My husband left for a business trip on his birthday this week. Usually we will celebrate with a dinner and cake of his choice, but his flight was directly after work, so we made an omelette and presented him with homemade cards at breakfast. His boss decided to show us up...royally. I discovered later that day he would be flying first class. And well, I was home with two dogs, two children and a house that was basically a disaster zone. We are moving in a few weeks (yes, during the holidays) but that is a whole other blog. And while I was projecting, "Yea! So happy for you! You deserve first class treatment!", inwardly, I was screaming, "REALLY?!?". AND you had Tex Mex for lunch? AND they gave you a Carolina golf shirt AND your favorite gin? Where were these people on MY birthday? Because after all, your birthday is all about me!". So of course I called my venting outlet, aka best friend Heather and lamented over this latest development. I did not receive much sympathy as she deals with this weekly and her husband will call her from the airport to happily report he has been upgraded due to his frequent flyer miles. And she says quote: I have not even had a shower today: unquote. I do not think she will be offended I wrote this statement. Her husband, although he is fond of me, might insert other adjectives. Well, to top my whole evening off, right after I put the children to bed, our end of town lost power. Complete blackout. Candles lit. Shaking of the flashlight that does not have working batteries (note to self). Children waking up and crying because the night light is out, the bathroom light is out, the clock is out and seriously, we have too much dependency on florescent light. Clearly the Mid East is not a threat to this household. Big breath. Big glass of wine. And I sit on the couch, staring at the neighbors behind me who evidently have a generator and think, "Really? First Class?". I will edit the remainder of my thoughts. But then I edit again. My husband is halfway across the country. Granted, someone served him the drink of his choice while he was flying and having a grown up conversation, uninterrupted. He will sleep in a big bed, uninterrupted, with all of the covers for the whole night, and wake up to an alarm clock, make coffee he will drink hot, watch the news and miss his children. And miss his children.
Everyday I fly first class. I get the full on treatment of giggles, achievements, hugs upon pick ups, stories of the day, homework, "the grumps", unlimited hugs, sloppy kisses, corny jokes that a grandparent would gobble up, smiles accented by dimples, elementary school gossip, highlights of trucks and cars in the sandbox at preschool, frustration with a child in the classroom, stories about a teacher in a wedding dress in a bathtub, tests that were totally aced, tests that came back not totally aced, news that the sun is a really, really, REALLY big star and I love you's at unexpected moments. And the only cost is I stay home every day with these passengers. No baggage fee. No charge for a beverage. No delay on the runway. No, "Oops! We lost your reservation." (Insert favorite Seinfeld episode here). No calling and hoping I hear a a voice on the other end because I get a person to person call every single day. Yeah. My husband flew first class on his birthday. One day out of 365. You deserve it, buddy. But I'm just telling you now...my frequent flyer miles are not for sale.
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