~Ch-Ch-Changes~

     It has been awhile since I typed here--this is that stage of our life where my computer is completely dead and I have no access.  Truthfully, not having the exercise of typing is making me a bit crazy.  I have hours of extra time a day, I've began organizing closets.  This has to stop--I really really need a computer.

     But today is a great day, because Jake borrowed a laptop from Corie, and he doesn't have to return it til this evening...I have a laptop at my fingertips for hours and hours.  Ahhh...the joy of having my tool at my fingertips.  (Because as a writer a computer is my tool, not just a luxury.)

     You were just home for two weeks, and they were a pretty good two weeks--things got a little crappy when you had to have oral surgery, but the silver lining is that at least you were home and you could get it fixed, and how cool that you had the cash to pay for the procedure. 

    Your job has certainly changed our financial status in a positive way.  We have spent more money on teeth this year than the previous 22 years combined, and it makes me feel wonderful to pay the mortgage in full and on time.  

     On this trip, you did an amazing job of separating home and work in North Dakota.  You were here with us, taking the boys hunting, going to church, hitting some parties and hanging out on the couch watching stupid movies.  You were exceptionally good at not letting your work worries invade our time together, and that was an impressive feat since your whole future became shaky ground.  Will you be the new crude boss?  Will your truck be sold from under you?  And what about all of the options in between those two extremes--

   --When I talk to you on the phone and you examine all of the possible futures, I get dizzy and I think how hard it must be to live inside of your head with all of those thoughts and concerns buzzing around.

     I get the impression that I frustrate you with my lack of panic over the shaky future.  It seems as though you want me to make some changes in my working status so that you don't have to worry so much about our future--you want me to share the burden.

     See, here's the thing.

     I am your anchor in a storm.  I am the safe harbor complete with cocktails and warm soft sheets.  I am your home. 

      Right now, my job is to be here for all of you that are running around the country making money and getting educated. 

     I am not worried about your ability to provide for us financially, and when the day comes that I begin to worry, I will get a job. 

     I can't spin on all of your possible futures, which currently seem to include everything from you living in williston and seeing us on some weekends and occasional holidays OR you coming home to live with us and do the kind of work that you used to do. 

     The thing is, I have no control over the decisions you are going to make.  You have a set of weights and measures--and I know that your kids and I weigh really heavy.  You also have your personal journey and the question of what can you do, what are you willing to do--how much of an impact can you make on the oil world?

     You have big heavy worries when you are in North Dakota.

    As your partner and your wife, all I can do is tell you that I pray for us all the time, that the best possible outcome will be achieved.  I have faith that you will chose the best path for you, for all of us.  I have faith in your decision making abilities, and I have faith that my prayers have already be answered--

     And me and you are going to be fine with whichever path we are on. 

     

    

~Frustration~

When I was between 7-8 years old, we lived in a single wide trailer next to a feed lot.  My dad took care of the cows, and that is how we paid the rent.  It was a teeny tiny trailer house, so little that my 7-8 year old arms could touch both sides of my bedroom wall (I thought that was cool).

We were "eating-the-Government-Cheese" poor, but I wasn't aware of it because we had a red velvet couch (A bed spread tossed over a broken down couch that had coffee cans for legs) and my mom made strawberry pancakes so in my mind we were OBVIOUSLY rich.

One day, my mom told us to get cleaned up.  She was getting little Missy and baby Mandy ready and Dave and I were on our own.  I asked where we were going and she replied, "Disneyland."

I was stoked!  There wasn't even the tiniest recognition of the fact that my mom was being sarcastic.  I put on my favorite dress (it was a hand-me-down from Kimmy and it had Holly Hobby on the front of it).  Dave brushed his hair and put on nice clothes, we helped mom pack up the babies and we jumped in the car that drove straight to...

Albertsons.

My mom parked the car and left all of us in the car while she went shopping.  It was summer and it was hot and Missy and Mandy were both under the age of 3 and not loving being trapped in a car on a summer day.

Dave and I were sweating and playing with babies and talking about what ride we would go on first.  My thought was that mom was buying sandwich stuff for the trip because Disneyland would require being in the car for at least an hour.

It was on the way back home that I realized it was just a big joke and Disneyland wasn't really going to happen and I was a complete dumbass to cry over it because OBVIOUSLY it was never going to happen.

So!

When I say that our latest sexual stage of life makes me feel like a 7-8 year old kid who thought she was going to Disneyland, but she was really just going to babysit her sisters in the parking lot of an Albertsons on a hot summer day--I really know what I am talking about.

~Crime and Punishment~

Here is the crime you will undoubtedly hear about ad nauseam when you arrive at home in three days:

Jake had a midnight curfew (with 30 minutes of leeway) and he arrived at home at 3:00am.

I have decided that the punushment will be that I am taking away his phone until he completes three tasks:

1.  Clean the garage.
2.   Get all of the weeds out of the flower bed and yard.
3.   Organize the fire pit wood and all of the junk bikes.

