Kurt's out of town and all his ladies are feeling the lack. Yesterday Anna was playing with the little girl from across the street whose parents divorced about a year ago. Anna said something about "daddy not living here right now because he was far away", to which the neighbor girl responded, "Yeah, like me and my mom, we don't live with daddy either, we live separate".
I stopped myself from jumping in to clarify the details with a simple smack to the head and mumbled, "they're 4, forget about it". Still, it sat with me. It's not that I worry Anna will think there's something wrong with the occasional business trip-- she still thinks the entire nation is approximately the size of an airport, which must explain why everyone goes there for vacations.
It stuck because, in reality, we are pretty much the exact opposite of separated. Kurt and I have never spent more than a week apart at a time from the moment we met, and then only rarely. Honestly. I'm not even sure it's been a full week, at that, just a few days here and there. Maybe it's cheesy or we're still holding on to that newlywed flush, but the truth is that we don't LIKE being away from each other. It feels wrong, weird and vaguely unnatural, like forgetting to wear your underwear. Okay, maybe not like the underwear thing exactly, but you get the idea.
Sure, a few days in control of the remote, eating fish sticks with the kids and skipping one of my bi-weekly bouts with the razor is fun (yes, I shave maybe twice a week. If you don't like it, don't look down). It's safe to say I do the dishes a lot less compulsively and there are probably cracker crumbs in the bed from my late-night reading sprees a la Ritz.
But I read all night because I can't sleep when he's not here. Part of it is your typical hyper-alert-someone-will-break-in kind of thing. Mostly, though... I miss him. I feel lonely and sad and I miss him.
He steals the covers. He snores. Sometimes (let's not be shy) he toots in his sleep. I'm sure I'm no better (if you want to hear about my charms, though, you'll have to wait for Kurt to start a blog). Regardless, first thing every morning, before our eyes even fully open, he leans over and kisses me. My days that don't start with that kiss are not nearly as good.
(I realize this sticky sweetness may not go well with everyone's morning cup of coffee, so bear with me through the last gooey bit and then you're free to return to your regularly scheduled cynicism of the day.)
He'll be back tomorrow, only three days away from me, and I can't wait. Our 6th anniversary is this weekend and while it may not seem to be one of the Big Ones, it still feels pretty great to me. I love my husband. He's funny and supportive and smart and looks amazing in a nice suit-- and even better out of one (mmm-hmmm!). We're still two very distinct individuals, even occasionally at odds, but when we drive each other crazy, it's usually in the most frustrating and wonderful ways.
More than all that, though, is I can say with all certainty that my kids won't find themselves explaining to friends about their parents not living together any more, for one simple reason. We don't know how to live apart. For good times or bad, in sickness or in health, that's a lesson I'm quite happy never to learn-- so long as we both shall live.
Happy anniversary, baby. Promise I'll shake out the sheets before you get home.