The phone rang just minutes after my husband had settled in after returning home from his requalification simular ride for his job as a commercial pilot.
A 2-day trip to LA with the red-eye home the next day.
We're usually pretty superstitious when it comes to talking about his schedule, but we've been out of practice. It's no wonder we don't generally speak of such things.
"I wonder when I'm on call next," he asked, as the phone rang in his hand.
It wouldn't have mattered so much had I not been scheduled for a fun solo night at a local swanky hotel and some much-needed pampering and alone time the next day. I'd been afforded an entire week of him being home, so the two days with him away were really nothing to get upset about.
But I had been really looking forward to the girls' overnight out.
I've gotten over being the seemingly rude person who calls at the last minute to cancel with the same exact excuse.
"Sorry, my husband got called on a trip and I won't be able to make it." Again.
I realize that some folks probably don't believe me anymore. And really, that's why I'm hesitant to RSVP "yes" to anything. Unless I know it's on a day he will definitely be home, it's not worth the trouble or, in this case, the disappointment.
But what I won't get over is the feeling of missing out -- on having a life that completely revolves around that darn schedule I get the week before every month's end.
I only secretly wish that my husband would get to see what it's like to be me. I know it's no fun to do a crappy red-eye trip. And I know that it's not his fault.
But sometimes I think it hurts even more when I'm somehow supposed to get used to this, and shrug it off like it's nothing.
It might be the way that it is, but that doesn't mean I have to love every minute of it.
Image via Flickr/Artotem