Those of you who just said under your breath, “How does she think that’s different than any other day?”…can just shut it. Today it’s legit.
Rambo is far, far away in some God-forsaken back woods where y’all is an actual word and bacon is one of the major food groups. He’ll be gone for 8 days. It might as well be 47.I mean on my own – I can deal with my sadness of missing him. But when I have to watch it through the eyes of my little girls….holy Jesus. Forget it. The little one isn’t doing well. She just plain misses him like it’s a physical hurt. When he called last night, she could barely speak because she was trying so hard not to sob on the phone with him.
Yah – I couldn’t watch. She uses my phone to text him and I read one she wrote last night and it said, “Daddy – I need you home. Come back now.”Yes - just stab me in the heart with a spork. That'd feel about the same.
Lest you think that I’m being all mopey and sad and constantly talking about missing Rambo to feed her growing sorrow - I want you to know that I am not. I’m upbeat, happy and goofy around her. She doesn’t know that on the inside I want to break out into the ugly cry.When she starts to cry, I simply say he’ll be home soon and we all miss him but we’ll be okay. And won’t it be fun to hug him tight when he gets home?
And then I go cry in my room. I’m kidding. I don’t. For me, every minute just feels empty. He’s sending me pictures constantly and texting me often and I’m frankly – not quite sure if that makes it better or worse. I haven’t really slept since he left. I stay busy pretending to be crafty Martha Stewart and I curse the TV Gods for not having anything decent on to take my mind off of him.I remodeled and repainted my older daughter’s entire bedroom this weekend and all 3 of us can only think about showing it to Rambo when he gets home.
My youngest daughter asked, “Mom, who is going to take out the garbage?” Ugh. Yah. About that.I told her I’m going to do it and she simply said, “That oughtta be funny to watch.”
Jerk wad.As she deserved, I then tickled her until she cried. Not only do I have to do that but I also have to clean the kitty litter, do laundry, dishes AND put gas in my own damn car. It’s all a bunch of bullshit.
But the truth is – I’d do it 80 more times if it meant Rambo got to get away and do something he loves. The man works sometimes 40 day stretches without a day off and he treats all of us like princesses and if we can give him 8 care-free days…well then…I’ve kind of taken it on as a personal challenge.We won’t wilt and die or starve or walk around in filthy clothes. Nope. We’ll make it. And then some.
We’ll just maybe be emotional dopeheads for 8 days but still – we shall survive.I just keep thinking about the homecoming. I am 100% sure both my girls will throw themselves into his arms and barely let go long enough for me to do the same. They’ll both be sobbing. They’ll both have had a lesson in how much he does for them and how much they probably take him for granted.
It’s good for all of us. Even though while he’s gone I can’t watch so much as a Snickers commercial without tearing up.None of us do well without each other and in some ways that’s freaking scary because we’re not immortal and some day it’ll come to that.
Also, on a separate note - there are a few girls here at work who won’t shut up about how much weight they are losing and all their workouts and I’m sitting in my office eating ice cream. I’m about to throat punch them both. Mostly because I’m jealous. And by mostly I mean completely.Rambo better hurry home or I’m afraid someone’s gonna get cold-cocked.
Isn’t that a great – highly under-used – word? Cold-cocked.Wow. Emotional and can’t stay on topic.
Just nod your head and give me your best pity look. Tonight is kitty litter night.Jesus Lord. Never ever shall anyone doubt my love for Rambo. I mean hey – it ain’t all bad. At least while I’m gagging and throwing up I’ll already be holding a bag of shit so no one will care.
Then again….I might just sell the cats. There'd be way less vomiting involved, you know?