Heart Like Mine

This weekend marked opening weekend of deer season. To Justin, this weekend is like Christmas. Every weekend leads up to it, and I joke that if I died on opening weekend, Justin wouldn't come to my funeral. For me, it marks the beginning of a season of weekends without Justin. I'm past the "Woe is me whose husband is gone all the time" phase of this, and I'm in the "I don't have to cook or see to someone else for a whole weekend!!" phase. I usually don't go with him to Palestine during this weekend, but this year I did. I was glad to get some time away, and I no longer have Saturday classes so it was the perfect opportunity to get out of town. As unsuccessful as the weekend was (for its intended purpose), it was relaxing. On the way home, Justin got tired and asked me to drive. If you know me well enough, you'll know this was close to a nightmare for me. Justin and I have a sort of Driving Miss Daisy relationship. He drives us everywhere. I'm convinced it's because my driving stresses him out, but it would be nice to think it's because he knows I hate to drive.

Anyways, I pulled over in Hempstead to get gas, and I was so frustrated. We were 30 minutes from home, and I wanted to be able to make it just a little bit longer without stopping. I needed to be home looking at lesson plans or studying. I wanted to be putting up Halloween decorations (it was already October 3rd! I was falling behind!). I was slightly tired myself, and I wanted to be out of the cramped and packed-to-the-brim truck. I needed, I wanted, I was. Then, a girl came skipping out of the gas station with a ring pop like it was the greatest day of her life. I immediately got out of the truck, went inside and bought two bottled rootbeers and a package of Fun Dip. Right then Justin and I decided to make it a Fun Dip party in the truck. We talked about our favorite gas station candy, and that led to talking about road trips and memories that we'd never talked about before. I remembered being so excited when my dad would let us get candy from the gas station on the long drive to meet my mom at the "prisoner exchange". Would it be Big League Chew? Or Twix? Or candy cigarettes (what a horrible marketing ploy for kids!)? My whole happiness hinged on the possibility that we might be able to get 75 cent candy.

I never took the time before Sunday to appreciate that at the age of 27, you don't have to cross your fingers and beg your parents for that gas station candy. You can walk into the gas station and pick out any candy you want. You can have the Twix, the Big League Chew, AND the Fun Dip, and the only person that is there to stop you is you. So, I'm hoping I can take some time to appreciate the candy that I can buy for myself. Because that happiness hinges on no one else.