“I can do this. I am woman. I am strong. I am independent. I am capable.
Birthed two babies after all. Survived typhoid fever in Africa. Lived through organic chemistry in college. Twice.
So what if you’re leaving in 2 weeks on a 15-month deployment. I am not going to get wrapped up in numbers. (But that’s more than 64 weeks, 450 days, 10,800 hours. 2 Thanksgivings and 2 Christmases will go by. Hope, age 2, will be 4 when you return. But I’m not going to focus on numbers.)
I want you to know that your absence will be no problemo. I’m every woman. (Right, Whitney?) Year-long separation? Been there, done that, can do it again.
But if you don’t mind, I would like for Paul the exterminator guy to move into the spare bedroom. Just in case I need him. No? He can’t? But you don’t understand. If there is a single mickey mouse sighting this winter, I. will. perish. Perish, you hear me?
What? No, I cannot, will not go into the attic. I am absolutely terrified of the attic.
You want me to take out the trash while you’re gone? Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. Hope is too short. And Rhema, well, she’d rather climb into the garbage. But I loathe taking out the trash and I have no idea when the recycle days are!
And I have to get the mail and read it and start paying the bills and managing the budget? Wah!!!!! But you’re so much better at that. I told you, I’m really not fond of numbers at the moment.
But, but what about oil changes and car problems and house repairs and heavy things and scary noises in the night???
(I have so much respect and admiration for single parents right now.)
Well, it’s a good thing we hired someone to handle lawn care and snow removal. Phew. I mean, I could totally do it. I’m strong like that. But I will have so little time, this really is the best idea. Huh? I’ll still need to shovel the front of the garage and throw salt? What do you mean? Just grab the salt shaker and sprinkle the driveway? No? I tell you, in all my pampered life I have never “thrown salt!!!!”
(Starting to hyperventilate). O.k. I know I’m every woman. I know I was surviving just fine before I met you. But, well, o.k. I admit… I need you. (And not just because you’re manly.) In the words of that rocker chick Pink,
PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Smoothes frazzled hair).
Pardon that outburst. But if you go, who, pray tell, who will open my jar of spaghetti sauce???
Seriously, B. I know I act like I’m fine. Cool, calm and collected, that’s me. But the truth is, the grocery store was my undoing today. Numbers all over the place (and I’m so not into numbers right now.) There were expiration dates everywhere I turned.
The fact is, sweet man of mine, by the time the milk goes sour…
you’ll be gone.”