I had plans tonight. These plans have been in place for a while. HF got home from work this morning and informed me before falling asleep that he had to be back to work by 3 pm to work a special event. I gave him my "squint like Clint (Eastwood)" eyes, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it. It was impossible to get a babysitter on that short of notice, and I couldn't take the kids with me. My plans. Ruined. I was kind of upset. (note to self: Mr. and Mrs. Fuzz should have a scheduling meeting once a week, preferably Sunday nights after the kids go to bed. We will write on a calendar all the scheduled events that he has that he knows of and then I can make plan A's and plan B's. No more of this telling me about events while I'm half asleep or shampooing my hair and can't write things down.)
My eyes darted around the room, resting on a rotting container of baked beans on HF's nightstand. He had already fallen asleep and I lay on my stomach staring at the nasty container. I realized that every day he brings his pack upstairs when he gets home and empties everything out onto his nightstand. I wake up because I hear the violent ripping of the velcro on his uniform belt. Sometimes I might roll over and say, "Seriously?". Then there's the racking of the slide, the lone bullet falling out with a dull thud on the floor, to which I might say, "Can you do that again? I don't think the neighbors heard you". Then there's the sound that I can't stand the most. The empty tupperware container being set down on the nightstand. Today being the previous night's baked beans. It will sit there until I can't take it any longer and I take it down to the kitchen, because HF just won't do it. Sometimes these containers are being brought home after a few days or even weeks and are growing mold. This is one of those little things that drive me mad. I shout in my head, "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST PUT THESE NASTY CONTAINERS IN THE DISHWASHER AND NOT BRING THEM UPSTAIRS TO OUR BEDROOM AND PUT THEM ON THE NIGHTSTAND?!"
But you know what? These sounds are the sounds of him coming home *safe* in the morning. I love being woken up by the sounds of him coming home when there's so much uncertainty while I'm sleeping. It's comforting! In the middle of the day when I'm finally getting around to loading the dishwasher, I remember that there's one more dish. I go upstairs and tiptoe into the bedroom. I usually pause to look at him sleeping. He looks so tired. Sometimes there's drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. Sometimes he's snoring. I like it when he's lying straight face down with his arms by his side and there are two or three pillows stacked perfectly on top of his head. I slowly reach for the nasty container that he so inconsiderately! placed on the nightstand and I hold my breath, thinking that if he hears me, he might karate chop me because that's what he does now. As I carry that container back downstairs, I know it really isn't a big deal that he does this. Yes, it really does drive me crazy, and it would be preferable that he put his used food containers in the sink, rinsed! But this little ritual of his, imperfect as it is, has become "music" to my ears given the nature of his job. In the grand scheme of things, it's just a container. And if it's empty, that means he ate his food that I made for him instead of going to some fast food place in the middle of the night.
If he gets home early enough, before the kids are awake, he slides into bed, spoons me, and quietly tells me about his shift. I would like to keep sleeping, and sometimes he goes right to sleep along with me, but I end up having so many questions. And he usually has some good stories to share. Which, by the way, he will be sharing on the blog soon.
I like this post by LAPD wife, Routine Challenges.
My newest found tv show while HF is working graves. Miami Vice seasons 1-4 on Hulu.com. So far? Ridiculous.
If you are a fan of Napoleon Dynamite and Nacho Libre, you will be happy to know about the newest film, Gentlemen Broncos , out October 30th.