Suck it up

Every year my DH, (Mark) and I buy a 'gift' for the house. One year it was upstairs window blinds, another year it was a dishwasher. That was the Christmas I spent a lot of my time at the kitchen sink since our old dishwasher had broken down.

Mark and I decided it was time to replace our vacuum cleaner.  The only performance we had from our old vacuum cleaner was the blowing about of dust and dog hair, as well as permeating a pungent smell. It seemed we were replacing our vacuum cleaner every two to three years. In the past, we had gone 'cheap' with our vacuum cleaner purchases. However, as they say, you get what you pay for.

During our holiday visit at my sister's, in addition to the good meal, opening of gifts and catching up with family, my sister gave Mark and I a demonstration of her Dyson vacuum cleaner. She so believes in her Dyson, she bought two - one for her upstairs and one for her downstairs. As she said, her magic vacuum may cost a bit more, but it had been a good investment. She told us her Dyson worked like a dream sucking up the dirt in her home.

Mark and I agreed that this year's house gift would be a Dyson vacuum cleaner. I was quite pathetic at the store fondly gazing at the box containing my brand new Dyson, gleefully rubbing my hands together. Although, due to my shoulder recently being liberated from its sling prison I had to keep my hands close to my body since I still cannot extend my arm other than while at physical therapy.

Once arriving at home, with Mark's help, I set out to christen the Dyson with vacuuming the downstairs. Embarrassingly, I had to shake out the bag less canister three times while vacuuming the family room. In fairness, the family room is where we mostly live, as do our two dogs - enough said! The next day, Mark and I vacuumed the upstairs, including the actual stairs. Again, I found myself emptying the bag less canister an impossible number of times. Wonderfully, my Dyson sucked up all the dirt and our carpets and floors look great.

Life goes on.

To date we have receive four letters from our recruit, Patrick. He writes that he is well; he likes the chilimac the best at chow. This from the boy that didn't like to eat chili for dinner!

I pour over each letter, studying each sentence, wondering if there's a second meaning between the lines. Mark is there to remind me that a man's mind doesn't work 'that way'. Mark tells me that when a man says, 'I'm fine. My drill instructor is a good guy'. - that's exactly what he means.  Where I try to give Mark a glimpse into a woman's mind. 'I'm fine' to a woman could have so many meanings:

                I'm fine =  Leave me alone; I'm mad at you!

                I'm fine =  I need to talk about how I feel.

                I'm fine =  I'm on the verge of tears.

                I'm fine =  My hair looks good today and you'd better

                                notice and compliment me - damn it!

I write Patrick every other day. I cannot tell him how much I miss him. I cannot tell him how our holidays were lacking without his enthusiasm. I cannot tell him how I cleaned his room so fabulously that it can pass even the strictest of DI inspections. However, I'd happily give it up for his own personal mess to have him sleeping again in his own bed. I cannot tell him how I've closed his bedroom door because it's too empty without him. I cannot tell him at times I just sit in his room, worrying that he isn't getting enough to eat or he isn't getting enough sleep.

I cannot tell Patrick those things for I know being a Marine is what he's wanted forever; being a Marine will make him happy. Patrick must remain on focus, thinking of the task at hand to be the few, the proud. Boot camp requires not just physical exertion, but it also calls for mental and emotional strength a recruit needs to make it through. So, I keep my letters to Patrick encouraging, supportive and upbeat.

In summary, I need to be just like my brand new Dyson vacuum cleaner - I need to suck it up.