How…weird.  I find it amusing that I can sail through life with a mental age of approximately 22.43, yet my body keeps aging (read:  ass keeps expanding).  And my kids keep growing.

Gawd.  Ten years ago I was pregnant with Austin, and heading off on our (free) honeymoon.  We lived in a crapulent rental house that reeked of heating oil and was oddly designed.  Yep, 1998 was quite the year.  We got married, D lost his job, I went on maternity leave, D found a new job, and Austin finally deigned to arrive, after much coercion and a surgeon’s intervention.  That year makes me laugh and cry all at once.

Wait until November, when Austin turns 10.  It’s possible I may require sedation.

Does not disappoint.

D has become Predictable Man.  I scare him with how well I know his habits and patterns.  Even though we’re living apart, he’s still D.  And still predictable.

Examples:

His reaction when I told him I’d given Austin The Talk:  horror, amusement, pity (not for me), and most of all, relief.  As expected.

His answer when I offered to make him dinner while visiting him (sans kids!!) on Friday night:  Not hungry.  And when I said, “Oh, so you want to get some, then eat dinner, and then pass out?” he was more than a little sheepish.  Again, Mr. Predictable.

The length of time we spent chatting online, once we’d both figured out our respective technologies and had the webcams and voice via Yahoo going?  About 3 minutes.  Oh. So. Predictable.  He’s not a chatter, unless you are in the same room, and therefore, his Audience.  On the phone, and, apparently, via webcam?  Not so satisfying.

And, the last predictable thing about him:  he really wouldn’t like me posting this.  But I don’t think he’s reading.  I guess I’ll find out.

Nobody said we were sane.

D is home!!  There has been some of The Sex, and I am restored.  It’s been lovely having him here - I’d forgotten how much we talk.  About everything, anything, nothing.  We bounce ideas off each other, share funny/maddening/boring stories, and enjoy being together.  I suppose it’s good timing for me to remember all this, seeing as our 10th wedding anniversary is coming up quickly.

My dad was here for a few days, and he kindly took the boys on Friday night.  Bonus!  I worked yesterday, and he got to hang out with the boys - this involves them running back & forth from our house to the neighbours’, over & over & over.

I think the sweetest part of the weekend was the welcome D received from our menagerie.  He admitted that they’d be back to driving him mental in a few hours, but he really loved all the attention.  Of course, this has led to the admission that he needs some companionship of the non-verbal kind in his place.  He’ll be picking up 3 foster cats (permanent ones, lol) tomorrow morning.  They’re super-friendly, and I think this will help with the quiet and loneliness for him.

BTW, I’m still fucking laughing at that LOLCats photo I posted.  Seriously.  So. Damn FUNNY.  Found another one, maybe I’ll post that too!

Must. Post. More.

Some days, I feel I’m just hanging on.  As noted in my last post, February is…ahem….pissing me off getting me down.  It’s just so goddamn drab.  The snow, while still marginally pretty, is just a pain in the ass.  The temperatures keep changing, and this usually means I have to shovel the damn snow.  Again.

Work is slow, although I probably have a million things to do.  I just keep avoiding/ignoring/forgetting about them.  Go, me.

I’ve been told I need to exercise (I believe the term was vigorously) and I just can’t get motivated.  Someone kick my ass.  PLEASE.  Heh.  I’ll be doing that myself, I suppose.  The exercise thing will help as part of my treatment plan - isn’t that official sounding?? -  and raise my endorphin levels.  Or something.

Basically, no sex because my husband lives far away and winter weather is making it nearly impossible for him to come home on weekends is making me cranky.  REALLY goddamn cranky.  He’d better be home and naked by 6 pm on Friday, or I can’t predict what might happen.  It’ll be ugly, people.  Front-page headline ugly.

Romantic in the most unexpected of ways.

Either that, or he really wanted to get some. Perhaps both.

Last night was my office party - we do a big buffet dinner at a local golf course/resort. There’s lot of alcocohol, and we normally get hotel rooms for the night (paid for by the company). My plan was as follows:

1. Deliver children to friends’ house for the night.
2. Pick up alcocohol.
3. Try to find new top to wear.
4. Meet up with D at hotel.
5. Party!

Numbers 1 & 2 went off as planned. Number 3 proved a problem, but I didn’t care. Number 4 was the kicker. D needs to replace the thermostat in his truck, because he currently has no heat. It’s been a wee bit chilly here lately - we hit -18C or so last night.

Unfortunately, my husband is no mechanic. It was so cold that he broke a bolt, and couldn’t replace the thermo as planned. The broken bolt also meant he couldn’t drive the truck, as it holds on some thingamajig housing that keeps fluid (antifreeze?) from spewing out everywhere. He called, he apologized, and I realized I’d just have to go without him - he’s 2 hours away, so it’s not like I was up to driving to get him.

My alcocohol and I checked in to the hotel alone. I fixed myself a drink, and finished off my latest book. Then I put on my fancy clothes (ha) and tottered down to D2’s room to continue drinking. We (her hubby was with us) headed to dinner in the cold and snow, my mood only slightly improved by the drinks.

Dinner was good, and I ate too damn much.

I was sitting there, contemplating dessert, when I looked toward the buffet and saw someone walking towards me.

My husband. With frozen ears and hands, wearing 2 shirts, a sweater and 3 coats.

I think my mouth hit the floor. And then I poked him, just to make sure he was real. (I’d had 3 cosmos and 2 bellinis by that point. One never knows.)

It’s funny, because I’d said to him earlier in the week that if the weather was bad and the roads were terrible, he shouldn’t feel bad if he couldn’t make it. He gave me the gears, saying that it sounded like I didn’t want him there. It was more that I was trying to prepare myself for the possibility of him not making it down. Of course I wanted him there!

