It’s another lovely, southern California Sunday, at home with my Lovey. Our last, for a while. Mos refuses to acknowledge Father’s Day, and merely growls at The Commander when he attempts to snuggle him. He’s kind of a shit like that.
The Commander is a little behind schedule with breakfast; he’s always in charge of Sunday meals when he’s home. To be perfectly honest, his meals always take WAY longer to make than he ever anticipates. And they are always totally worth it.
I have a load of his uniforms drying now. I soaked all of his “Whites” in Oxy-Clean yesterday. He’ll be the whitest officer Pearl Harbor has ever seen.
He’s leaving in two days, and will be gone for a while. It’s not a long underway, per say, but it’s an important one. It’s an important exercise, and he has just taken command of his ship. We’re playing in the Big Leagues now.
I’m a COW, a Commanding Officer’s Wife. I’m Mrs. CO.
That’s nothing. He’s the Captain, now. Still a Commander in rank, but a Captain in title.
Don’t try to understand the Navy. I’m still trying to get someone to create a color chart for me.
I am beyond proud. I got weepy at the ceremony. For 17 years, he has worked for this. Some people are born teachers, or healers, or whatever. The Commander… He was born to Command a ship. Maybe that sounds silly. But seriously, he’s just good at what he does. He was a good EX-O, but stepping into Command has been like stepping into an old pair of favorite shoes. It fits, well, and comfortably.
I feel like a proud mama, sending her kid off to school for the first time, as a I get his gear ready for his first underway as Captain. I’ll miss him. His absence always leaves me a bit disoriented at first. What do I do with myself? I’ll worry, I’ll wonder. Is he getting enough sleep? Is he eating? Is he drinking enough water?
He’ll be fine. He’s The Commander. His officers and sailors all respect him, even if they don’t all like him ( how dare he expect them to do their jobs, and to take pride in doing them!). He’s more than competent.
I think I might cry.
No, no I won’t. I’ll enjoy this Sunday, and the breakfast that was just delivered to me here in my favorite chair. Later, we’ll take a walk on the beach together.
Our last Sunday. For a while, anyway…