February 20, 2009

Soooo. It's been, like, a year. I wish I could say that there was some great reason for the absence, and I actually considered inventing one: Government testing becomes mandatory, our plucky heroine forced underground! or Pregnancy scare -- will the baby have fur, or anger management issues? Stay tuned! or even, Did Meg's husband finally lose control and --no, wait, that's not really so funny. Honestly, nothing especially dramatic happened, you know, if you can get around the fact that our normal life goes on with a somewhat dramatic flair. John lost his job, but we sort of knew that that was coming -- the economy sucks, and he was kind of first on the chopping block because of all the sick days. We considered a lawsuit, discrimination or whatever, but lawyers in our area are sort of booked up with similar lawsuits pending all over the place, and lawyers outside our area look at you funny if you try to explain anything about anything in any depth at all, so that's that. We were tense for a bit, but he is now working for an old buddy of his from years ago. The hours suck and the, um, the moral compass of the buddy in question is, well, questionable, but it's a job and they know about John and are willing to accommodate his schedule and so that's all good. I've started substitute teaching a little bit here and there. I taught before our kids were born, and so it's comfortable and it's nice to get out of the sphere of the house every once in a while and it allows me to be flexible. We like things where we can be flexible.

February 11, 2008

John told me once that often, just before he starts to notice changes beginning, he dreams about animals. He dreams about the soft underbellies of rabbits, the hot, metallic scent of lambs' blood, the ragged sound of a cow's hide tearing open, spilling out meat and organs. These dreams are not symbolic. Sometimes I wake up to the sound of him growling softly. This is often our first sign, telling us to walk softly, to take out our checklist, to be ready. It is the beginning of the time when John must not be viewed as a partner but as a predator.

February 10, 2008

John has always been able to see the positive side of everything. Not in an annoying, Candide kind of way, either. He is able, almost always, to legitimately shift his thinking to incorporate whatever circumstance and turn it into good news. For instance: when we were gearing down from our first or second cycle, however many years ago, John was looking at himself in the mirror one morning, and he said, "Okay, so that kind of sucked. The nice thing, though, is that I seem to have found the cure for male pattern baldness!" I snorted. And just like that, the trauma of the past week was neutralized. I have come to depend heavily on this ability of John's. It is like magic, how he can turn a lost job or a fight or an illness into an opportunity, or at least a joke. It is not magic that I am capable of without him.

February 9, 2008

I spent all day today working on health insurance paperwork. What a nightmare. Our premiums have gone up, and shopping around is difficult. No one is quite sure how to categorize us. I keep turning up with weird injuries, we've run a bunch of genetic tests on the kids over the years that must raise some red flags, and John -- well, what the hell do you do with John? I believe that he is described in the paperwork as having a pre-existing condition, which is actually kind of funny, if you think about it.

February 8, 2008

This morning, while I was making the bed, I saw a coarse red hair on John's pillow. I have not seen anything else that is worrisome, but I am worried nonetheless.

February 7, 2008

This is generally the quietest week of the month, and I look forward to it. Actually, that's a gross understatement -- I depend on it. It's the only time I really sleep well, the only time I can take the kids to the park or wherever without getting jumpy, and the anticipation of it keeps me going the rest of the month. You can imagine my irritation, therefore, with the neighbors in the apartment across the courtyard from us, who are currently disrupting my opportunities for sound slumber with a loud gathering of nimrods. Nimrods with highly questionable taste in music, by the way. Most annoyingly of all, John is somehow sleeping right through the whole thing. And snoring. I will be formally declaring a blood feud with all of them in the morning.

February 6, 2008

Years ago, before we were married, John and I watched a B Sci-fi, horror kind of movie, where zombies were overtaking the planet. I don't remember much about the movie, but I do remember that at one point, the hero tucks his young daughter under one arm, wades into a giant sea of zombies, fights his way in to where his wife is about to be overtaken (she was either in a car or in some small building, I can't remember which), rescues his wife, kisses her tearfully amidst the undead, and then leads his family to ragged but still sexy victory. "If we're ever in a similar situation", John said, "I'll be really pissed if you endanger our kid in order to rescue me."
"I'd throw you to the zombies in a heartbeat", I reassured him.
This conversation was called to my mind today by a phone call from my mother, asking me if we would consider moving in with her and my dad for awhile.
"We can't", I told her. I was surprised that she would even ask. "You know the rules."
"Actually," she said, "I was thinking of just you and the kids." She paused, and then said, "Just think about it, okay? I'm not saying forever, just, you know, until ..." She trailed off then, as we both contemplated how long 'until' might last, how many obstacles it contained.
"John and I both think that it's important for us all to stay together for right now", I said, although John and I have never actually discussed this. "If things get worse, I will think about it, okay?"
There followed one of those long silences which are especially aggravating on the phone, when you can't even assess facial expressions to get a sense of what's coming next. "If things get worse than what?" my mom finally said carefully. "Don't you think, Honey, that maybe it's selfish to stay there when you know what might happen? Just --"
I hung up on her, but I've been all agitated ever since. John and I made our deal before we were married, before we had kids, and obviously, we were at least half-joking. I did promise, though. I promised to save our potential children and to throw John to the monsters if circumstances required. It was the first promise I ever made to him. Am I breaking it?