OK, so here's my rant today. Grandparents, neighbors, Jehovah's Witnesses, Tithing Offering Deacons and anyone else that comes to my door on a Friday or Saturday. Here's why. See, I work 4-10's. That is to say, I work a minimum of ten hours for four days each week. Well that's the minimum. Then see we have another 2 days a month for drill; always a Saturday and a Sunday. Then you have your TDY (Temporary Duty) which is work out of town. This year I have traveled to Turkey twice, Japan and I'm leaving for Japan again in a few days for a couple of weeks. Add into that all of August, September, October and half November or Josh's football each and every Saturday and then the requisite deer and elk hunts and days off are pretty much at a premium.
So here's the scenario. WHEN I finally get a Friday off, AND the kids are not off "track" at school (we go year-round for school with 3-5 weeks off sporadically through the year), well let's just say that "Quality Time" uninterupted alone with Stacey is almost non-existant. So, on Fridays, I like to wake up "late" at 07:00, make a big breakfast for the kids, usher them on out the door at 08:35 and hope and pray that Baby Olivia gets ready for a nap at say, between 10-11 am. Well, assuming ALL those planets align, you can rest assured, should we "spontaneously" escape to the respite of our room (closet/bathroom/frontroom/hallway) you can just damn-near bet that either my mother, or Stacey's dad will show up. Occaissionally it's Stacey's mom, and half again as often it's my dad. Sprinkle in the unpredictable neighbor kid looking for a friend and their mother looking for a cup o' sugah, and you got yourself my typical Friday.
I tell you what, it's amazing to me. It doesnt matter if the total eclipse is at 09:27, 11:38, 14:46 or WHAT time, as soon, and I DO mean AS SOON as we begin the romantic inflections and the knowing glances and the light holding of hands (amongst other techniques) well, you'll be surprised how loud the diesel pickup sounds idling in your driveway as your father-in-law opens your garage door which you so innocently gave him the code for over four years ago. Well, if that's not the case, and let's say that the kids ARE home, but you've managed to carve out seven seconds of alone time, well, then you'll be halfway to home-base and you'll hear the withering sound of your mother talking at 1.5 times acceptable volume to your children in the front room asking, "Where's your mom?"
So, today, being JUST like any other stolen moment in time, it happened again. You wouldnt believe it if you were me. I mean, seriously, I had my game on. I was removing all the makeup she had so deliberately placed on her face, I was truly in the zone. I mean, this is one she could brag about at Bunko night. (She can't talk about it at Relief Society anymore, because of the gag-order ((dont read anything into that))).
So, of course, I'm there, I mean mentally, are hearts have become one, we are a symbiotic beating, we are the epitome of biblical knowledge, and...I hear my mother's voice. You know, I'm telling you, it's times like these I WISH I had an Oedipus complex. Because, as you can guess, you just cant make that time up again. It's gone. Once it's gone, it's...gone.
So, after my Olympic Dismount (I made that part up) I go to the door, quite in a huff, (and now dressed again) and open the french doors. To see my mother, UPSTAIRS immediately outside my door, looking from room to room for Stacey or I. So, I can't contain myself. I start into a beautifully proseful speech about the importance of CALLING FIRST and finally after I see it just fails to register said, "I was TRYING to have a romantic moment with my lovely wife of fourteen years, but I guess you're having a difficult time calling first." She apologizes profusely, but the damage is done. There is no coming back from this. It's like an episode of, "Everybody Loves Raymond". Same hairstyle, same ingorance of reality, and the same look of surprise that ANYONE could do such things during daylight hours.
So, as I pen this here this evening, I'm thinking how funny it was, to give her the speech as I follow her down the stairs. Quite forcefully and direct as to the importance of quality time with a loving and heavenly eternal companion. OK, I didnt say it like that but it would have been better if I had, because as I hit the bottom of the landing, out of my kitchen walks my mother's friend, "Bernice" whom says, "Hi Jon" as though it's Tuesday and we just passed each other in the grocery store looking for Sprite. So, I lose all ability to recover from this embarassment, and just decide that we're aparently going to have a brunch conversation with my mother, my former babysitter, and my wife is going to hide upstairs from the embarassment.
So, I guess I have NO point in this whatsoever. Other than the comedic value, of the irony. I mean, I actually got away with MORE when Stacey and I were messing around in her mom and dad's basement. So it's ironic to me that when it's sanctioned and holy union by God, I cant catch a freakin' break. But if it's illicit, ugly and hurried, well, we got all the opportunity and time in the world.
So, anyhow, I guess my hope is that someone out there will feel my pain and laugh along with us. That you'll see a little of yourself in this little diatribe of ridiculous proportions. Most importantly, I hope that since misery loves company, if ever YOU get a time where the baby slept through the entire night, and the kids are all on "track" and the moon is full, and the planets align, and Sagitarious is in line with Uranus, well, I hope someone comes along and thwarts your plans too. I hope that it's the Jehova's Witnesses, or your Visiting Teachers. I hope it's the Cable Guy offering free Skinamax. Hell I even hope it's the Deacons looking for fast-offerings. But what I'd never wish on you? Is that your mother or father would invite themselves in unannounced, that you'll suffer the pain of irony at how 17 years later you just CANT catch a break. I hope they bring a catalogue of bullet reloading equipment, or better yet, they want to convince you to allow them to take your kids to a movie, and that you have zero opportunity to share any semblance of a romantic interlude together until you're well into your sixties and you'd just plain rather watch, "Little House on the Prarie" episodes rather than suffer the inglorious emotional deflation of missed opportunity.
Have a good night kids. I know I wont.
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