long reaction to a long fishing trip

This weekend has been a long, sleepless one. Hadn't planned it that way. But, when I come home at 5:00 Friday night to Matt's van in the driveway, him already showered, and a smile as he said "I just need a 'yes' or 'no'," something is obviously up. Turns out he wants to go fishing. Right then.

My initial reaction: "No way! Are you kidding me? You know how desperately a mom can be waiting from Friday's workday to end, right?!?" My second reaction, after a deep breathe: "I know you want to go, but the kids really need time with you." My third, final reaction: "Take the girls for a pizza and bring home a Redbox. That will get me 'til bedtime, and you can go."

Of course he supported my third reaction. Problem was, when there was no Redbox to be found I was left with crying kids as he peeled out of the driveway. Luckily, bedtime wasn't too bad. Tyler went right down. The girls froze in their beds in hopes that I'd return and start a new chapter book. I realized that my Friday Night's entertainment was to be "Stuart Little," but it wasn't too bad.

I spent the next bit looking up something to do the following day as a family (following post about Ogden). I finished a book that was overdue at the library. I climbed in bed and tossed and turned (I don't sleep well when Matt's gone). Finally, I fell asleep.

But, come one-thirty, Carl's wet dog nose woke me up. He was anxious. I let him out. Checked the driveway thinking Matt's approaching truck may have alerted him. Nope. No truck. I stumbled to the clock (no contacts in equals no sense of time). After one?!? How in the world did a fishing trip that started at five last this long? Normal? No, I don't think that's completely normal. I pick up the phone and call Matt's cell. Two attempts. No answer. Really not normal now.

My I'm-home-alone-my-husband's-on-some-unknown-water mind kicks in. Where did he go? I had no idea, he hadn't left detailed plans because he didn't know when he left. When was he supposed to be back? He didn't tell me that either. I realize. Bad communication. But, I think on both our ends, the uncommunicated was that he'd be gone for a bit and be back around 10ish. Latest.

My mind begins racing through how I can get a hold of him. I don't have his boss's (who he's with) cell number. I don't really want to call the on-call guy and get the whole company of men involved. I don't really want to call the cops and get all of search and rescue involved. What would I tell them anyways? He went to some water somewhere... But really, I bet the boss is home sleeping comfortably in his bed and Matt got lost on the drive home. That is if the boss made it home. Perhaps something happened to both at the water and the boss just doesn't have wife that freaks out so easily.

I try Matt's phone one more time. By now it is well after two.

Three rings in he picks up. Nonchalantly as if everything is great he answers. His "hello" sounds like some punk in the middle of a frat house. Things are fine. He's on his way now from Willard. Go to bed.

Right. Just go to bed.

I hung up. Cried. Mostly tears of relief. But, mixed with tears of exhausted bottom-of-the-totum-pole emotions too! Are you kidding? No thought to call. No reason to worry when I have no clue where you are in the middle of the night. No explanation for the kids when they wake up in a while and ask where Daddy is. Ugh.

Of course I don't go to bed. Instead, while my mind continues racing, I debate putting out an empathy call out on Facebook. Facebook - that sounding wall when other opinions and responses are wanted from the virtual void. I type "Dear fisherMAN, if you race out by 6 PM, neglect telling anyone what body of water your body is at, avoid two phonecalls at 2 AM when your wife jerks awake and realizes you're still gone somewhere on Utah's highwaters, then FINALLY nonchalantly pick up...your wife WILL have freaked out and visualized the worst..." I click off and attempt to lay in bed.

He rolls in well after three! He climbs in bed smelling of fish. I head to the couch. When Tyler wakes up in the morning with a stinking diaper, I plop him in bed with Matt. I head back to the couch. It is Saturday now. That "day to do anything I want."

I get up not long after. Get breakfast going. Check in on the computer. Replies on Facebook give the repeated impression that the night before's lack of checking in is very much a "man thing." His place in the doghouse or on restriction would be understandable. My "overreaction" was perhaps normal (I do realize that there were countless others who just shook their head and thought I was crazy/am crazy to think any of this is worth putting in print).

Although my middle of the night reaction still seems not normal or understandable to Matt. (Insert differences in Men and Woman. Insert bachelor freedom verses family man. Insert stubbornness on both our ends.)

Took most of Saturday morning and a trip I took solo to the Farmer's Market to calm down a bit. Took some voiced opinions at church this next day to perhaps validate both sides. Took Father's Day to slow down and verbalize the need for him to be here. My reality: I was scared about you being gone. What in the world would I do if you were gone? Perhaps it was a scare I needed to remember to not take for granted what I have.

His realization (perhaps a bit forced by my loud repetition): You have a family at home that just wants the assurance of knowing where you are. That's all. Call home. Then go and continue having a great time. We realize your need to get out. Just realize, too, that you're a loved family man who has kids questioning your whereabouts (alright, I realize they're asleep and oblivious to all of this "fight" we're having...but at least assure your wife you're returning). That's all. :)

Oh, and Happy Father's Day! We are grateful you are home with us. Grateful that the late night turned into nothing more dramatic than a wife reacting to a late night.