Vacations Together

This one's for you, Dave!  Happy Thanksgiving Break!

The last couple of times I've been working on this blog, when my husband walks by, he's asked if I'm writing about him.  Specifically, he asked if I was writing the "Oh, My God, I'm Only On Day Two Of My Nine Day Vacation With My Husband And I Want To Kill Him" entry.  I was not writing that, nor, actually, had it even occurred to me to write that.  But it did get me thinking.

My husband is a teacher.  So his vacations consist of either one week off (Thanksgiving, Spring Break), two weeks off (Christmas), or eight weeks off (summer).  One week off is almost nothing (not that I'm complaining, mind you).  It's just not enough time to do much.  In fact, by the time he actually gets relaxed and can sleep past his normal alarm-clock induced waking time of 4:30am, which takes a few days, it's then time to ramp back up and prepare to go back to work.  One week is not enough time to fully relax.

Now, two weeks (or eight weeks) is another matter entirely.  When Christmas and summer breaks begin, Dave likes to announce their arrival as he walks through our door with the words, "Kids, there's a new sheriff in town!"  This is as much, I think, a proclamation to me as it is to our two teenagers.

You see, when Dave is working, things run the way I run them.  It's not because I'm bossy or controlling (I don't think).  It's more out of necessity.  I'm the one home the most, so I set the schedule.  He's busy earning a living and supporting our family, and I'm busy trying to make sure things run smoothly.  By smoothly, I mean there's groceries in the fridge, homework gets done, the house is decent, teenagers get where they need to go, dinner's on the table each night, the kids are happy (or content, depending on the mood), and we don't run out of coffee.  So that's MY definition of 'running smoothly'.

And Dave does not ever complain.  He's never been a complainer.  Also, he's so busy when he's working that I think he's very appreciative of my efforts to get things done that need to be done, regardless of how I get them done.  He will gladly contribute to the effort in any way I ask, again without complaint, but is also demonstrably grateful when he can come home from a long day at work and not have to take charge of the running of the household.

When Dave is home for an extended period of time, however, we occasionally run into what I shall delicately call a 'difference in approach' on some issues.

A recap: re-read my definition of 'running smoothly' above.

Dave's definition of "running smoothly": groceries in the fridge are not past the printed due dates on their labels and if we need to have a 'scavenge night' for dinner, there is more than just tortillas and cheddar cheese with which to compose the meal; homework gets done by a reasonable hour (as defined by a parent, not a teenager), and 'done' does not mean the 'easy stuff' is left to do while eating breakfast; the kitchen table gets wiped down thoroughly with 409 every night after dinner and the sink gets rinsed out after the kids do the dishes; teenagers try to find a ride at least one way to all of the school and extraneous activities that they like to tell us about at the last minute; Kraft Mac n' Cheese is available in the pantry for Steven to make for himself and his sister if we want to go out to dinner just the two of us (the fact that Steven is in charge of the Mac n' Cheese is another blog); the kids are alive, and if not happy, well, damn it, give them a few hours--they'll get over it; we do not run out of coffee--ever.

Now, neither of our definitions of 'running smoothly' are bad or wrong.  Our definitions just happen to suit our individual personalities.  We have different personalities.  Hence, the difference of opinion on certain things.

Dave is, as I said earlier, a teacher.  He is used to setting goals, making lesson plans, and being in charge of getting large groups of teenagers to get things done.  He is and always has been a person who appreciates order, efficiency, and expediency.  And neatness.  As an example, when we take a road trip somewhere new, the first thing Dave will do when he gets into my car is clean up any garbage that might be on the floor between the driver and passenger seat.  He'll ask if everyone has everything they might need (like jackets, iPods, etc...), and then he'll check to see that we have directions to where we are going--actual directions, either printed on paper or typed into the Mapquest app on my phone.

I used to be a teacher, too.  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.  Setting goals, making lessons, and being in charge of lots of teens was also part of my job.  However, our paths diverged, and remain so,  when we hit the order and expediency and efficiency parts.  And the neatness part.  Back to the above example: the first thing I do when I get into the car is see if there's any candy in the little 'car organizer' that's jammed between the two front seats.  Hot Tamales, amazingly, are still good a week after you've opened the box and then forgotten about them.  I assume everyone has what they need, and invariably double-back when one of the kids realizes he/she forgot his/her phone or shoes or race number (yeah, I'm talking to you, Steven).  As for directions, my favorite phrase when we head out on a little excursion is, "I can get us there!"  And I always do.  Just not necessarily in the most expedient or efficient manner.

But you know what?  Even though we approach things differently, it seems to work.  It's not an 'opposites attract' thing, because we truly are not even close to being opposites.  We are more like the melody and the harmony of a song.  Both perform their own unique function, both sound good on their own, but when you put them together, it's just better.

My way works great most of the time, but I must admit that sometimes having the kids do the dishes, wipe down the table, go to bed not stressed out over incomplete assignments, and going to dinner with just my husband is really, really nice.  Being the sheriff is a great job, and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but I'm happy to occasionally hand over my tin star (for no less than two weeks and no greater than eight weeks).