Thursday, July 8, 2010
Today is a weird day. My wife left me. Not forever. I hope. Just for work. She's flying to Ireland to watch her bosses kids while they renew their wedding vows.
Yep, my wife is a nanny. Yep, her bosses are from a different socio-economic strata than we are. And yeah, they are kind, cool, generous, amazing, attractive, smart... did I say amazing, people. And... how do you say... literate?
It's not like I think they actually read my blog. But, you know, theoretically, they could. Which makes this a perfect platform to drop hints. Not that I need to. Pretty much the only thing I'd tell them is that sometimes Danielle's body hurts her more than she lets on.
I'd ever-so-politely request that they strap her down from time to time so she doesn't permanently injure herself. It's not their responsibility or anything. It's just that she's kind of like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. Except if the energizer bunny had jumped off the Empire State Building a few times. Seven surgeries is brutal! And as an overprotective husband who kissed his wife goodbye for two weeks, these are bits of information that I want to leak any way possible.
See, I know my wife pretty well. And while she is without question the toughest and most optimistic girl alive, she has absolutely NO ability to hear what her body is telling her. It's like her bones speak French and her mind only understands English. Her ankle yells that it wants to fall off, and her back threatens to crack instead of lift a child for the 73rd time that hour. But she merrily continues, noticing only unintelligible ramblings in the background. Later I translate for her: "Babe, that popping sound... it was your back. And it was cursing at you."
I'm not breaking new ground here. Not throwing her under the bus. She already knows this, and we laugh about it at least weekly. We laugh because we both have blind spots. And she picks on me too. Like the joke she left on the dashboard of our car yesterday. It's a neon sticky note which reads "How's my driving? Call 1-800-I-LUV-YOU". Touche. Apparently she wants me to slow down while she's gone.
Yep, I speed. Yep, she knows it. And yeah, we joke around about it as much as we joke about her masochistic tendencies. But for both of us, there's that... ahem, (awkward cough) element of truth to our comedy. She really isn't a fan of me averaging 4 tickets a year (which I'm currently on pace for), and I don't love it when I see her eyes bloodshot from all the pent up physical pain.
Needless to say, we're worried about each other as we say goodbye. Obviously our primary emotion is more like "Holy crap, how am I going to survive two weeks without you!?!" But a close second is, "If you kill yourself while we're apart I am SO going to break your kneecaps later." Yeah, we love each other a lot. And we both pay the price for our bad decisions. (Read: $400+ to NYS Department of Motor Vehicles.)
Blind spots are a crazy thing. You can even know about them and still struggle. That's another reason why I'm missing her. She protects me. She knows my weaknesses and helps me navigate through raging emotional storms. Often she sees them brewing in the distance long before I can. She even tells me when I'm hurting and don't realize it.
Almost every other day we sit down on our pleather couch with massive rips in the seat cushions and she gives me a play-by-play of what I'm feeling. I stare back in wide eyed amazement! "So that's what this yucky feeling in my tummy is?!" She's like the husband whisperer.
With her gone I'm apprehensive. What if a storm comes? What will I do then? I've got this weird floating feeling like a boat without an anchor. I'm lost. Floating at sea. Speeding in my car again. Eating at the bar again. (Not really, but it rhymed.) Avoiding myself and my scary feelings.