The Look That Says We’ll Move

After my husband had completed his certification panel, he was told that he wouldn’t be moving to a new location for at least a year. We figured we had about 18 months, possibly more, until we had to move for real. Our plan included saving to buy our own place, and getting a feel of the rental rates in the area that he was told he’d be likely taking over. We had a plan, even if it was sort of vague, and dependent more on elements that had yet to come to fruition.

I really, really like plans. A lot. I’ve always been a list maker, but having a child that thrives on routine, who needs to know the next step, and the one after that, and that one after that, has launched me into this sort of planning monster. Having a plan for this huge transition was a must. Especially given the fact that we had all of three weeks notice for the last promotion/relocation my husband took.

Image Credit: AJ Batac
Image Credit: AJ Batac

Two weeks later, maybe less than that, my husband came home. Instead of his normal get home routine, he came straight to the living room where I was vacuuming. He did this half-hearted smile, one I’ve become familiar with over the years. Without turning the vacuum off,  I simply quipped, “Oh. They transferred you, didn’t they?”

When you have a spouse who works one of these jobs where schedules change at a moments notice, where you sometimes don’t know if you’ll see them for a day or two because of their wickedly long hours, when they’ve been given less than 24 hours notice before they are going on a two week business trip, you learn that look. You dread that look. You learn to not react to that look. You praise it because it means to some degree, the hard work they are putting in is getting noticed.

He nodded, of course. The word was that he would be taking over a store in Edmonton. It would happen in November, maybe December. It wasn’t clear yet. He had no idea what he’d be getting paid. It wasn’t ideal, he explained, but the location had so much potential, and it was exactly the kind of situation he wanted to walk into as a manager. Potential for growth, potential to be noticed, and potential to grow in his career further.  We also knew that there was a likelihood they may find someone else and he could be staying put. Nothing was for sure. Nothing is for sure, until it is.

The next night, my husband did the same half-hearted smile. My response was a little more tired this time, “What now?” This time, everything was moving forward. In fact, starting right after Canadian Thanksgiving, he would be working in the store. Officially.  There was no transition for us, really, as we found this out on a Friday. The next time he went back to work, he would be at his new location.

We’ve been at this a month now, almost. It’s been a long, tiring month.  I’ve effectively become a pseudo-single mom, and most days, that’s just fine. There are days when the kids are little crazed, when I have to handle appointments that are really for both parents to be involved in, or extra meetings on top of the normal activities we have every day. That’s when I wish I had another adult to defer to. It will pass, I keep saying, even when I’m not sure when or if it will get better soon. We’ve decided that we’re not moving until the summer, which means, until then, his commute has doubled, tripled if he leaves during rush hour. Which means, he leaves wickedly early in the morning, and gets home wickedly late. Granted, it’s the busiest time of the year, so maybe, hopefully these insane hours will subside come December. We’re all tired, stretched, and hoping that the payoff is as good as we’ve been led to believe.

But, beyond all of that? I am proud of my husband. This, leading his own location as a manager, has been one of his goals since he began with his company in 2010. For him to have come this far in four years is pretty impressive, in my opinion. He’s worked his ass off, and I’m happy that he’s being rewarded for that.

If you could send us all the coffee, and maybe all of the wine until we finally move, that’d be great. Or talk to me on Twitter at 11pm, when my husband is still not home. Sometimes, I go a little crazy.


10 thoughts on “The Look That Says We’ll Move

    1. It’s awful, isn’t it? I was firm on not moving until the end of the school year, but after the last week or two, I’m wavering. The kids don’t get to see their Dad at all, and I don’t really get to see my husband.

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