Wednesday night, around midnight, Bear and I were dozing in the van. In the parking garage. At O'Hare.

Just before midnight, CD called. His plane, which had been idling on the tarmac for 90 minutes, was finally finally pullling up to a gate. A half an hour later, he was swinging out of the elevator. Grim Tired. Anxious.

He looked at me.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

The next morning, he came into our room. I was sleeping, truly sick now. I could hear Bear watching in TV in the den. It was quiet a long time.

"What do you want to do about Thanksgiving?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," I said, and rolled away from him into the pillows.

Thursday night, curled up on the couch with Bear. The kitchen smelled of the "Thanksgiving in a box" he'd bought at the grocery store. CD poked his head into the living room.

"Could you handle some food?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. And I got up to help make the gravy.

Friday morning, on the phone with my bookkeeper. My babysitter is a no-show, Bear is racing up and down the hallways. CD is at work. I've had to call him 3 times to get him to give me the numbers - he needs to rent a car for a week. This. That. It's playing havoc with the budget. My bookkeeper is gamely "making it fit". She's giving me choices.

But I am paralyzed. I can barely make sure my kid isn't licking electrical appliances.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do," I tell her quietly.

"No problems; let me put together a budget and just see if you agree with the choices I make."

Sunday afternoon, working on the holiday stuff in jammies in my office. The guys come in, CD trips over a pile of stuff on the floor. He tells me to put it away.

I remind him it is my office, the one place where I can keep rocks on the floor if I want to. I run a home from here. I run an international program from here. I have supported my family for 4 years from here. I blog from here. I organize the family finances from here. Here. My floor.

CD realizes that I am really not going to shrug it off. I rise up like a viper. He storms up the hall. He comes back. We patch together a peace.

Later a friend asks me. What am I going to do. I can feel the tides pulling me in different directions. I am conflicted. And hopeful. And sad.

I don't know.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:33 AM | Comments (13) | Add Comment
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