I started working on my MBA in January, going to classes in the evenings. Between school, work, horse and dog, my little blog has been sadly neglected. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my share of adventures. It kicked off in February. My fellow White Trash Reiner (stay tuned for more on that) GG and I packed up and drove to Arizona with three horses and our sidekick, White Trash Wanda. My Facebook/Instagram buddies are all familiar with Wanda, but she will be making more of a splash soon.
The whole Arizona trip was planned, in part, because it had a lot of non-horse related activities for our non-horsey significant others. We shot automatic weapons and went off-roading in the desert (thank you Desert Wolf Tours!); we ate an obnoxious amount of good food and drank a lot of wine; we almost saw a Cubs spring training game (the ONE day it rains in Arizona, I swear), and we even spent a rather bizarre afternoon at the Phoenix Art Museum. Oh, and I went to a horse show. All in all, a great little trip.
At least, that’s what I had to tell Tanner because he wasn’t there. While I was frolicking in Arizona, he was stuck on a rig in northern Alberta and couldn’t get time off. That’s right. Our horse went on a two-week vacation to Arizona while my husband worked in what has to be one of the coldest winters on record.
No wonder Tanner is wary of our equine buddy.
I have to be honest, this winter was a tough one for us. Now that Tanner’s working in Canada, there is no rotation. We haven’t been able to plan more than 12 hours in advance – and in some cases, we can’t plan more than 45 minutes in advance. There’s been more than a little frustration and a few bumps in the road, to say the least, but (hopefully) we’ve come out of it stronger for it.
But if I can be allowed to vent, there is one problem I have with this work arrangement that I cannot overlook. Or forgive.
The surprise visit home.
Guys, you can’t pull shit like this. For example, Tanner called me at about 4 p.m. one afternoon. The rig had some issues, and he was on his way home for the night. He’d be at the house at around 7 p.m. Most people would be ecstatic. And I was excited to see him, but here’s the problem: with school, my already questionable housecleaning abilities have gone completely out the window. My filing system is now a piling system. Dog hair has completely taken over. Once I started school, it took me about three weeks to completely regress back to student life, which means there is no food in the house. Like, nothing. Maybe some crackers, and some moldy cheese from the last time he was home. Well, and wine. There’s always wine. And it was winter, which means my legs look like I’m wearing permanent leg warmers. And we won’t talk about the rest of the hair situation.
And I don’t get home until around 6 p.m. I need at least eight hours of preparation time. Preferably three days.
I’m a public relations professional and I KNOW these are poor optics. Tanner’s been stuck on a rig. I just returned from a vacation in Arizona. I should technically be able to keep the house in order, but there are other things to do. Like study, go to class, work, ride the horse, walk the dog, go out for dinner, work out have a Netflix marathon…
I will be damned if it looks like I’m lazy. So I dash home, risking life and limb to essentially skate home from the train station to the house. The piles of stuff get thrown into the basement. A home cooked meal is completely out of the question, so I order pizza and then jump into the shower to try and make myself more woman than Yeti. In the middle of my efforts, the door bell rings. Of all days for pizza to actually show up early, seriously. So I run downstairs in a towel, dripping wet with remnants of shaving cream on my legs. I whip open the door to face an elderly Asian delivery man, who is mortified.
Come on. I can’t be the first frazzled, nearly naked woman to order pizza.
I throw cash at him, tipping about 75%. I can’t afford for Panago to stop delivering to my house. I close the door and take a deep breath. And then say f*ck it, and open a bottle of wine. Tanner should know the risks of coming home early. Plus, being a complete trainwreck can only strengthen my argument for a sister wife (update: it didn’t).
But even worse than the “short notice homecoming” is the “no notice homecoming.” Tanner’s a fan of surprising me, and coming home in the middle of the night. Just so we’re clear – someone creeping into my bedroom at 3 a.m. is not a surprise, it’s a FUCKING HOME INVASION. And it’s not like the beagle provides any sort of protective services. He’ll bark, but he won’t get out of bed to investigate.
However, all of this is effectively moot, because starting in August, Tanner will be working in the office for about two to three months. That’s right. For the first time in our close to seven (I think) year relationship, we’re going to live with each other full time.
Mmmhmm.
Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to it. But after spending most of our time apart, it will be an adjustment to coexist. From what I understand, husbands need a lot of care. Like, they prefer to eat periodically and have food available. And they don’t recognize bok choy or kale as food (I’m back on my clean eating bandwagon after pushing my body to its gastronomical limit over the past month. Tanner does not share my love of leafy greens).
So if anyone has made the adjustment from “field life” to “full time wife”, let me know your tricks.