When he completes those tasks, he can have his phone back.  I figure if he gets right on it, he can get his phone back Monday.  If he cries and whines and delays--it could take weeks.

He is currently sleeping and he isn't aware of the consequences of his actions, but I already know the story he is going to stick to:

They got to the top of the Butte, and Hailey lost her phone and so they had to search for it.  His phone lost battery power, so he had to turn it off, which is why he couldn't asnwer calls, texts or be pinpointed on life 360.  They had to stay and keep searching--but they were not able to find it.

His story may be true.  All of his stories for why he is late might be true.  There does seem to be a consistent pattern:  before he or Hailey leave for an extended period of time, they get together and Jake is 2-4 hours late.

I figure that Jake has decided that he is an adult and as such, he can set his own curfew.  I appreciate his efforts in stepping up and making his decisions and because of that I have decided to treat him like an adult.  One that needs to prove to us that it is worth it to pay his phone bill.  He can show us he is worth that $50 by doing chores.

If he always seems to lose battery power, or accidentally have his phone turned off when it is past his curfew and he can't call me, then I am not compelled to shell out the cash for that phone.

~The Reality Part~

You have been doing North Dakota for one year, 8 months one week and one day.

Whenever I go out, people ask me about you:  "are you still there?  Do You like it?  When will you be home? How long will you be home?  You must be making great money...right?"

I've noticed that men seem the most sympathetic when they say, "You must really miss him.  I know he must be missing all of you."

Women have more of a tendency to say things like, "It must be kind of nice when he is gone.  He is going to be home for TEN days?  I bet you will be glad to see him go."

The truth is, the way I feel when you leave has changed quite a bit over this journey.  The first few months, it was like agony watching you leave.  I walked around in your t-shirts and yoga pants, sad and lonely and physically ill.  At first, I often thought I would rather live in a trailer by the river with you, then in this nice house without you.

It took some time to realize the financial benefit to paying every bill every month, and to have left over money to catch a movie with the kids or buy a new shirt because it was on sale.

There were a few times when you came home growly and grumbly and fault finding and there were months when I was completely fine with you being gone.  I have always been happy to see you come home (mama's got needs that need to be met).  But there have been times when I was happy to see you go back.

This year has been a new phase--this year you are Mr Vacation and we are always looking forward to you coming home, and we are all always sad to see you go.

It isn't just the Cruise (best time of my life!) or the trips to Vegas or Missouri.  It isn't even over-nighters at the Fort or the nights at the cabin.  It's that when you are home you are taking care of things that need to be done and you are wonderful to be around.  You are laid back, funny, kind, sexy and you are getting the work done so we can go do something fun.

So, now you are like a man on vacation when you are home, and that is sublime.  It gives us all a vacation, even when we don't go anywhere.

When people ask me if I am secretly happy that you are gone NOW I tell them, "No, I miss him and I can't wait til he gets home."

I like this phase the best.  So far.

~Don't Stop Flirting~

This morning, I sent you another racy picture.  I started sending them this year so that you would remember what I look like.

Well, that's not true.

I send them so you can see how I look when I am standing just perfectly, sucking in my gut, perking out my boobs, wearing make-up and lots of flowing hair.  And then I crop the pictures to remove all of the things I find unsightly--like cellulite or love handles or wrinkles--and then I run the pictures through some filters to jack up the highlights and shadows and perhaps blur out my mommy belly.

Before I put on the make-up, fix the hair and pick the outfit, I clean the bedrooms so that the background looks inviting.  If I happen to get the ironing board that is covered in clothing, I crop that out.  If the bathroom door is open and you can see the pile of clothes on the closet floor, I crop that out.  I make the bed so that it looks smooth and inviting and adjust the lighting.

And while I am doing all of that, I am thinking of something witty to say, so that you think I am both sexy and funny.

All in all, I invest about an hour of time into each shot and I do it because I like to think that I am planting an image in your head of me looking all silky smooth and inviting.

We both know that if you were home and seeing me in my natural state everyday, you wouldn't have any illusions about how supple I am, you would see me everyday without filters or cropping or perfect posture or jutting breasts.

So, the picture taking thing is good and the delightful benefit is all of the flirting that goes along with it.  Oh Daddio, the way you talk to me when you are far away.  It's delightful.  It feels like dating, and it is so cool to still be dating the same man for 21 years.

Tell ya what, you keep flirting with me, and I will keep flirting with you.  I will be your girlfriend when you are out of town and your wife when you are at home.  The wife gig is pretty sweet too, because it is your wife who fulfills all the promises that your girlfriend is making.

~Nothing But The Truth~

In the last few days I have realized that you are talking to me quite a bit about Colorado, or Wyoming or Oklahoma.

