Saturday, January 26, 2013
During our twenty years of relationship, Martin and I have spent many weeks apart. In the beginning, I worked at the boys camp, eight days on, four days back at the stables. After marriage and children, he has worked at places that kept him overnight for days or weeks at a time.
This time was six weeks--which is the longest run ever--and I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his handsome face and sniffing up that delicious clean man smell. I wanted him to arrive at home and think it was the nicest cleanest place on earth filled with the most gorgeous (and intelligent and funny) wife in the world, and the most adorable children.
As such, I began the preparations about a week in advance. The cleaning was standard, where I went overboard was in the personal beautification. I wanted to wash my gray roots out, instead my hair got turned purple. Knowing that this would be a shock (and probably not a pleasant one) I decided to distract him from my hair with a new coat and a new pair of boots (Gray--ironic since I began the spending spree in an effort to cover gray.)
I was the toe twitching, lip stick applying, hair a-fluffin-pants a stuffin and fancy underwear sporting lady at the airport the day He arrived, and my first sight of him did swell my heart with love and adoration--I had forgotten he was so big and that his eyes were twinkly green. I tried to keep myself dignified when I threw my arms around his neck, but sometimes the joy bubbles out and you just have to let it run it's course.
Which it did in about 30 minutes, the first time he mentioned, "WOW, when you said your hair was purple, you were telling the truth!" As we waited for his luggage he mentioned the circus being in town and I told him that I was thinking about getting a nose ring and a bass guitar so I could join a Punk Rock Band--
It was in the first 30 minutes of him arriving that I realized he was sight marking me, and the radiant new hair color and sporty jacket were enough different that I was looking unfamiliar. While he was telling me that I looked different, I was noticing that he wasn't smelling like the scent I had been dreaming of the night before.
In the first 30 minutes, my joy morphed into a desire to scent mark him. It began when I hugged him and realize that he didn't smell at all like home, instead he smelled vaguely of diesel fuel and out-of-state water and off brand laundry detergent.
As soon as I got him home I batted my eyes and suggest that I run him a nice hot jet bath, and he complied because who wouldn't comply to a sexy woman asking if she could draw you a bath? I filled the tub and helped him out of his clothes (which went immediately into the washing machine) and then I brought him a beer and dumped bath salt into his water. I grabbed him clothes out of the closet and unpacked the deodorant and toothbrush and I handed him a towel fresh and fluffy from the dryer.
In the Five Days that he was home, I remember all of the things that I love about having him home and I remember all of the things that are easier when he is gone. In those five days I give up the remote control begrudgingly, but give up waking up in the middle of the night to fix something gloriously.
I am thinking that after twenty years, it ain't bad that we spend time away from each other. It DOES make the time together better, it is easier to deal with the little annoyances when I know that they will only be around for a limited time.