Sailor

The title of this post obviously makes no sense whatsoever. Not in the least because a) I'm nowhere near an ocean, and b) the navy has got nothing on the Air Force. But I digress. The reason I chose this title is because of a something that husband-dear has recently taken to doing. You see, I think he's been branding me. And by branding I'm not referring to anything that involves hot coals and a pair of metal tongs, no, I'm referring to the marketing principle. I believe that husband-dear has finally figured out that for all my griping, complaining, and whining, I'm really generally OK with my life, and hence he's slapped the following saying on my being; "A b***ing sailor is a happy sailor". (my apologies for the PG-13-style censorship of that remark, but y'all, we are in The South here).

Anyway, I think he's right. I'm not sure if it's just who I am, or if my seemingly less-than-pleased attitude is somehow related to my Dutchness, but either way, I complain regardless of whether I'm happy, so there you are.

So today, instead of finding something to whine about (and oh boy, there are plenty of things, like WHY do freshmen insist on wearing their IDs like they are at some inner city high school?), I thought I would tell you about one thing that has been making me very happy: husband-dear's new work location. And it's not so much his location (seriously, I don't even know what it looks like, as, you know, regulations have determined that normal mortals are not allowed in the building), but the fact that he now has access to his email on a regular basis. Call me an idiot. Or a hopeless romantic, but I like hearing from husband-dear during the day. It was hard enough to accept that, when we moved here, all cell phone usage on his part was absolutely banned, which put a screeching halt to our quick text exchanges. But for the past three years, his job has kept him away from a regular desk for most of the day. So that meant no phone calls unless something was on fire, and if I was lucky, one email per day. Compare that the hundreds of emails we would shoot back and forth prior to the move, and you can see how I felt just a little deprived.

But now all that has changed. Husband-dear is at his desk a lot, and so we email. A lot. And I like it. There's nothing more uplifting than returning from a class where your students seem to vie for the "who can be the most annoying today" prize, to find a brief, but sweet message from your man in your email. It's very practical as well. We have managed to hash out the practicalities of our life ("are you picking the kids up, or am I?") through email instead of quick, frantic phone calls or sleepy, confusing conversations early in the morning.

Obviously, his sudden ability to email during the day also has its drawbacks, such as him suddenly asking me to do things like think about meals for next week. Or look something up online. Or ask me to email someone. But hey, I promised I would be a happy non-b***ing sailor today, so I won't elaborate on that.

So, DixieChick is happy. She still has a lot to complain about, but she's happy. Honestly.