Today I'm THAT wife. You know? The one that everyone who Rambo works with constantly rolls their eyes at because I worry too much.
Like today for instance. Rambo begins work at the prison at 6am. I get to work about 7am. Every morning when I turn my computer on, there is an email from Rambo waiting for me that says, “Good morning baby, how are you and how were the girls this morning?” Let me say that again - EVERY SINGLE morning he works at the prison - I get an email.
Today though? Nothing. (Go ahead - feel free to gasp in horror.) Three hours creeped by since I knew he had been at work and I finally gave in and called. I couldn’t not know any longer.
Calling the prison sucks. You get transferred a million times to a million Captains and Lieutenants and Sargents because they have to get through all the ranges to find where the person you need is.
I got to the 4th person and it was a woman and she answered it “Food Service”. Ah – therein lies the issue. He’s over-seeing the kitchen workers so he has no computer today. The lady says, “Do you want me to have him call you? He just took out an inmate who is taking out the garbage.” Nope – that’s all I need. To know he’s alive.
She kind of chuckled. It comes with the territory. Worried spouses when they don’t hear from their loved ones. It’s a super maximum prison and when I get an email every single day that he has worked there and one day I do not – it’s impossible for me not to think the worst. And lately shit has been hitting the fan there. Lots of strip searches and noncompliant inmates and fights and Rambo has been called to a lot of cells to calm inmates down.
He’s fine though. Let’s all stop rolling our eyes at the crazy worried wife now, mkay? Now I’ll just worry all day knowing he’s in the kitchen - with the inmates that supposedly are good enough to handle large pans and multitudes of knives and sharp objects….ugh.
It could be that I’m a little emotional today to begin with. Watermelon went to school with a friend this morning on her own so she didn’t get up with me and Banana or ride to the sitter’s house or get on the bus with Banana. From the moment Banana woke up – her cheeks were never dry or absent of tears. Big, fat, rolling tears…because she doesn’t want to go to school.
Rip my heart out and stomp on it with 6 inch heels. Over and over.
I texted Watermelon after I got to work and left Banana at the sitters and said, “Good morning. Have a good day. Banana and I missed you and she was a little sad this morning and I’ll see you tonight.”
Watermelon texted me after a bit and said she went down to Banana’s classroom and told the teacher that Banana was a little sad and might be crying and could she just hug Banana when she comes in from the bus?
That was a couple of hours ago and I just got another text from big sister that said, “Hey Mom, how is Banana doing?”
On one hand it’s the sweetest thing ever for her to be so worried about how her little sister is doing. On the other hand – I see myself in her. Worrying – maybe too much – about the people she loves and not enough about herself. Is that good or bad, right or wrong? I have no idea.
Some day it’ll be fun to tell Banana just how much her older sister worried about her and peeked in on her classroom without Banana even knowing. She has her own real guardian angel and doesn’t even know it.
I guess they are both lucky little girls.
On a funny note, this weekend Banana went on a bike ride with the neighbor kids and their Mom at a local park. When she got back she said to me:
Mom – there were a bunch of Amish people at the park. They kept staring at us like we were idiots. Their eyes kept getting buggy freak out like at us. You know…like we were idiots for riding our bikes.
I said, “Well maybe you looked like idiots or something”, as I laughed.
She said, “No, Mom. We just looked like a bunch of Americans. Geez. It’s like they never saw Americans on bikes before.”
Her indignant tone and little head shaking in disgust was just too much. And going to school brings her to full on sobs. I just can’t keep up with this kid, I tell you.
Yes, some day I will have to tell her that Amish people ARE also Americans. Geez.