Uncommon Curiosity

Tonight, probably late enough that it will technically be tomorrow, Kyle will get back from Florida.

It’s been a REALLY long week.

His phone decided, on the second day of his trip, that it was no longer willing to send me pictures, so he’s been emailing them to me in small batches every few days.  We’ve only managed 2 or 3 phone calls since he got there, one of which was accidental – I was leaving him a message and he surprised me by answering in his sleep.  (Btw, yes, he’s very sweet and cute when he’s sleeping…in a completely rugged, manly way, of course.)

I’ve had a really hard time of it, which surprised me – I knew it was gonna be hard, but I figured I’d work my way through it the way I always do.  I just didn’t take into account the perfect storm of events that was brewing on the horizon:

• My separation from my husband slid out of the fear and excitement of a new experience and into the dull ache of grief.  The reality of being alone as a parent for days and days at a time hit like a ton of 5-year-old car-seat french fries (much harder than bricks, as all parents know.)
• The week before a new school year I always get anxious about my new class…will I like them, will they like me, will I make a complete fool of myself trying to explain ideas none of them has the least bit of interest in?
• The doldrums of summer have just hit wherein the weasels and I are absolutely sick of each other and are actually looking forward to the stress and strain of school so we can get a break from all this wonderful togetherness.  If I never see another board game/fun family craft/amusement park/video game it will be too soon.  (I’ve tried to escape, but the friendly clerks at the supermarket think I’m just kidding when I whisper, in a hysterical voice, “please help me, my children are holding me hostage!”  Are they laughing because they think it’s funny?  Or are they in on the evil plot to destroy the brains of moms until we’re actually willing to buy Kellogg’s fruity cocoa puff pop tarts with mini marshmallows – now with extra corn syrup! – for breakfast?)
• A low point in my cycle.  A couple times a year I get the Period Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken.  I’m talking the kind of PMS that carries a federal warning and a sizable death toll.  As much fun for me as it is for everyone else, I’m as likely to burst out in tears at random moments as I am to whip out a machete and explain to the nice man behind the counter a few reasons why customer service can truly be a matter of life and death.

Oh, and with the general insomnia that the weasels experience during the summer months…sadly enough, Roxy has NOT been getting her groove on.  An attempt in early July that was nearly interrupted by a wandering weasel close to midnight left me too scarred to try again, even with the door locked.  For the first time in my life, it’s been MORE THAN A WEEK, and, at this point, I can’t even remember when I last passed Go and Collected $200, if you get my drift.

Hell, at this point, I’d settle for a quick $5 and a house on Marvin Gardens.

So it was really a difficult week to be away from the luxury of constant connection with Casey and Kyle.  Yes, there have been emails and texts and I know he loves me, and he knows I love him, but it’ll be really nice to get back to normal and see his face on the screen where there’s just a blank space now.

I know people get by on a lot less, sharing great loves through long-distance letters, infrequent phone calls, and the hope that their lover will be home for the holidays, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m weak.  I’ve fallen apart because I’m an addict, and his total being is the only cure.  His love is an addiction that I’ve developed over the days and weeks and months I’ve known him.  He’s my drug – the best drug I’ve ever taken.

Hello, my name’s Roxy, and I really, really, really miss my baby.