When the chickadees were babies - all three of them in diapers, as a matter of fact - The Calm One had a very long couple of years at the AirGuard base where he had to work second shift. Also known as, The Dreaded Second Shift. He would sleep until noonish, go to work around 1:00pm, saunter in at 11:00pm, watch a little tv and then go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It was the most difficult time of my life. Looking back, I have no idea how I lived through it. We lived an hour and a half away from the closest family members. I was a walking zombie that changed diapers and made baby food for three very precocious and rambunctious chickadees. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Anyway . . .
Sad, but true, the tv was my best friend. It was at once a babysitter while I did mounds of laundry and an escape for me once the babies were asleep. We still have a great relationship, the tv and I. There is a deep mutual respect for one another that will never be broken. A tie that binds, if you will.
Except when it comes to sports.
When The Calm One and I were first married, I used to be the perfect wife (A-hem). I never complained about my husband's penchant for watching sports. I was just glad to be near him when he hogged the tv and pretended the that multiple clickers that we owned were too complicated for the little wife to figure out. The first summer we were dating and I was working at a summer camp, he would pick me up for the weekend (we lived in two different towns that were close enough that he could pick me up and drop me off at home) and I thought it was so cute that he wanted me, me, to watch the game with him. Boy, was I naive. And so in love that it didn't matter anyway. And for the record, he was better at the clicker than I was. I'm just sayin'.
I am still completely in love with the man. Totally. Undeniably. Forever-ably. It's just that, well, I, uh, HATE sports. And in particular football. Professional football, college football, even high school football is beginning to wear on my last nerve.
I know, I know, them's fightin' words. Go ahead, I'm feelin' a little sassy -- take a swing.
I also have come to loathe NASCAR.
And baseball. The little league championships are the worst - dear God, help me.
And dadgumit, if all these sports aren't all occurring at the same time. Every year. Thursday through Monday nights are jammed packed (and then all the highlights, from each game he just watched thankyouverymuch on ESPN) on the ol' boob tube.
I have a feeling I know how that particular reference must've come about - another poor wife like myself called it that when she had to sit through months and months of the never-ending cautions, penalty flags and spitting by grown men who should know better than to hock a loogie in public. Because no Sunday afternoon is complete without the repeated public display of mucus.
Oh, is my bitterness showing?
My only saving grace, and therefore what I am loosely calling "joy," is that, for the time being, The Calm One is working The Dreaded Second Shift once again. Only THIS time the chickadees are in school and I can get most everything done before they get home. And no diapers. And a whole lot less crying. Oh, who am I kidding? I have my lazy butt on the couch eating bon-bons while the laundry washes itself, the floors vacuum themselves and the dishes jump right out of the sink and into the dishwasher. At least that's what some extended family members seem to think.
Oh, oops. Was that out loud?
The poor Calm One has to work right through most of his beloved sports. But, rest assured, the moment he walks in the door, those sports (or at least their highlights) are on the ol' boob tube. And he records a great deal of them to watch on his days off. In between the other games he's trying to watch on live tv. Ugh!
It just occurred to me that the only thing that could make these things worse is if they were spread out over the entire year. On the other hand, only having to deal with one sport at a time sounds heavenly.
I know I just wrote myself out of the title of Best Wife Ever (Not to mention Meekest Extended Family Member Ever). Ah well, I'll make it up to The Calm One by bringing him a six pack of Dr. Pepper and a platter of nachos while his beloved Aggies/#24 car/HoustonTexans/Indians/Astros are all competing at the same time. Again.
The extended family members are on their own. Just sayin'.
Counting it all second shift joy,