And if you were wondering, we left first, amidst many lewd comments about the smile on my face.

16 hours and counting.

That’s how long it’s been since I saw my children.  The neighbour’s sons are here for the weekend, and my two tend to not-so-mysteriously disappear when this happens.  They ran off at 4 yesterday afternoon, allowing me many hours of peace and quiet, which included a nice nap on the couch.

I hope to see them before I leave for the day, but who knows?  Last time they slept over, J was crying at our back door at 8:30 in the morning, without a goddamn coat on.  He’s definitely a momma’s boy, when he’s not being a little turd.

In even more exciting news, D should be home this afternoon!  Whee!  I haven’t seen him for more than 45 minutes in almost three weeks.  This living apart thing really sucks.  But the reunions are freaking great.

What to do….

Oh, the difficulties of having a week off.  Well, most of one.  If you don’t count that I’m working Saturday.  Or that I went into the office for 3 hours this morning.  Had to!  So behind.  Shouldn’t even be off work.

Damn.  There goes the guilt again.

One of my staff actually bitched that I “picked a bad time to take a week off” because she’s getting lots of calls about the big windstorm that came through on Monday.  Yeah.  I’m fucking awesome, but as yet unable to predict the weather.  I think she was half-joking.  Maybe.  She’s not really on my good list right now, for multiple reasons.  Sigh.

Anyhoo, back to my dilemma.  You know, the one I half-assedly referenced at the beginning of this post, before my brain went skittering off in no less than 42 directions.  Goddamn brain.

D wants me to take the boys to see him.   I want to stay home and do the following:  clean gutters, bake bread, clean house, do laundry, paint bedroom (and maybe living room), change the living room around, get Jackson’s glasses ordered, assemble my new IKEA lamp, and install my new IKEA shelves.

I miss my husband, but honestly?  This shit will never get done if I take off again.  And I’m tired of driving.  He’ll be home Saturday.  I think I can wait.

This is probably why we got married.

D & I are both total dumbasses.

D: Forgot his cell phone charger while on a trip to the US.

J:  Got mad when he didn’t call all weekend.

D: Called home several times, forgetting that the kids & I are not there.

J: Assumed he’d forgotten the charger. Stayed mad.

D: Phoned once he returned to BC.

J: Never once checked the home voicemail.

D:  Neglected to leave me any flight and/or hotel info.

J:  See previous, re:  voicemail.  Durrr.

I’m not sure who “wins” this particular dumbass contest, but I am no longer mad.  I can’t believe I didn’t check the voicemail at home.  He left messages until the mailbox was full, and he left at least two numbers for me to call him at.  Somehow, it’s possible that I have edged him out.  Then again, who the fuck forgets their one & only cell charger?

I need a man.

Stolen from Carbon:

1. Who is your man? D
2. How long have you been together? Almost 13 years
3. How long did you date? Erm….3 months before we shacked up. 3 years before I got pregnant & we got married.
4. How old is your man? 37 (geezer)
5. Who eats more? I do. He’s weird and views eating as a chore. Me, not so much.
6. Who said “I love you” first? I did.
7. Who is taller? He is, by a few inches.
8. Who sings better? Neither of us can sing, but he’s awful.
9. Who is smarter? He says I am. But I’m not allowed to tell anyone that.
10. Whose temper is worse? Mine.
11. Who does the laundry? Both of us. Especially now that he’s living elsewhere during the week.
12. Who takes out the garbage? Both of us. See 11.
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Me.
14. Who pays the bills? Me.
15. Who is better with the computer? Him.
16. Who mows the lawn? Both of us.
17. Who cooks dinner? Me.
18. Who pays when you go out? Him.
19. Who is most stubborn? Oh, that’s a good one. Probably me.
20. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? Toss up. Probably him. Well trained husband, eh?
21. Whose parents do you see the most? Mine. It’s a geography thing.
22. Who kissed who first? I kissed him.
23. Who asked who out? He asked me. And then proceeded to get me loaded. On a Monday night.
24. Who proposed? He did, if you can call it that.
25. Who is more sensitive? Me.
26. Who has more friends? Me.
27. Who has more siblings? We’re tied at one sister each.
28. Who wears the pants in the family? Me.

Lurk? Who, me?

Turns out Oct 3rd was National De-Lurking Day. And I missed it. Maybe it would have motivated me to comment on one of the many blogs I frequent. Alas, I was sans internet, in the wilds of Southern Alberta.

I was learning, people. About how to manage my staff. And about how to spy run reports to see what they’re doing (and perhaps, what they’re not). I thoroughly enjoyed the 2-day workshop. I did not enjoy the travel required to get there and to return home.

Scare Canada? You people can suck my ass. You clawed back minor points for actually managing to get my luggage to the right destinations. I do, however, have some problems with how much stress you added to my life in getting me there. I especially enjoyed the highlights:

• Landing in Vancouver 20 minutes after our Calgary flight had left.
• The “customer service” rep who was helpful, while also managing to be completely negative about our chances of making the next flight on standby. (we did)
• Sitting at the gate in Calgary for 45 minutes. For no fucking reason. Sorry, Mr. Pilot, that wussy explanation about the ground crew/luggage/closing of doors? Didn’t wash.
• Running like a madwoman from the end of one gate to the end of another, just to catch my flight home.

My lowest moment came while sitting in row 27 (of 29), at that goddamn gate in Calgary.  I was sandwiched between a guy whose family was across the aisle, and some woman who annoyed me just by having the window seat.  And all I wanted to do was cry.  I played by the airline’s rules, and thought that it was only fair that we leave on time, so I could GO HOME.  To my kids.  To my life.  I hate that I almost cried.

I am so freaking glad to be home.  Except I’m not.  The boys & I are visiting D tonight - one of of his last in this damn hotel.  Woo!