That's according to a Ugandan Proverb, and by the sounds of it, frogs aren't looked too highly upon in that culture. Since I have always thought frogs were pretty cute (meaning, I want to admire them from a distance), may I just replace it with a few things I don't look too highly upon: Let's start with spiders. Like the one I found crawling in the tub this morning. My first instinct was to yell for Jake. I hate killing spiders for three reasons: 1) I always seems to miss (oversized shoe, dime-sized arachnid- figure that one out) 2) I believe in Karma so if I miss the 8-legged freak, I figure it's just a matter of time before it comes after me for revenge, and 3) the "popping" sound it makes when you squish it in the toilet paper. You know what I'm talking about- it's nasty. Almost makes me want to let them run free in my house just so I don't have to hear it and gag... So back to the tub. I instinctively yell for Jake. Oh yeah, that's right. He's not here- the master is absent this weekend. Thus, the spiders will run free.
That's just one tiny example of what happens when the "master" is gone. Other things tend to run free as well. Like my imagination. Let me talk briefly about my paranoia at being alone this weekend: turning on every light in the house at night, looking behind closed doors and shower curtains (yes, it's true), I even made a crazy mad dash tonight from the car to my back door when I realized I had forgotten to leave the back porch light on. Oh, I could easily blame this on the pregnancy hormones, but I think its because I've seen one too many grade B scary movies. I think I'd rather deal with spiders.
I have never had a problem being left alone for periods of time. In fact, I used to quite enjoy having the random day or two to myself. But when Jake left for Michigan on Friday night, one might have thought he was being deported to Iraq. I sobbed and blubbered and even though I knew how pathetic I was being, the tears kept coming and I just didn't want him to go. What if something happened to him? What if he were in a car accident? What if...? There was an endless list of things in my head that could potentially go wrong. This, I know I can blame on the hormones. Don't get me wrong- I always miss him when he goes somewhere, but it has never before approached a level of "meltdown." Rewind to last week, when he told me he was going to the dump to unload some things and would be back in a little while. Two hours later, when he was not home, and I had unsuccessfully tried to reach him on his phone 4 times, there I was- sprawled out on my bed in near hysterics, my life flashing before me as the next Lifetime Original Movie: a widow, 6 months pregnant, then raising our little boy or girl who had his blue eyes and he/she *hiccup* would never know their Daddy...because *hiccup* he had been killed in a car accident on the way to the dump!!!!! The phone rings and it's him and I can barely speak. He immediately thinks something is wrong with me or the baby and is trying to calm me down, and all I can say is "I th-th-thought you were d-dead!!!!" To which he says, "Don't you remember I told you I was going by the McBride's after I went to the dump??" Oh. Right. Totally forgot he said that. (Preggo brain: I'm a living, breathing example that not only is it real, it's full throttle now). Needless to say, I've had a harder time being without him this weekend than I want to admit.
And it's not about the frogs, the spiders, or an overworked imagination...it's the more sober realization that nothing in this life is ever guaranteed. The time spent apart is what shapes the time spent together, so if that's true, I believe I've earned some good snuggling time...
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