David and I have been sharing a toothbrush holder for ten months now, and in all of that time we've been separated exactly once. (Twice, if you count the night he babysat for a friend whilst I sat at home and ate Cap'n Crunch Peanut Butter Cereal right out of the box. But I'm talking actual physical/geographical separation ... a separation lasting LONGER than the average Jenny McCarthy sitcom.)
So this weekend is going to be a real test of endurance -- in *every* sense of the word -- for us both.
Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled to pieces at the prospect of spending a weekend with the Tots. I LOVE the fact that I can actually afford the occasional plane ticket to TicTac these days. I LOVE the fact that the Ex-Hub and I have reached a place in our *unmarriedness* where we can co-exist under the same roof for 48 hours without throwing plates of spaghetti at each other. (That's right. I'm staying in my Ex-House this weekend. I will be drinking coffee out of my Ex-Coffeemaker, talking to family members on my Ex-Phone, and pointedly ignoring my nosey Ex-Neighbors. I would probably be sleeping on my Ex-Ouch, too, but they've replaced it with a luxurious new leather sofa. So I think I'll bunk in Son #Only's room instead.)
I LOVE the fact that I'm going to have a chance to check on The World's Cutest Nephew, and stuff a soft taco (or three) into my face, and listen to the Resurrection Jukebox on Sunday morning on KNDD-FM, and drop a buttload of money at the world's grooviest thrift store, Value Village ...
... but I also LOVE the fact that David is going to mope around The Castle the whole time I'm gone and miss me horribly.
It will be painfully mutual.
What can I tell you? Even after a year, we're still in that icky hearts and flowers phase of the relationship. David mentioned it last night. "Isn't it interesting," he said, "that the honeymoon still hasn't worn off?" We're that nauseating couple you see kissing in the produce section at Lucky's ... or at a red light in the middle of rush hour traffic ... or during intermission at the Elvis Costello concert. (YOU know: that couple you just want to SPIT on?) I still get goosebumps when I see the Subaru pulling up in front of my building at the end of the workday.
Even more important to me, though, than the romance of our romance -- lovely as that is -- is the connectedness of our romance. The way so many parts of my life intersect with so many parts of his life. I've completely stopped worrying about mixing my Stephen King with his Larry Niven ... my Patty Loveless with his Patti Smith ... his toothbrush with mine, in the same slimy toothbrush holder. The lines between what is "his" and what is "mine" have become blurred. But in a good way.
He is as integral a part of my life as breathing. Or caffeine.
He is my ... [gack. I'm going to say it, aren't I? stopmestopmestopme] ... he is my soulmate.
And while I'm spending the weekend renegotiating child support payments and eating bad Mexican fast food and deciding whether or not Daughter #2 should go to MILITARY SCHOOL ...
... and David is spending the weekend playing his guitar and clearing out that top shelf of the closet so I have more room for my burgeoning SHOE COLLECTION ... ahem ...
... we're both going to be feeling as though something's been temporarily amputated.
Sickening, isn't it?
blurb #1 will go HERE: i'll
continue to nag
you about the *tapestry*
thing for another day or two ... and then i'll start nagging you to
read *the clockwatcher chronicles*
self-important blurb #2 -- probably having something to do with the WEATHER: i'm packing my suitcase tonight for the trip to tictac ... and i realize that my "california wardrobe" isn't going to work. [think i have time to run out and buy a SKI JACKET?]
special *howdy* to: kari. yeah, i lived in bellevue. i also lived in redmond [didya ever hear my MICROSOFT vs. the tuna label company story??] and kirkland [where all of The Tots were birthed]. small world, huh?
where i'll ask
a *relevant* question:
amazingly profound thought of the day: oh give me a break. how often do i get all icky-poo on you? really?