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I’d love some cheese with my whine/wine, but I’d rather take a rain check on the wine and wait ’til May January 24, 2010

Posted by Erin F. Wasinger in So married.

One of my top complaints, short of a lack of world peace and why they sell yogurt in four- or eight-packs when clearly there are five days in a workweek or seven days in a week for God’s sake, is seemingly never seeing Dave.

But now I have more energy to focus on my yogurt problems. And world peace. Dave is no longer working on Saturdays.

Want some advice? Do not move three states away from friends and family, sell one car, get pregnant and take jobs where you have opposite shifts and work weeks, even if you work in the same building. Especially if you’re going to be working in the same building.

The situation improved last year when we got Sundays off together; I had someone to hand the baby to while I escaped to the luxurious chore of buying groceries.

But still … even the best of wives, which obviously I am, right? RIGHT, DAVE, NOD WHEN I TELL YOU TO NOD, would feel that rush of blood to the cheeks and that tiny fire of rage in her stomach when, last bite still not swallowed from dinner, he puts his napkin on the table and says “I gotta get back to work.”  The awesomeness of that situation increases in intensity every day, Tuesday through Saturday. Lately, by Saturday nights, I — the hormonal pregnant lady, remember — was so annoyed I could barely speak. And then THEN, as he’s putting on his coat, he’s asking me questions about work, or talking about work. And on Sundays he’s talking about work, and it’s the same work I’ve been trying NOT to think about because it’s bad for my complexion, and  “AAAAAGGGHHHH, I MARRIED MY JOB, HOLY OOPS.”

Awesome, times 10. Get out the scrapbooks, friends — these are nights I don’t want to forget.

But, yes: there’s good news. Dave will no longer be the object of my annoyance on Saturdays. Now, I get to be his.

Yesterday was glorious: we re-hung plastic that had fallen off windows! He carried laundry upstairs and downstairs! He gave Alice a bath! He put Alice to bed! He was here! We went to the library! We made pizza! We watched a movie, like people do! Real people! Exclamation point! Unicorns, rainbows and puppy kisses!

It sounds trite even to me as I blog about it, but the difference between Dave working on Saturdays and Dave not working Saturdays is monumental.

I’m lonely here in Oshkosh sometimes in a lazy, don’t-have-a-car-anyway way, and in that pregnant lady way that says it’s not really that big of a deal because I go to bed at 8:30 p.m. I’m good at it — I love reading, I excel at watching PBS. But still. It’s less of a chore with him here.



1. mymomgenes - January 26, 2010

I live this complaint 4 out of every 6 months, and will for the next 21.5 years, should I be so lucky. 😉 It blows. Those other 2 months are glorious, though.

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