I want to know what is going on at all times.
It’s why I found out the sex of each of my children before they were born.
It’s why I tend to peek at my presents, which is why my husband has taken to hiding them until he’s ready to give it to me.
It’s why I don’t mind if someone spoils the plot of a movie or television show. (I am so glad I knew what was going to happen in the Red Wedding episode of Game of Thrones. I’d have been so utterly upset if I had to watch it all happen. As it was, I knew, so when the violin started I went into the kitchen to hide.)
This package arrived Saturday morning.
It was addressed to Tom so I knew it was from him.
He likes watching me open the things he sends so I had to wait for him to come online.
Guys? The box was MOCKING me on the couch. I’d try to clean and I could see it from the corner of my eye. Obviously I knew it was some sort of food item. The perishable sticker gave that part away. Then again, it was Tom. He might have sent some bizarre desert animal just so he could see me scream in terror….
…no, that would be illegal though, right?
So back to the food ideas.
Chocolate? Yes, chocolate. He knows Natalie has been driving me up the wall. I once got on Skype with jelly smeared on my cheek and my hair all askew. I knew I startled Tom, because he jumped when my picture popped up.
“You have something…” Tom made a vague motion with his hand over his cheek.
I touched the spot and felt stickiness. “Oh. Right. Natalie wanted a sandwich. Then she said it looked funny so I said she looked funny and she called me mean. I said she started it saying that my sandwich looked funny and then I realized I was arguing with a six year old.”
Tom stared at me as he ate his M&Ms as though he were watching a movie.
“Your daughter is noisy. And bossy,” I continued. I know some of the military spouse sites I’ve joined state that complaining to your husband when he’s deployed is a no no. He’s under enough stress and blah blah blah. But screw that, Natalie is his kid too. I’m not going to sit in front of the computer every day with neatly brushed hair and a face full of makeup going, “And today our beloved son Tommy helped mop the floor. Our precious Natalie helped make dinner.” (And also, Tom would see right through that. He knows me. He’d be like, “Are you drunk?”)
“Send Natalie to her room if she bugs you,” Tom suggested.
“Then she’ll mess up her room! Her version of cleaning it is shoving everything into a giant pile. Then she’ll jump off that pile, get hurt, and I’ll have to take her to the ER,” I answered, running a hand through my Albert Einstein-style hair.
“Hmmm,” Tom said.
Sometimes he’s a man of few words.
Anyway, about a week went by and the package arrives.
And I can’t open it right away as I usually do when things for me show up. (Generally I don’t even wait to grab scissors to cut away the tape. I use my fingers and behave like a crazed cavewoman. The box usually rips. Yes, it probably would take less time if I took the time to grab scissors. But this does not occur to me in the heat of the moment when a package arrives with my name on it.)
Tom usually comes online by noon my time, only on Saturday he was going to a BBQ and had told me he’d be late.
By 2, I was beginning to pace the room. By 230, I had sent Tom a grand total of 5 messages telling him his gift was making it very hard to concentrate and could he please hurry and eat his hot dogs and hamburgers AND COME ONLINE! By 243 I had refreshed my Facebook feed 32490824 times to pass the time, because I could not clean when I had an unopened box in the house. By 244….
A notification came up telling me that Tom was calling me!
Yes! Yes!
“You’re here!” I said, bouncing in my seat. “Your package came!” I wasn’t about to waste any time with niceties.
“Yes, I gathered that from all the messages you sent,” Tom answered with a chuckle.
I rushed over to the couch and grabbed it. I lifted it up like it was Simba.
“Go ahead and open it,” Tom said.
I had the box open in less than 10 seconds.
I saw this:
“Did you send me a pillow with M&Ms on the front?” I was baffled. I mean, okay, nice gift. But why shop at the M&Ms store and not get the candies? The beautiful, chocolate candies?
Then I realized it was a pouch. The gift was inside. So I opened it and found this:
I opened that and found this:
Chocolate! Personalized chocolate. Tom had the following written on the M&Ms: Love You, Always Yours, Missing You, and My Love.
I immediately shoved a handful into my mouth.
“You know,” I said crunching down on the delicious candies, “I feel sort of bad eating such nice sentiments. But thank you.”
Tom munched on his own M&Ms. “You’re welcome.”
Well, you know what they (we) say: a family who eats their M&Ms together, stays together…
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