Easter 2006 Style
Easter's my favorite holiday. In fact, it's the only holiday that doesn't make me mildly choke on my own bile.
Well... that's not true. I also get President's Day off from work, and since I mostly spend that day out of town somewhere nursing a hangover I guess you could say that I enjoy that holiday as well.
But Easter is different.
Easter is filled with family, making eggs with the children, photographing them hunting for eggs, covered with candy, held by aunt's and grandfathers. I simply love Easter.
But this year I have the Irishman. The Irishman works six days a week. He's a workaholic. And while at first I admired his work ethic I now occasionally wish his office would find itself the victim of arson, for although the Irishman could work from home, he chooses not to.
Now don't go applauding his ability to separate work from home. The man is just ass backwards sometimes. He's a slave to the fucking office.
This year he looked at me and said, "Although I could work on Easter, this year I choose to spend it with you."
Gee, THANKS!
What this actually meant was, "I have two days off from work, let's get the fuck out of Dodge."
Except... I LOVE Easter! Conundrum. The Irishman and I were desperately feening for time alone and a weekend away. What to do?
Finally a plan was set. The plan was simple, Saturday was to be spent in Lake Tahoe. Sunday morning Church, then head back for my family gathering.
One small problem.
Snow fucking city. In the middle of April. Sunday we woke up to a winter wonderland. It was beautiful but bad for commute.
I started to freak out, what about Easter?
The Irishman started to freak out, what about work?
Cue the six hours on the road before I talked him into a motel, and ONLY because he FINALLY let me turn on the weather station to discover the highways were closed.
DUH!! WE HAVEN'T MOVED IN HOURS!
By the time we snuck the dog into the room I was in a quiet fury. The kind where I watch the tv silently while he rages that his career is going down in flames and this is why he fucking hates Tahoe and never goes there.
In the morning he made me breakfast and set out my towels in the bathroom just the way I like them. I am borderline OCD and when it comes to all things house they need to be just so.
My glasses are stored upside down, always.
My towels folded a certain way.
When exiting the shower the floor should NEVER become wet.
Looking at all of the things he had set out for me I remembered that life is about compromises. Did the Irishman have any idea that I came with such a complicated set of rules when he first met me? Hell no. I am fucking positive that he had no idea such a complicated person could come in a package that he would be willing to converse with daily.
So holding my warm cup of tea inbetween my hands I crawled back into bed, kissed him, and when he said he was sorry, I said okay.
There's always Easter next year. His business will wait one day. And we will both flip out over the smallest things. These things are constants.
So we cleaned the snow off the car, let the dog play in the snow, and joked the whole way home.
Which, by the way, took six fucking hours. But we had this, and I'm sure that makes it worth it.
