Fourteen Weeks and Counting

Fourteen. XIV. 14.

The name of my brother's restuarant and the number of weeks my husband has been working as a consultant in Michigan. The first eleven weeks weren't that bad. Really. It was around the twelth week that really started to bother me. Like the kind of bother that makes you think drastic thoughts. The "I need a friend and where can I find one" kind of thoughts. The "Could we move out of state to be near loved ones" kind of thoughts.

Sure, he comes home on the weekends and some weeks he is only gone three out of five days. Like this one. But tonight is the first night he is gone and I already miss him. Terribly. Not so much in the new love, romantic, sort of way, but in the he's my children's father and my favorite friend sort of way. The silent guy at the other end of the sofa sort of way. The I'll deal with the kids sort of way. Or the I'll clean up dinner way.

Many others have similar if not longer seperations from their spouce. I get that. And I try not to complain. Really. The guys got a job. That's more then he could say this time last year. But the days are long and the nights are longer. I wonder how others handle the situation.

I look to military wives. They aren't just seperated, but they fear for the safety and very lives of their loved ones. However they have something that I do not. A support system. Military bases in their very existence provide a wide range of opportunities to network and find others in the same situation, a sort of misery loves company senerio. A "I know how you feel....let's get togther to beat this thing" sort of support.

I'm reading of the seperations our founding mothers went through while their husband's were on over seas assignments or serving in Washington while Congress was in session. I've read how they handled themselves. More often than not the wives and children moved to be near family while their husbands were away. Mothers, sisters, aunt's and dear friends stepped in to help with the family responsibilites. When surrounded by loved ones they were better able to endure the time apart.

My nearest relative is a two day drive from Tenneesee and the friends I hold most dear live very far away. My efforts to reach out and find a friend that is as close to me as a sister, here, within a 15 mile radius from my house, just seems out of my reach too. But I won't give up.

I will step up my service efforts at church. I have joined a political activity group. I drive one hour each way to homeschool group activities several times a month. I put myself out there. I am searching and hope that soon I will find another kindred soul who needs my friendship as much as I need hers.

Lost Things Found

A good night's sleep is worth it's weight in gold.

The morning after my frustrating evening, I walked down the stairs and noticed something shiny and red near the chairs in the living room. There was not one, not two but four teeny tiny screwdrivers just sitting askew on the seat of my chair. Indeed they had been laying there since Christmas. Apparently my mind was too clouded and annoyed to think clearly the night before. Of course they would be left laying around still in the living room. We really haven't graced that area of the house since Christmas morning. Who spends time in their formal living room anyway? I mean really. Isn't that room set aside for visitors and Christmas? I should have known.

The towel bar has been successfully hung! Oh, and I found my husband standing innocently in the arrival level at the Nashville airport on Friday night. All is right with my world.

Teeny, Tiny Screwdriver & Other Missing Things

This evening after dinner I set out to do a simple task. Hang a towel bar in the Master bath. Simple enough. I gather the drill, drill bits, hammer & level and head off to tackle the job. Marking the screw holes and sinking the anchors is no problem. I am woman hear me roar.

The next step is what throws me into a near meltdown tissy. Loosening the small screw on the bracket. All I need is one of those little teeny tiny screw drivers.

"No problem", I think to myself. "I have my own tool bags in the garage and know exactly where one is."

A few seconds later I'm puzzled to see the little red box that holds my small tools empty. "Darn. I guess I'll look in my other bag." I looked around for a minute or two for my other bag. The yellow tiny screwdriver holder is not in there either. Frustration sets in.

"Well let's see. Here's a box labeled drill bits." None in there.

I check a box of random tools. None there. I look on top of the work bench. None. It starts to dawn on me that these screwdrivers were probably used on Christmas Day toys. So into the kitchen tool drawer I head. Not a single one in sight. Next drawer, I start throwing items onto the counter in frustration. None there. Agggg. Back to the garage. I shove and move and throw things around on the tool bench. Still no luck. "I'm gonna scream! Boy when Bruce gets home is he going to hear an ear full about what a messy way he keeps his tools. And why am I left here all alone night after night, week after week all by myself? Taking care of the kids, the house, the finances, the cooking the shopping.....If he were here in the evenings I could just have him look for one."

Resigned I head back upstairs in hopes of finding one on the nightstand or junk drawer or something. I really want to finish this project and have a place to hang my towels!

"OWWHH! STOP IT!" I hear coming from the play room.

Oh no. Not another bout of sibling rivalry. I barge right in, point to the offending child and condemn him to an early bed time. Boy what I wouldn't give to have a quiet evening, day, night, minute, hour to myself.

Still looking for the small tool in a foul, foul mood.