Our morning began like most Saturday mornings around here do. Colby woke up early, and since he is grounded from the Wii, he spent the morning undertaking a tv watching marathon. Matt woke me up with what I’m sure was a hug, but more resembled a bear mauling a woman who was obviously not meant for mornings. Hanging from his neck, I whine-mumbled “Do I have to go to work today?”. The bastard told me yes. I opened my eyes enough to confirm that it was, in fact, too light out for it to be a work day. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
But I had to get up. It was a big day. WE were going to the bank to open a (cue dramatic music) JOINT CHECKING ACCOUNT. I made a big deal of it. But not enough of a big deal to put on real pants. As we left I told Colby “we might as well be getting married” and asked him if he wanted to take a picture. He didn’t want to. He rolled his eyes back toward the television. We left in separate cars so Matt could get right to work after.
As I drove down Essex I got lost in a day-dream (should I change careers? should I have a baby? will I have any luck running at home instead of at the gym? what should my wedding colors be? maybe today’s blog title will be titled “da-dum-da-dum” and then the first line will be “PSYCH”! would that piss people off?) and consequently missed my turn. I called Matt. No answer. He must already be there since the closest branch of our credit union is FIVE MINUTES FROM OUR HOUSE. I went the long way, hoping had the good sense to stay put. I finally arrived and scoped out the parking lot. I didn’t see the car (which I refuse to drive) anywhere. I called again. I called again. I called Colby to see if Matt’s phone was at home. He didn’t answer. I felt a teeny-tiny pin prick in my Saturday morning balloon.
Assuming (ass out of you, ass out of me, I know) Matt was heading toward the Hampden branch, I hopped on 95 and was on the phone with my dear friend Angie before I merged. “He is an IDIOT!” I yelled into the phone. That poor girl. Just trying to enjoy her morning. Her husband piped up and yelled that the Hampden branch was closed on Saturday. What the fuck. Another call beeped in, and I heard Matt’s conciliatory voice as I turned onto the closest exit. “Where are you?” He asked. “Where the FUCK are YOU?” I yelled. Mad props to this guy, because I wouldn’t have responded as well to my words or tone. Because we both assumed incorrectly. I kept up the snark for 90 seconds or so before we hung up.
He called later to check in. I was out running, having a good run at that. We talked over the minutia that partners call to talk about in the middle of the day. While we were discussing where to put the treadmill I interrupted “I’m sorry I yelled at you”. It may be disconcerting to have slips in communication skills, but I’m so thankful we are at a point where we can acknowledge that while we, as individuals, are works-in-progress, we are a singular work-in-progress together.
Ahhh. It’s been a productive morning, though. I had a little drive (haha) and did some cleaning. I can hear the laundry drying. I ran with turkeys (literally! pics later) and ran two hills I usually walk. After I’m clean and smell better, I’m off with my boy to find a place to drink cocoa and do homework. Happy Saturday, friends.