The weekend was spent moving Huckleberry to Spokane. His new apartment there isn't tops. It's a cute house and all, but if we were dating, it'd probably be a deal breaker. Actually, he was living in his mom's garage when I met him, so I guess I'm just blowing smoke when I pretend I was ever that picky about living arrangements.
It's kind of sad, this moving away of my hunny. It feels like something bad happened. But instead, something really great happened. I think we'll make it over this hurdle, easy. I can see my feet clearing it already.
It's no secret that I don't like Spokane. It's got benefits: some good food, more Victorian and Craftsman homes than any other NW city, and close proximity to the awesome people of the Palouse. But say the word "Spokane" and I am not carpeted by goosebumps of pleasure. It's okay. My not liking Spokane is very small potatoes. I'm open minded enough to eventually like Spokane, and if not Spokane itself, then some things about Spokane.
There have been other things in my life that I have hated and come to love eventually. Take my husband: example #1. We met as community organizers. The first meeting I attended where he was actually in charge of something, I walked out. He asked why I was leaving, and I mumbled something about having better things to do.
"Well, I'll call you about the next meeting."
"How will you do that? You don't have my phone number."
"It's probably around here somewhere. I'm sure I have it."
"I'm sure you don't."
I would NEVER give such an asshole my phone number, even if it was for a good cause. But because my friend liked him and I liked his friend, we ended up seeing a lot of each other. By the time my friend moved, my opinions about Huck were changing. That was about 9 years ago.
Example #2: Moscow, ID is easy to love: adorable streets, the awesome Co-op. There's nobody that doesn't want to live there. But we opted for Pullman, with in-state tuition and better schools, despite its strip-mall-ish-ness. Five years later, I LOVED Pullman. But Moscow sometimes seems like a special middle school for kids with gigantism (excluding my friends, of course, who are always the mature voices of reason and/or are WAY TOO busy to dabble in the social acne).
This is to say that I'm completely unconcerned about not loving Spokane. I always find my sweet spot everywhere I live. I'll find it there too. I'm not worried and neither should you.
The other thing people can stop worrying about is the fact that I don't really like my husbands new hair do. Really, people: I'm not that shallow! I can love someone and NOT their hair too. He's been scruffy and dreddy since we got together. I liked it that way. Now his field actually demands that he shave daily! YIKES! Apparently, when you are working with toxic spills, you don't want to bring it home in your beard. This is a fine reason to shave. But it's still not my favorite hairstyle.
Lets say I walk in to a bar. I'm not checking out the clean shaven baby face by the water pitcher. No. It's Chewbacca at the bar that makes we want to tap dance and sing out, "Lord! I wish I were a single girl again!" But, being a happily married woman I would not actually act on that impulse, and for that we can all be thankful.
Again, however, I feel the need to reassure my hand-wringing friends and family that clean-shaven is no Deal Breaker. I can still adore and treasure and cherish my hunny, even if his chin is a little over exposed, and even if that chin happens to live in Spokane. It's going to be okay. I still love him.
But if you need to hear me say it: "I LOVE SPOKANE! I LOVE HUCK"S NEW HAIR DO!" There, now you should be able to sleep.
In addition: I still don't have a voice! I thought this would be a detriment to my parenting. But it doesn't seem to matter. I'm sort of crestfallen about it. How could my kids still behave and misbehave the same as always without my instruction? They don't appear to need my verbal commands. It's kind of... well... sad.