Saturday, November 1, 2008

Keeping it hot while far apart.

Mr. Husband cometh home. He is warm and snuggly in our bed now. Worn out from so much conference in so little time. He came home bearing gifts: mug and shiny new pen. My favorites. I forced him into a highly flammable costume from Party City as soon as he was beered and cheesed so that we could make his boss’s costume party. No matter what—you always go to the boss’s party. Always. We happen to be very lucky in that Mr. Husband’s boss is one of the best bosses in the world—and he’s incredibly funny and super smart. Winning combination. The boss knows how to throw a good party. And so we went—dressed as what I called Greek Logics. We were supposed to be scary, and I think that, for some people, Greek Logic is the scariest thing in the world. Huzzah!

It felt so good to hug him! To feel Mr. Husband’s arms around me. It’s like it had been years. I think I almost died. I’m sure I came close. And consider that we are always in touch. He’s never far from me via IM, phone, or email, but it is the physical presence that I miss. I miss hearing him breathe. I miss his bad breath in the morning. I miss wondering if he’s dying when he’s stuck in the bathroom for so long in the morning. I miss making him coffee and having him tell me how good it is. I miss seeing his eyes light up when he hears what's for lunch. I miss it all. There are certain things that Mr. Husband does to make sure that I do not miss him so much that it hurts and my insides start dying. He sends me photos. The airport photos are my favorite. This year’s group began with the photo in the plane. I love it.

There are certain things that I do to make sure that Mr. Husband doesn’t miss me so much that he gets shorter. I couldn’t handle that. For God’s sake, let my Mr. Husband remain the towering giant that I’ve grown to love in a very tall kind of way. I always try to pack love notes into Mr. Husband’s suitcase. I tuck them into pockets and between shirts. I place them lovingly into his man-panties as they lay folded on top of each other on their private side of the suitcase. I try to place them strategically so that he finds them occasionally throughout the week. He takes pictures of them and sends them to me with his “Wow!” and “I love you!” Must keep that blood-pumping-through-your-veins-hot-love-makes-me-excitable-all-the-time thriving between us. And we do.

Mr. Husband has an iPhone, so he’s able to send me photos of little things he stumbles upon and that remind him of me. Typically, they are things that he wishes I was with him in order for us to see together. I have my trusty camera with me at all times in order to document the boredom that sets in without Mr. Husband. The two cats were definitely bored. Mr. Oliver, the Senator, let me know loud and clear with poop bombs on the rug in the laundry room that Mr. Husband’s departure from home was unacceptable. The two cats would sit and stare at me every night. They missed the family aspect. I understand. Little Bonita, our bananna head, is never calm without Mr. Husband. She, too, stares at me as if I've forced him from home and fed him to the neighbor's dog.

Today will be cat Saturday! I’ve already made the coffee and will probably go and wake Mr. Husband soon with an English muffin and some eggs. I will wake him as he crawls all over the morning bed—taking up both sides of the bed. While in L.A. Mr. Husband sent me a photo of himself sleeping and taking up the entire bed. Bad man! I’ve got Mr. Husband well trained to sleep on only one third of the bed while, in truth, we practically sleep on top of each other. I get two thirds of the bed and share it with my cat. We have needs. However, my biggest need always is to feel his heart beating next to mine. I like his soft breathing that makes me feel safe and reminds me of his great love.

2 comments:

Cari said...

How did Mr. Husband take a picture of himself asleep? I've wrestled with this and finally must ask - C

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