You may recall that Jason was off Scamping last weekend.
I have resigned myself over the years, to being an Orc widow type person. He usually goes on these events four times a year for four long weekends, and given that he does not do sport, or watch sport, or go out and drink gin until it leaks out of his ears, or visit pole dancers, I consider myself quite lucky that I only have to think about Hobbity things.
I think it is important that he has stuff that makes him happy and is just for him. Were that stuff watching pornography or making me stand on a windy touch line cheering him on while he thunders about in shorts, I would feel less sanguine about it, but the fact he likes to wave a latex sword around whilst dressed as a medieval peasant is not too taxing. Especially because I do not have to go, or be enthusiastic, or cheer him on in any way.
And I have theatre, and I am allowed to go to it, and so a fair exchange is no robbery and all that.
This weekend when he went scamping I was rather less relaxed about it, to be honest. I was tired and over emotional and extremely hormonal. I had had a long week full of dentistry and PTFA meetings and although there were some lovely things too, they were punctuated by dreariness and chores. I wanted to see my husband, and I wanted to see more of him than for three or four lovely hours on Friday before he went off into the woods – fol de ree.
That’s not to say I didn’t appreciate my Friday morning, because I totally did. It was wonderful. But one Friday morning does not a marriage make – and I am greedy. And selfish. And unreasonable.
And I did not really want to spend my weekend alone with the children, and then another week alone with the children before seeing him again. Not that there is anything wrong with my children, and as you know, Oscar and I had rather a splendid time together on Saturday. But, I did not marry my children. I married my husband, and I married him because I wanted to see more of him (and I didn’t want him to be able to run away). So, you know, that.
And it was really hard to talk to him about it, because he is not having the best of times out in Germany, despite the wonders of steam mannequin dummies to press his shirts, and mashed potato in a box (more of which later), and he is as lonely and fed up as I am about almost everything. He has less dentistry and PTFA meetings to contend with, but on the other hand he has other, equally irksome things to deal with, and unlike me, he cannot wear his jeans while doing them, and drive from place to place swearing and banging on the steering wheel.
We have a policy of honesty in our marriage. Neither of us are very good at pretending to feel differently than we do, and we prefer to talk things through, so I told him that although I understood why he was going scamping, and the rational part of me was fine with it, the irrational, lonely part of me was not very happy about it, and really wanted to keep him locked in a room like that weird woman in the Stephen King book. It was not an easy discussion, but it was o.k. It was made easier by the fact that I know that were I really struggling, he would drop everything and come home immediately. He has done this in the past at various points, so I know he would do it again.
As it was, I didn’t have to ask him, as he rang me on Saturday night to say that he wasn’t actually having a very nice time at this event, and he was on on his way home.
I burst into tears I was so happy.
So that was good.
I am sorry he had a rubbish time, but I am not sorry that he came home, and I got to spend all day Sunday with him.
We did nothing exciting at all. We did some things around the house, shared some cake, drank a lot of tea and just wandered around being happy in each other’s company.
Which was nice.