I have also realized that you are at a man camp with other men who are looking at loss of wells and talking about what that holds for their future--

And I know that stewing men are worse then a gaggle of hens, I have come to understand that you are either sitting in the house stewing with the men, or out in the parking lot talking to me on the phone.  I would imagine that the sound of my melodious voice is a pleasant distraction and that when you hear me, you probably want to talk about something other than the number of loads and what it means for our future.

Having realized that my last post about Colorado is a little whiney and putting more pressure onto your already pressurized existence, I was going to delete it.

But then I realized that you don't read these anyway, it may be years before you come here.  You may never come here.  But if you do, at some time in the future, find this and read it--then it is just fine that I leave the thoughts that I was having on any particular day right where I wrote them.  Things have changed from last year, I suspect things will continue to change, this can be the record.

Today is also the day after I lied to you about the money I spent at Maverick.  When you asked what I purchased, I said "Gas" reflexively.  I lied before I thought about telling the truth.  I actually let the lie stand, I even told the kids, "If Daddio asks, we bought gas--not beer and pop".

After pulling the kids into my web of lies, I realized it was such a stupid lie, and I really don't want to get into the habit of lying to you about stupid shit, especially if I have to find a patsy to cover my story.  (Shortly after pulling the kids in, I texted you and spilled the beans about my beer and my knowledge that I was going to overdraw the account when I bought it.  Then I apologized to the kids for asking them to lie to their dad, because they should always tell you and I the truth, even when it looks bad.)

Once I get into the habit of telling little lies, then it becomes easier to tell them more often, and perhaps make them inflated.  Such as when I tell my mother I have to get off the phone because Martin is calling on the other phone.  Or when I tell you that I bought all the kids a new pair of shoes, and I conveniently forget to tell you that I also got myself a couple of cute pairs of kicks.

I am probably still going to lie about important things, like when you ask me how my day is going and I say, "Really good!" or when you ask me what I am wearing and I reply, "G-string and pasties, the usual."

But I will make an effort to more more honest about how I am throwing your cash around.  Hell, I can even be a bit more responsible and decide that not overdrawing the account is more important than a beer and a couple kid beverages.

~So...The Colorado Thing~

The buzz is in the air that you may be moving to Colorado.  I say that because I was with you when you spoke to Eric and threw your name into the hat.  I understand that a couple of your Ross room mates are also throwing their names into the hat, and I see why it would be great for them as they would be closer to home.

I also see why it would be great for you:

On and off Ramps to the highway.  No more jumping off a dirt road into 65 mph traffic
Better weather.  Colorado ain't no Paradise, but it probably won't get to -70 with white out conditions and everything covered in hoarfrost.
Cheaper.
Your water probably wouldn't be flammable.
Ross loads are slowing down.
Closer to your parents.

I can SEE why Colorado is a good idea for you, so it is odd that it makes me so uncomfortable isn't it?

From my perspective it is good or non-life changing:

Traveling from North Dakota or Colorado will take you the same amount of time, so it won't make a blip on the radar for home life.

You will be living in Colorado, I have been saying for years I would live in Colorado--it is a pretty state with healthy looking people and a lot of outdoor activities.  It still has the mountains, but it is warmer than Idaho.

However, the plan isn't for all of us to move to Colorado, it is just you moving to Colorado--and it isn't a solid plan, just a whisper in the wind of a possibility that may never amount to more than hours of hot air.

SO why does it bother me so much?

Today, as I was driving to my mother's house to help Dad put items on Craigslist, I thought about it and realized that it bothers me because it is a change that involves you moving to another state for work.

It's primary enculturation in action.  When Don left us, he said he was going to Texas for a job and he would come back to get us, which of course he never did.  Unfortunately, I was 4 years old at the time and smart enough to make the connection between, "I am moving out of state for a job" and "Sayonara suckers, I am out!"

Because I learned that lesson during my formative years, it has just become a part of my psyche--it's just there like a great white swimming beneath the surface waiting to attack.

It's cool that I figured that part of it out, now when I get that panicky, "he is MOVING out of STATE for a JOB" feeling, I can remind myself that you are not Don and I am not four years old.  You moving to Colorado simply means I have more incentive to come visit.

The other problem is that I have my compass tuned into you in North Dakota.  I know the road that I have to drive to get to you.  I know Billings is the half way point, and one of my favorite spots to visit.

If you go to Colorado, my compass is going to have to reset in a different directions, and what if I can't find my way to Rock Springs to meet you for a booty call?

Obviously that is a silly thing to fear, since I know how to get to Rock Springs.

But still, it's the internal compass getting redirected.

I have some quirks that probably make it hard to have a relationship with me.  You could say that me obsessing over where my husband is going to live next month is one of them. Or you could say, "I am exhibiting total normal marital behavior.

S0000...The Colorado thing--which may not even be a thing--It's making me as jittery as a mouse in a hen house.

Just do me a favor.  Give me some notice, don't spring it on me.