About that kitchen pass…
The wife speaks.
It is the end of my work week. 2:45 in the AM. The kids sleep soundly, all the animals are snug in their respective corners. I hear Craig get up to use the restroom. He doesn’t say hi, too sleepy. I smile to myself. I don’t think he realizes how often I read his blog. After days of opposing schedules, quick hellos, quick goodbyes, I am curious as to what he’s been thinking. I skim through all the gear talk…P2oTX whatever, whatever. And then suddenly I am reduced to tears by the beauty of some of his words.
I am amazed at times how different we are from one another. His body craves adventure while mine closes its eyes and waits for the feeling to pass. His lungs burn from exertion when mine burn from too many cigarettes. Craig has gumption while I…well let’s just say when Cormac MacCarthy’s “The Road” takes place- he knows where I stand…The wife that offs herself because there’s no point to that sort of existence.
He often teases me that I duped him into choosing me. I think I did. After the first few years of good behavior, my true nature emerged. He could not have known my propensity for worry, nor all seventeen phobias and quirks, the patterns set undoubtedly by my disgruntled Armenian DNA. I guess they emerged slowly enough so he wasn’t entirely blindsided. And yet, despite it all, he still loves me.
He in turn is not the young reckless and uncertain boy I met so many years ago. He is my husband, kind, unselfish, and hard working. He is a man who knows his likes and dislikes, someone who can differentiate between his wants and his needs. He is a man filled with endless curiousity, amazing fortitude, and a boundless amount of patience. He is a father that takes his children to rivers and mountains, sharing with them all that he knows and loves, holding their hands as they cross streams, loving them so completely.
So when I see his shoulders stiffen and his mind becomes distracted, I know it is time for him to go. Maybe the mountains, maybe the desert, where a stream will whisper and the sunrise will inspire. Somewhere he can dance alone in the woods or jump in a pool of water naked. Freedom. A brief respite from the drudgery of life and all that it entails.
I know this is important for him and I’m glad he goes. Because he comes home to me, to us, refreshed with a quicker step and a lighthearted mind. I am happy to see it, when his spirit is renewed with whatever it is he saw and did. I am happy to have this man as my partner. Happy to see him leave and happy to have him return. So the kitchen pass is easily given, wholeheartedly for whenever he is in need.
We may be different, But we do hate the same things.