It’s Pathetic Really

This weight of sadness that sits on my chest at the sight of an empty inbox. There were the two status updates on Facebook when he landed in two different cities after all. I know he’s where he’s supposed to be. I know there is no internet in the jungle. I know it’s hard to send your wife an update from the back of a motorcycle on a dirt road in the middle of Tak province.

But I miss him.

He’ll be home in one week and I miss him. I want to tell him about the blood vessel that I just noticed has burst in my eye, probably from staring at this monitor for hours a day with little sleep. I want to tell him that the Baby woke up calling for him tonight.

I want to ask him what settings he used to get that last picture to publish, because I resized it and want to upload it again. I want to tell him about the conversation I had with his dad this weekend, and I want to tell him the current status of my end of this little project we’ve begun.

I want him next to me when I fall asleep.

I think he’s the better parent, because when he’s not around I notice the sarcasm creep into my voice all day, along with the do it now that rises to if I could strangle you with words I would sound.

I want to tell him how I couldn’t sleep the night he left. My brain was too full of things, everything from tax law and non-profit charters to sewing projects and the start of school. And of course the image of a plane making it’s way somewhere above the pacific ocean that wouldn’t leave me.

I want to tell him that today I feel like I failed, because he’s so good at asking me if there is a logical cause behind such vague feelings. And I will say that the kids got to bed late, and only ate cabbage for a vegetable along with noodles slathered in butter and keilbassa. I will say that they watched many movies. I will say that the house looks a disaster and I didn’t make them pick it up even once today. It will be messy for the first day of school. I will tell him I haven’t figured out how to get the store to work, I’m still stuck on uploading images. I’ll tell him I didn’t get photographs of every single bag while the light was good. I’ll tell him I spent at least two whole hours sitting outside while the kids played and several more walking to and from grocery stores and browsing. I will tell him I spent too much time trying to find a picture to go with a post I’m writing and didn’t get any writing done. I’ll tell him that I haven’t worked on my book at all for weeks, and that the new blog I’m trying to get started remains empty. I’ll blurt it all out to him and then he will calmly tell me why I am stupid to feel like I am failing.

He will remind me that it’s a show day, they’re allowed to watch shows today. He will remind me that it’s good for children to play outside. He will listen to bits about tax law and ask insightful questions that I had not considered. He will take over my desk chair and upload everything for me. Most of all, he will give me a hug and tell me that I’m doing a good job and that he trusts me.

And then he will gently mock me for my tendency to be melodramatic, and by gently I mean he will say something like, “How is that different from every other day?” when I mention the state of the house. And he will lean over my shoulder while I madly type at something and say, “You know what time it is right?” and then I will look up and go brush my teeth and rest my tired weary eyes beside him until morning.