It was six hours before husband and I spoke on pick up day. Six. Hours. So let me tell you my side of the story because its my blog and I can.
His flight gets in at 935 am and we live 90 minutes from the airport on a good day. I am yet to encounter a good day in terms of the airport run and so I’m always late 15 minutes. Always. Set your watch by it. Dont be surprised 15 minutes. Every. Single. Time. He will always be amused or annoyed I hedged bets in which it will be by those 15 minutes.
I need to leave home at 800am to arrive in time by 935 however I have three boys and the school tells me they can’t attend until 830. I prefer not to tick off my school community to often as I think I do this enough whilst husband is at work by feeding them the occasional inappropriate breakfast so I try to hang back until 830 but on pick up day it’s impossible so at some point my neighbour will take them around 805 or between hearing screams of ‘pick your fricking clothes off the floor or don’t you understand I need this place perfectly clean from her verandah. But of course the kids don’t understand they just know that dad is coming home the one that plays tigers nonstop, is funny and has the patience to cook with them.
The kids don’t see it as I do that I want our home to say I have worked equally as hard as he. I don’t get a pay packet as an endorsement that I have worked 28 days straight I do but I don’t get a payslip with my name on it. All I have is a clean house and children in tact so I need the house to look clean and the children alive. I also need it clean so he can rest if he knows that word for just a minute so I can feel okay about our whole lifestyle ‘choice’. But still my boys continue to drag their feet and spill milk all over the freshly twice washed floor. I know so fifties housewife but that’s the beauty of choice.
So despite getting up at 430 am at 805am I’m yet to get dressed. I think it’s something to do with getting three others ready for school but it could be that my proprieties are shot. So at 805 I’m already late so I wonder do I change from my running gear or hedge bets that I’m going to have a good run down the hill and get dressed because despite running the ‘pick up’ outfit through my head all night I do not look like I remember. I haven’t lost that five kilos and I was 26 when I last looked in a mirror. Always the optimist I start the process and frustration of choosing an outfit like it was our first date all over again. Because pick up day is always like our first date; complete with the nervous pee.
Another five minutes late but bets hedged again.
And I confidently hedged bets because even being late I will look amazing and he will sweep me up and kiss me and say it’s okay ‘I have only worked 28 days straight and have only been up since 3am the previous day worked 12 hours before boarding the chopper flight then onto that tin rattler before catching the red-eye. He will continue with and even though I should’ve been sleeping on that red eye flight I couldn’t because I really wanted to watch the in-flight entertainment so I’m really tired. And even though waiting another minute is a pain in the arse I have come to accept that you are always 15 minutes late. I understand that you have the kids, a school community to keep happy, nine road works, and 265 corners to drive whilst hopefully not stuck behind an arse that doesn’t seem to know what that over taking lane is. And so even though its my pet hate I don’t mind that your fifteen minutes late because on top of that you look sensational.’. Yes that what he will say.
Bets hedged. I take the chance and try on a third outfit.
810am. I head out the door to my unwashed car…sigh.
Needless to say after all that hedging it isn’t a dream run. Murphy’s Law sticks with me until the very end bless his heart because I get caught at every road work, stuck behind a Morris minor that if they really wanted to could drive those 265 corners like it was on rails..of course in the safest possible fashion.
And so I was 15 minutes late like always.
Waiting tired and annoyed was he. You could tell by the way his mouth puckered . Good flight I asked opening the back of the car for his luggage. Yeah great he replied in a tone of voice that I could ice skate on. Was that sarcasm I asked.
No he replied.
Of course it wasn’t the look of death told me that.
Ordinarily I would have gone off my tree like a two dollar hooker being short changed but I’m almost all grown up now I understand I was late he was tired there would be no winner and so instead I took a deep breath muttered frick you and got back in the car. There was no kiss. No you look sensational from either of us. Even though he did look sensational there would be nothing because I spent hours planning this pick up and so I wasn’t giving an inch. So it was a waste of hedging bets and a whole lot of other is what I thought.
It was six hours before we spoke again and I don’t remember who spoke first but it ended with a oh god yes because sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all.
xx Deb
{Image with thanks from here}
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